by Jordan Marie
"Shit. Who did you murder?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Generally speaking, whenever someone I know calls the cops and says they have a big problem, it has to do with murder."
"Sure it does."
"Not kidding. Smaller problems are a speeding or parking ticket, but big? Yeah, that's when I start wondering where the hell I need to run."
"Maybe you just need a better class of friends."
"I don't have friends. Just you assholes I call family. So what's up?"
"I can't find Kayla."
"What do you mean you can't find her? How long has she been missing?" Black asks, going immediately into cop mode.
My mom is a little crazy in all of the best ways. She wanted my brothers and I to have unique names. Somehow in her nutty head she thought naming us after colors was a good idea. It wasn't.
It didn't help that there were so many of us. One or two names might have been okay, but when you have, Green, Gray, me, Black, Cyan, and Blue… it's not ever okay. In school it earned us the name the Crayon gang, and I don't even want to get started on the hundreds of Crayon jokes we endured.
Black is one of my crazy-ass brothers and one of the ones that I'm closest to. He's also someone who would move Heaven and Earth to help out his family—and that includes Kayla. He's a good guy, if not a bit of a loner, except for occasionally me and definitely my brother Blue. They're twins and are super close in a way I doubt anyone could truly understand unless they had a twin themselves. It's eerie, the way those two are with each other.
"She's not missing. She's at a bar."
"I don't think I understand exactly what you're saying here, White. If you know where's she's at, then what's going on?"
"She's at a bar trying to get laid."
"Ouch, well buddy. She is a grown woman."
“I don’t give a fuck. Hooking up with some random asshole is not—”
“Isn’t that a bit of a double standard? I mean, you do it. Hell, even I do. Fuck, White, I’m pretty sure the whole free world does that shit at one time or another.”
“Not just to get your ass knocked up.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Black growls.
“Kayla wants a baby, and she thinks the only way to make that happen is to go out and—”
“Jesus, fuck. Does she not watch the news? I thought she was marrying that spineless wonder Tommy Haynes.”
“They broke up.”
"She honestly thought this was the best way to have a baby? I swear to Christ I think this whole world has gone fucking insane. Apparently it's even invading my own damn family, which is fucked up since we're all about three fries short of a Happy Meal as it is."
"Yeah, yeah. Can you help me locate her or not?"
"What do you expect me to do? Put an all-points bulletin on her?"
"Can you?"
"Are you fucking insane?"
"You can tell them that she's wanted in connection for a crime and not to be approached. Have them call if they see her."
"That's a great idea, really."
"I thought so."
"Yeah. It really is. I'll get right on it. I just have one question."
"What's that?"
"Are you going to pay my fucking bills when I get fired for wasting the department’s resources for personal uses?"
"Come on, man. I wouldn't ask. But this is an emergency. I've got to get to her before something happens to her."
"Kayla's always been levelheaded. I don't see her taking unnecessary risks."
"Unprotected sex with someone she doesn't know is a risk, period. And what if some sick fuck hurts her, man? You gotta help me here."
"Jesus. Is she that determined to have a kid? I mean, she's only… what? Twenty something? Surely she knows there's time for her to—"
"She's nearing thirty and she's obsessed with it. You have to help me here. Help me find her so I can just talk her down."
"Fuck, if she's that determined, why don't you just volunteer?"
"Now you sound like Mom."
"Well, normally I'd set your head on fire for a remark like that. Still, I'm serious. Kayla's a beautiful woman and you two have always been extremely close. You can't tell me—"
"Kayla's like my sister," I lie. I might have used that excuse before with Mom, but fuck, what I've been doing at night these past few days definitely has nothing to do with being a brother.
"Damn, that sucks. I always thought the two of you could have something special. I got an idea. Give me a minute to see if it will work," Black says, and I breathe a little easier—at least, if I ignore the knot in my stomach.
I always thought you two could have had something special.
Shit. Has everyone thought of the two of us together? Why haven’t I? Well, until recently, I mean. The idea of Kayla and me in a relationship is laughable… right?
I mean, we’re too different. Except in all the ways that really count.
I don’t want kids. She definitely does.
Except having a child with Kayla wouldn’t be horrible. She’s not like other women. She wouldn’t use a child as a weapon. I wouldn’t have to worry about the child when I couldn’t be there. Not with Kayla. She’d be an amazing mother.
An image of Kayla’s stomach rounded with a child and her dark brown eyes laughing at me comes to mind and the strangest fucking thing happens. My dick jerks and slowly, as if I was watching the best fucking porno in my life, stretches to life in my jeans and doesn’t stop until he’s so fucking hard that it literally aches.
So much for claiming we’re not sexually attracted one another. Clearly that’s not an issue. At least not for me. Thankfully, Black comes back on the phone and saves me from my own thoughts.
“She’s at 1846 Carolina Avenue, downtown.”
“What? How do you know?”
“I had a buddy ping her phone. There’s a bar there called Dempsey’s. I’d say she’s there, brother.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“More like a hundred. Go get your woman.”
“She’s not mine,” I deny, but Black’s already hung up. His words are still echoing in my head when I start my truck and head downtown.
To get Kayla… who is not my woman. But who I definitely want to fuck. There’s no denying that with my dick practically ripping through my jeans at the moment.
CHAPTER 13
KAYLA
My phone vibrates a couple of times after I hang up on White, but I ignore it and the guilt that tries to grab ahold of me. I don’t owe him or anyone an explanation. He ruined my perfect plan. Okay, it was perfect until he brought up the whole disease thing. Call me a freak, but I didn’t really think about that. I know it sounds crazy, and judge me if you want to, but it’s not like I have sex all the time with men I don’t know. Let’s be more honest: it’s not like I have sex that often. Period. The furthest thing from my mind was getting diseases. Now I can’t help but obsess about it.
I’ve been sitting here in this bar for two hours, nursing my second beer, and no matter who I look at, the end result is always the same: Does he have Crabs? Syphilis? Gonorrhea? Chlamydia or worse? To be honest I don’t even know what half of those are. I’ve just heard of them and know that I don’t want to ever experience them.
White did this. He ruined my plan. The bastard.
I came here tonight thinking if I pick out a man who looks clean, wears expensive clothes, and is well-spoken then I could chance it. I’ve met two of those and, yeah, I’m not willing to chance it.
All of this boils down to one thing: I need to find another plan. One that doesn’t involve putting my life in danger. Which is why I’m sitting at a table, in a crowded bar, on a Saturday night, writing in a notebook. Not just any notebook. No, this one is a pink glitter notebook with a matching glitter pen. Whenever I write on the paper, the ink is glittery too, and that makes me smile. This is needed since what I’m writing is a list of names. Names of men I kn
ow. Men who might want to donate some baby batter for the cause.
I realize that sounds pitiful. It, however, is not as pitiful as the fact that the list has a whopping four names on it. One of those is half crossed out because, well, it’s Tommy and only in pure desperation would I be able to lower my pride to go there. The other name is a coworker and I’m not even a hundred percent sure that he in fact has the correct parts. I’m not being mean or anything, but he has boobs that rival mine. They could be man boobs, but I’ve always wondered. The next name is Bobby Crenshaw, my ex who wasn’t a great catch for sure, but I know him, and he’s comfortable. It helps that I know he could do what was needed—even if it wouldn’t be very eventful.
The last name on the list is one I keep circling over and over and I hate myself for it. White. I need to get him out of my mind and definitely out of my heart. With that in mind I make a line through his name.
There’s only one other name that I can think of that might work. So, I write it down now. One other name: Green Lucas. White’s brother. I know him almost as well as I know White. He’s had horrible taste in women, especially since he’s been in love with Tommy’s ex Cynthia most of his life. That aside, he’s sweet, honest, a great father, and a good friend. He could work. He may have to work, if I go this route. I sigh, closing the notebook and sticking the pen in the coiled spine.
“Let’s go.”
My head jerks up to see White standing over me. His face is tight in anger, his tanned skin has a light blush, and his hair is rumpled. Frustration is coming off of him in waves. He’s wearing tight jeans and a long-sleeved blue button-up shirt. He looks good, unbelievably good, and that irritates me. Can’t the man have one night where he has a bad hair day? A wart on his nose? A mole on his neck shaped like a big toe with hair growing out of it? Something. Anything besides perfection.
“Can’t you ever look bad? Is that so much to ask?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” I sigh, taking a sip of my beer to discover that it’s stale. I suppose I’ve been nursing it for way too long. I hold up a hand, motioning for the waitress. White reaches over and grabs it, pushing it down.
"What are you doing?" he demands.
"Ordering a drink."
"I think you've had enough, Kayla."
"Actually, White, I've barely had anything. This is only my second beer and it's flat. I want another one."
"We need to leave."
"You should go ahead and do that then, but I'm not leaving."
"I'm not going to let you do this, Kayla. It's not happening!"
"Order a beer? Why the hell not?"
"No, not order a beer. You're not going to hook up with some asshole tonight. It's not happening," he repeats.
"I don't think it's really any of your business," I growl, pissed off because he thinks he has the right to dictate to me.
"You're my best friend."
"Okay, fine. Did I tell you not to sleep with Lori Petrotski?"
"Who? What are you talking about?"
"The girl you dated my senior year in high school, remember?"
"Oh. Jesus, I forgot about her. She was following me around like a little lost puppy."
"More like a dog in heat," I correct him.
"Yeah, so I decided to throw her a bone," he recalls with a smirk.
"Exactly. I knew she wasn't your type. I knew she was way too clingy, but I didn't take it upon myself to warn you to stay away."
"God, she was. The girl had serious problems. She followed me to training camp that year. She was waiting for me in my dorm one night, did I tell you? Fuck, I still don't know how she managed it. I got in bed and there she was. Told me she was keeping the bed warm for me. Started talking about what we would do when we got out of school, like our lives were set in stone. We'd have a brick house, two kids, the works."
"See? So you had to learn for yourself. You kicked her out of bed and sent her on her way. I didn't get involved.”
"Well, not exactly. I gave her one more night to remember me by."
"God, I can't believe you."
"I'm joking, mostly. Anyway, that was years ago. I'm not that person anymore and that has nothing to do with the here and now."
"It has everything to do with it."
"Please tell me how Lori Petra-whatever has anything to do with the fact that you're planning on getting knocked up by a random stranger."
"Petrotski," I correct, getting more annoyed with him by the minute.
"Whatever."
"I'm pointing out that our friendship works because I stay out of your sex life and you stay out of mine."
"You don't have one."
"I'm trying to fix that! The point still is that you need to stay out of it."
"You are not fixing it by sleeping with someone you don't know. Especially without protection. If I have to carry you out of here over my shoulder, Buttercup, it's—”
"Yeah, I know. It’s not happening,” I mock, trying to imitate his voice. His big, dumb, deliciously deep and sexy voice. “I could hate you," I sigh. "If you must know, I've decided against that plan."
"Christ, thank God for small favors."
"I'm rolling my eyes at you yet again, White Hall. Anyway, you might have had a small point. I should worry about diseases and things."
"Damn straight you should."
"And I do. So I'm making a list," I inform him, my hands folded over the notebook on the table.
"A list?"
“Of potential baby daddies."
"A list?"
"You're repeating yourself."
"That's because I can't believe you're this crazy. I used to think you were so calm and shy. How the fuck did I miss that you're Looney Tunes crazy?"
"If you're done insulting me for the night, you really should be on your way now."
"Let me see your list," he orders, and panic fills me. Shit. His name is on there. There's no way he's seeing my list.
"No way," I tell him, clutching my notebook closer to guard him from it.
"Let me see it, Kayla."
"I said no." As in no way, Jose. I've suffered enough embarrassment lately.
"Fine."
"Fine," I agree with a breath of relief.
I should have known it wouldn't be that easy because White reaches over and hones in on my stomach, just at the side, under my breast. It's the most ticklish spot on my body, which isn't easy because I'm pretty much ticklish all over. It doesn't take him long and I'm squealing like a little kid. I bring my hands up to try and pull his much larger one away and that's when I realize my mistake and White grabs the notebook with his free hand.
"Give that to me, you asshole!" I growl, trying to fight for it back, but White defends my attempts as if it was nothing, all the while opening the notebook that holds the damning list. I give up as I see it open. Fear and shock war with one another. My stomach sinks as I realize he's going to read it. I hold my head down and wonder how I can play this off.
Crap.
CHAPTER 14
WHITE
I know I'm being an asshole. I just can't stop myself. I have this deep-seated need to see who is on that damned list. When she told me she wasn't scoping the joint for someone to take home, it was like this huge weight had been lifted off of me. It soon came back and crushed me all over again when she told me her next harebrained scheme.
I open the notebook and the first name makes me want to shake her. Tommy. Fuck no. End of discussion. I don't know the next name but when I see man-boobs written in a big pink glitter square along with the words “Is he a he?” I'm pretty sure this guy is as fucked up as her other choices. Another, no. Bobby Crenshaw? Does she not remember how miserable she was with that sad-sack? That'd be a big hell no.
The next name on the list causes my heart to lodge in my throat and my dick to push so hard against my jeans, it's painful. She wrote my name on this damn list, even after I was an asshole yesterday. Of course there’s a line through it, but I’m choosing
to ignore that. Instead, I wonder. Obviously I'm having fantasies about my best friend that normally I'd steer one hundred and fifty percent clear of. This time, however, maybe it would be a good idea. I can work these feelings out of my system while giving Kayla what she wants. What could be the harm in that? It's like two friends helping each other out.
Before I can discuss it with her, however, I catch sight of the last name on the list. Green Lucas. My brother. My motherfucking brother is on a list of Kayla's potential candidates for knocking her up. My brother.
Well, that sure as hell is not going to work. Absolutely not. Over my fucking dead body.
"White," she starts, and I can see fear in her eyes. She's right to be afraid. She should be afraid. I should do what I threatened and carry her out of here, take her home, then spank her ass until it was so sore she couldn't sit down for a month. It'd be red and swollen and I'd need to take care of her. Maybe jack off and spread my cum all around it to soothe the ache.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This is Kayla I'm thinking about. My Kayla. My best friend. My buddy. The woman who has my brother on her list as a potential sperm donor. Son of a bitch.
"Green?"
"What? Oh! Yeah, I think it might work. He's obviously the best choice."
The best choice?
"I don't see that," I tell her. "I don't see that at all," I growl, flagging down a passing waitress.
"What are you doing?" she asks, watching me.
"Ordering a drink," I tell her, even if it's not necessary since the waitress comes over and I order a whiskey neat.
"I'll have one too!" Kayla chimes in, and I look back at her. "What? If you can have a drink, I can too. Especially since you already made sure I wasn't about to have baby making sex tonight."
"I don't think you need to drink. A person in your shape shouldn't be drinking."
"My shape?" she asks.
"Bat-shit crazy," I growl after a minute. Before she can say anything in response, the waitress comes back and puts our drinks down. "I'll have another one when you get time," I tell her.
I down the drink in one long, large gulp. It burns as it goes down, but nothing compared to the fire I already have in my gut thinking about Kayla in bed with my own fucking brother. The brother that she was in love with years and years ago.