by April Fire
I settled up with the hotel and made my way back home, glad that at least David and I had kept separate apartments up until we had planned to marry. It was still a stab to the chest, the reminder that we weren’t going on our honeymoon, that we weren’t coming home to house-hunt together. But I had to move on -- I had no choice but to keep going, to push David and Tam and all of it from my mind as best I could. First things first, though? I had to handle this hangover.
I spent that day as I spent many of the following ones -- alone, in the apartment, drinking beer and eating takeout and watching all the crappy reality TV that David had convinced me I was too good for, whatever that meant. I found myself actually enjoying the solitude.
The wedding planning had required me to be in contact with pretty much everyone I knew and then some almost all the time, and finally I could enjoy some peace. Mom and Dad stopped round a couple of times, checking on me. I put on a brave face for them because I knew they needed to see it-- they needed to know that I would survive this. I knew I would, but it was difficult articulating to them just how okay I was going to be.
I think it was harder losing Tam than David. With romantic relationships, there’s always that innate, built-in knowledge that one of you can leave at any time, no matter how shitty it might make the other person feel. With friendships, it’s different -- you’re meant to be there for each other, without an easy out-button, for better or worse. David had always been a moderate- level dick, even if I hadn’t been able to see it at the time, but Tam was a friend - my best friend, the kind of person I considered my soulmate in so many ways. For her to have been the one lying to me all this time, that hurt doubly as much as it did with David.
But, I got on with things. I felt wobbly and raw for a long time. It’s hard to explain how you put your life back together after a break-up of that magnitude if you’ve never done it, but trust me when I say that it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do.
But the other option is simply to give up -- to back down and let the world shit all over you just because one guy wanted to fuck your best friend over you. I felt these powerful jolts of pain, reminders that I could barely handle the enormity of once in a while -- his coffee mug in the back of the cupboard, a pair of his boxers in the drawer. But the reminders of his existence became less potent as time went on, growing less important with each passing day.
After a month, I could think of him without wanting to burst into tears. After six weeks, I allowed myself to get really, really fucking mad, and hated him for all I was worth, hated them both. It felt damn good.
In all that time, I didn’t give a lot of thought to Jones. I appreciated that he had come to see me after it had all happened, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he had planned all of it somehow, as if he had hoped that the two of us were going to hook up. Maybe he was trying to get me on the rebound? He had certainly been quick out the door the next day, not keen on hanging around much longer than it took him to get dressed and call a taxi.
Yeah, maybe he did have a game, but he was lax on mentioning that the night before, and did he honestly think that another guy leaving without notice was going to do me the world of good after what had happened?
The note he’d left me had been such a brush-off, a mild nod in my direction to acknowledge that a shitty thing had happened to me but that he wasn’t going to be the one to deal with it. Not that I thought he should have been or anything like that, but damn. Show a little decency. Especially after all his talk about proving to me that not all men were assholes.
Well, yeah, maybe I did give some thought to Jones. And I certainly spent plenty of time thinking about the night we spent together, too. That was the kind of shit that stayed with you, in the best possible way. When he was rich and famous, I told myself, I can sell an expose to a gossip mag and make a bundle. Till then, it’s our fun little secret.
It was two months after the wedding when I realized that something was…missing. I’d been working on a flurry of freelance graphic design projects- partly to keep me busy and partly to pay back the money I owed on some of the wedding stuff. During that whole time, something was nagging away at the back of my brain, something that said there was an aspect of my life that wasn’t in place. I assumed it was just the David stuff and did my best to ignore it- until it suddenly clicked. It wasn’t David. It was my period. I hadn’t had one since the wedding.
I made my way down to the drugstore on the corner of my street, and prayed that no-one I knew would bump into me, which was of the downsides of living in a small town. I could barely breathe without someone reporting back to my mother on the manner in which I’d done it. I furtively picked up the pregnancy test and slipped it into my basket, paying for it with cash in some paranoid fugue.
By that time, I’d made it back to my apartment I had myself convinced that everyone in town knew my predicament- although what they might think and the actual truth were probably pretty far apart.
David and I had agreed, a few months before the wedding, not to have sex until our wedding night. I agreed, thinking it was romantic. I guessed that I wouldn’t have found it quite as charming had I known that he was banging my best friend to make up for it, but hey, hindsight is fifty-fifty. I’d had a period the week before the wedding, so that meant that if I was pregnant, there was only one person it could belong to. Jones.
I paced back and forth in my apartment a few times, trying to pluck up the courage to take the damn test. Maybe you’re just late, I told myself, even though I knew it was bullshit. I was never late, not ever, my menstrual cycle going like clockwork. This could only mean one thing, and I had to be certain of it. I had to know.
Finally, I managed to get myself into the bathroom, and hunched over the toilet as I waited for the results to come through. I held my breath, my mind racing- after everything that had happened, God would have to have a pretty sick sense of humor to do this to me as well. Surely, I was just overthinking -- maybe it was the stress that had finished off my period, or my bad diet or the drinking or…
I don’t know if you’ve ever waited for a pregnancy test to come up with a result, but those will be the longest three minutes of your life, let me tell you. I sat, frozen, on the toilet as I clutched the little stick in my fingers, staring intently at the small panel that would tell me my fate. I bargained desperately, praying that I wasn’t about to see the result I knew was inevitable.
Finally, finally, the panel changed, showing two perpendicular lines. I stared at them for a moment, then scrambled around for the box so I could figure out what they meant. I knew, but I needed to be sure -- needed to be certain. I grabbed the little cardboard package, and scanned the insert.
Pregnant. I was fucking pregnant.
Motherfucker.
Chapter Three
“Uh, hi?”
My voice sounded squeaky, but I couldn’t exactly blame myself- after all, I was about to talk to the father of my child for the first time since we’d conceived our baby.
It hadn’t been hard getting hold of Jones - -our families were friends, and all it took were a few well-placed hints from my mother and I got hold of his number. I needed to talk to him because he deserved to know about the baby. The baby that I had decided to keep.
I knew I was likely being completely crazy, but I had made the decision to have my baby. I had discovered I was pregnant two weeks prior to calling Jones, and had been through a lot of soul-searching since then. This kid was a chance for a new start -- one I wanted to take. A reminder that I didn’t need a husband or anyone else to pursue my dream of having a family. Working from home gave me a lot of flexibility with childcare, and I knew Mom and Dad would help out where they could, too. When I told them, that was.
“Hello?” Jones voice came down the line, making me jump. I placed a hand on my still-flat stomach, as though expecting the child to react to the sound of his father’s voice.
“Hey, it’s Kyra,” I began hesitantly.
“Oh, hey!” He perked
up. “How are you?”
“Doing okay,” I replied casually. “You?”
“Yeah, great!” He agreed. He paused for a moment, and I realized he was waiting for me to explain exactly why I had called him.
“Oh, um, I was wondering,” I took a deep breath. “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought maybe we could…get together?”
“Sounds good!” He replied at once, his voice flickering with a hint of suggestiveness. “I was coming home next week, actually, if you want me to give you a life back up?”
“That sounds great,” I nodded, relieved, glad I wouldn’t have to fork over my meagre savings to pay for my ticket up there. “Can I call you closer to the time and we’ll figure things out?”
“I’ll get in touch soon,” he agreed, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. Was I that good that night? Obviously so. We exchanged numbers and hung up, and I felt a flicker of anticipation in my stomach. Or was that just straight fear? Hard to tell, I’d been in such a mess of emotions since I found out about the pregnancy.
I thought long and hard about what I was going to say to Jones when I saw him again. I really had no idea what the etiquette was for breaking the news of an unwanted pregnancy -- I mean, we had used a condom, this was probably the last thing he expected. There he was, likely imagining another kinky night together, and I had to drop that bombshell on him.
I carried on with work and tried to put Jones out of my head, but it was difficult, knowing that I was about to change his life. And, on top of that, he was the only person I’d slept with since the break-up- fuck, he was the only person I’d slept with apart from David in my entire life. I didn’t have a lot to compare him to, but I was pretty sure we had a serious connection. And yeah, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to exploit that, though I couldn’t be sure that he would ever want to see me again when I told him what I was there for.
He texted me a time to meet, the following Wednesday, and I agreed with a little flicker of excitement lighting up in my chest as I thought about seeing him again. He sent a taxi for me, and I piled my bags into the back seat and set off. I had no idea where we were going -- I assumed I’d meet him at the train station or the airport or something, and the two of us would head back up together. Instead, I found myself pulling up to an airstrip outside of town- and and spotted Jones as he strode across the slightly slick tarmac towards me.
“You have got to be shitting me,” I murmured to myself as I got out. There was no-one else around as far as I could see, so this had to be a private jet. I didn’t keep up with football, but Jones must have been seriously successful to be able to afford all of this. He was pulling out all the stops just to impress me -- and well, he could color me impressed.
Jones hurried over to help me with my bags as I stared up at the plane.
“This is yours?” I asked, incredulous, and he glanced over his shoulder as if he’d half-forgotten it was there.
“Oh, yeah,” he flashed me a broad grin. “I rented it out for the trip back. I usually do - can’t risk the paps catching me at the airport, you know?”
“The paparazzi?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Anyway, you want me to get your stuff on board?”
“Sure,” I replied, and the two of us climbed up the steps, the rain whipping at our hair and our jackets. As soon as we were inside, Jones rubbed his hand together, fighting off the cold.
“You want a drink?” He asked, making his way over to a sleek drinks counter opposite us. The whole place looked good,-impeccably clean and done in in neutral leathers and pale wood. I wondered how much it cost to get this plane just for one trip, because I would love to travel like this more often. Down to the shops, maybe, or across town to Mom’s place. It would certainly make an impression- and people finally might stop talking about me in relation to what happened with David.
“Yeah,” I replied without thinking, and then shook my head. “Um, wait, no. I’m okay. Thanks.”
“You sure?” He poured himself a scotch, and made his way back over to me. I nodded.
“Yeah, I’m trying to…to cut down,” I smiled at him bashfully.
“Fair enough,” he raised his glass to me anyway. “Glad to see you either way.”
“Me too,” I blurted out, and I was There it was again, that chemistry between us, as though the universe was waiting with baited breath for us to launch back into another hot-and-heavy encounter.
I did my best to ignore it- when should I break the news to him? Now? He seemed so relaxed and laid-back, and I didn’t want to ruin that. I would at least wait till we were in the air, so he couldn’t kick me out. I needed to get away from Turretsville and everything that came with it, namely, the fact that each and every person in that place seemed to know what had gone down between David and I. The thought of going somewhere where I was anonymous, where I wasn’t a cautionary tale, was too tempting for me to blow yet.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Jones announced suddenly, just as the plane began to move.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, a smile curling on the corner of his lips. “Ever since that night. I can’t believe…well, any of it.”
“I thought you were a big famous football player,” I teased. “I assumed you got down to that kind of crap all the time.”
“I wish,” his eyebrow jerked up into an arch, and I knew what he was thinking -- because I was thinking the exact same thing. I couldn’t deny it, there was a heat between us, a heat that both of us had done our best to ignore since the day David asked me out back in sophomore year.
Jones regarded me for a moment before throwing back his scotch in one motion, the liquid disappearing into his mouth. His mouth. I remembered it against my pussy, the sensation of his heat against me suddenly vivid in my memory. Fuck, I needed him. I needed him.
I was sitting opposite him, perched on the edge of the leather seat, and found that I was leaning towards him without my knowing. He was still standing, but he soon paced over to me and placed himself down in the seat next to mine. The gap closed between us, it was all I could do not to stare at his lips, fighting the urge to run my finger along his sharp jawline, to feel the stubble beneath my fingertip…
I straightened up and shifted back from him, the sound of the leather squeaking under my ass breaking the loaded silence between us. He laughed softly, and I had to remind myself what I was doing here. Tell him. Tell him now.
“Jones, look, there’s something I need to tell you...”
“Oh, yeah?” He grinned at me and leaned forward, as though confident he knew what was coming next. “What’s that?”
I did my best to ignore him, I honestly did. I wanted to tell him what was going on and be done with it. But after the stress of the last few weeks, the constant reminders that my life was going to change forever, I needed to have some fun. And he was offering plenty of it.
I leaned towards him, caught his face in my hands, and planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He smelt like scotch and rain, his scent rich and full and filling my senses at once; I shivered. The plane was just leaving the ground as I pulled back, staring at him, fearing that I’d overstepped my boundaries- but he was regarding me with a look of complete and utter lust. My hands were still resting on his jaw, and I traced my finger down one side of it, just as I’d imagined. Yeah, we were doing this, baby or no baby.
He moved so quickly that I barely had time to think about what was happening, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me on to his lap-I parted my legs and straddled him as if on instinct, and could feel his cock growing hard beneath me as soon as I let myself down. He brushed the hair from my face and kissed me, hard, his tongue slipping into my mouth and parting my lips. I gripped his hair in my fists, tugging lightly so I could pull his head back and get all the access I needed to his gorgeous mouth.
He ran his hands up my back, peeling up the back of my t-shirt- I lifted my hands up so he could take it o
ff and he did so, tossing it quickly aside. He pressed his face into my breasts, breathing deeply as if reminding himself of my scent, but I had other plans.
I quickly slid down between his legs, hooking my fingers around the waistband of his jeans and peering up at him seductively as I pulled them down his legs. I massaged his cock through his boxers for a moment, cupping his length in my hand and watching as his mouth slowly dropped open.
Then, as though I was unwrapping a Christmas gift, I peeled off his underwear and cast them aside next to his pants, exposing him completely. He was barefoot, completely naked from the waist down, and I found the sight of his feet oddly sexy. Or maybe it was just that I found every single little thing about this guy outrageously hot.
Gripping the base of his erection, I lowered my mouth on to his cock, flickering my tongue against the head before I enveloped him completely. His toes curled, and he let his head drop back as I took him as deep as I could, making up the few inches of difference by lifting my mouth with my hand. He felt phenomenal in my mouth, strong and hard and thick, and I was reminded of exactly how he felt when he penetrated me for the first time. I closed my eyes and went to work, swirling my tongue up the bottom of his cock and slowly bobbing my head up and down.
I would have been quite happy to keep going until he came (and then have him return the favor of course), but after a few minutes of appreciative groans from his end, he tucked his hands beneath my armpits and pulled me back on top of him.
“You need to be naked,” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Right now.”
It sounded like an order and one that I was all too happy to obey. I got to my feet and, keeping eye contact with him the entire time, began to slowly peel my clothes off, tossing aside my jeans and socks and slowly starting in on my panties and my bra till I was completely naked in front of him. The feeling of his eyes on me was intoxicating, the knowledge that I was turning him on as much as I was.