“Sorry. Let me get that.” He scoops up what little spilled out and excuses himself for a moment.
“Did you sleep with him again?” Kinsley kicks her foot into my shin, rushed and steady as a pendulum.
“No.” I scoot back before she leaves a bruise. “I’m still unsure. I mean, if I give Dad the info he wants, I think we’ll finally cross that bridge and have the relationship I’ve always wanted.” I’ll get into the core. I’ll have that family I’ve always wanted—one that includes the love of a parent, something I’ve missed deeply since I cut my loon of a mother out of my life although I’m still pretty close with my grandmother. “Or I can choose to go all in with Ford.” I swallow hard. “But once he finds out who I am and what I’ve cost him…” I shake my head. Lincoln settles back at the table, and I shoot him an accusing look. “Did you give those files to Dad? Is that why we have a nightclub named Gravity and Jinx doesn’t?”
He grimaces into the accusation. “No. I didn’t do it. I figured you did.” He leans in. “And I was damn proud of you, too.”
My heart warms at the thought of Lincoln being proud of me. I’m so thirsty for some male affection that I’d sell my newly minted boyfriend’s soul to get it. A thought comes to me. Ford said I already had all of his affection—his love. Then why do I still feel bent on grinding the world down with my heel? I’d like to blame it on Claire’s death, but we both know I’ve felt this way long before that. I came out of the womb demanding retribution. I think I wanted my father to pay for his rejection even then.
Kinsley’s phone chirps, and she jumps a little staring down at the text. Her entire face brightens.
“I’d better go. I’ve got three scenes left to shoot today.” She squeals with glee. “Dillon and I are really hitting it off. We’ve moved past those fake, staged kisses.” Her lips press tight a moment. “He slipped me some tongue last week during our lovemaking scene. He’s very intent on making it look authentic.”
“He’s married.” Aspen says it stern. “He and his wife have a whole gaggle of little girls. Tell him to keep his tongue to himself.”
“Authenticity is important in my line of work.” Kinsley makes a face as she dashes out the door.
“Prostitution is illegal!” Aspen calls after her, and Kins flips her the bird.
“She’s not a prostitute.” I stab a straw into my Arnold Palmer and watch as the lemonade swirls through the tea like pink smoke. “I’ve seen tongue on more than one TV show.”
“But he’s married,” she says it again, weak. “I guess that doesn’t mean much anymore.”
Lincoln guzzles the rest of Kinsley’s drink and sets the glass down with a thump.
“Well, I’d love to discuss the fickle morals of our society, but I’d better run, too. There’s another board meeting in the morning. Merlin is getting their hands on some hot info.” He mock shoots me. “You want to come with? Dad will be there. It’s prime time to spill everything you’ve got. The clock is about to run out, sis.” His eyes bear into mine blue as summer air.
“I’m good.” I wait until he’s out of earshot before turning to Aspen. “I’m not going to do it.” I shake my head definitively. In a single moment, all of my affection funneled straight down into that whisper of a soul I have. Crawford Cannon has dusted off my heart. It’s only fair he takes it. “I could no more hurt him than I can you.” I could easily hurt myself, and have on many occasions, so Aspen was a much truer representation of who I’d fight to spare.
“You love him.” She pulls me close, and I take in the sweet scent of her perfume, strawberries mixed with sugar. “Stevie, this is it.” She tilts into me with a hard-boiled intensity. “You have to tell him.” Her voice shakes. “You cannot play games. You cannot play keep-away with your feelings. You have to dive right in before you both get mixed up with other people, and your lives are never the same again.”
“So that’s what happened.” I give a single nod because it’s as clear as the tears in her eyes that she speaks from experience. “You and Carter loved each other and let mind games get in the way.”
“And here we are, married to other people.” A dark curtain of hair falls over one eye, and she bows into it hiding her shame.
“He’s divorced.” I flat line. “And, newsflash, you’re not exactly chained for life. You still have the ability to make this happen.” A waiter walks by with a platter full of seafood, and the sight of tiny tentacles sticking up in the air makes me want to hurl.
“Oh, God.” I take a sip of her ice water.
“You okay?” Her cool hand touches my forehead, and I pin it there for a second.
“I’ve been battling this nasty flu.” I shake my head, giving a few quick blinks.
“You sure that’s all it is?” She leans in while inspecting my eyes.
Claire wafts over me like a long forgotten dream, curling her finger for me to join her in the great beyond. It would figure. Life waits until I’ve finally found someone that makes me feel alive and then it shows me the exit.
“You think I have cancer?” It comes out soft, childlike. I’ve always wondered if it was here, percolating inside of me, just waiting to go off like a landmine. Claire and I were indistinguishable, our every cell identical. It shouldn’t surprise me that we would die of the same terrible disease.
“God, no.” Her hand clutches her throat. “I just thought maybe you were pregnant.” She breaks out in a nervous laugh, and my mouth opens to join her but nothing comes out.
Pregnant? God. I have been tired—sluggish in fact. No amount of caffeine seems to save me from hitting a wall at two o’clock. And I did vomit on Evelyn although she does make me sick routinely.
I glare at the waiter coming back empty handed. I never did like seafood with tentacles.
“No. That’s ridiculous. I’m careful.” My heart stops when I remember exactly how careful Ford and I were for two solid weeks back at the beach house. Oh, my crap.
“Okay.” She flicks a finger in the air nonchalantly as if my entire universe hadn’t just transformed into the shape of a fetus. “As long as you take care of things on your end. I wouldn’t trust the guy. What if he forgets a condom? You should probably get on the pill just in case. The last thing you want is to bring a child into this world until you’re one hundred percent sure it’s with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with.”
“Is that why you’re not expecting a cute little bundle anytime soon?” I bounce the birthing ball in her court. There’s no way I want the conversation to linger near my overripe uterus.
Aspen doesn’t say a word after that. We’re both stealthy silent as our misery crashes down around us.
Dear God, what have I let happen?
Friday morning, the Evil One is in her prime, biting off the heads of everyone at the milieu meeting, castrating Carson, practically accusing Areola of going down on Jener in the supply closet.
Really Evilyn? Baring your fangs? Adding testicles to your collection, and oral copulation, all before 9 A.M.? Wow. Sometimes she really does impress me.
I hold back a laugh. I only wish Ford was here to watch her implode. I wonder what phase in their relationship this would be filed under? Probably the time he fired her.
The meeting is dismissed, and Bella and I follow her back to her lair.
Evilyn gets momentarily sidetracked by someone in the hive, so I lean into Belle.
“You didn’t do that thing with Jener in the supply closet, did you?” I whisper.
“No.” Her eyes widen the size of full moons. “It was the stairwell, and who knew she hated elevators?”
We head into her office and take our seats.
“God. Just do your best to stay out of her way.” I frown in Evilyn’s general direction. “She’s redefining bitchy today.”
Bella gives a quick nod. “I saw her hit Mr. Cannon earlier.” Her lips press white as plaster.
Evilyn swoops between us and snatches her coffee off the desk before jetting out the d
oor once again.
“She hit Ford?” It comes out mixed with laughter.
“Yup. She said you’ll pay for that and took off.”
“Brilliant.” I’m giddy with excitement at the news of this early morning beating. “That must mean he broke up with her. Why else would she be so upset?”
Not that they were officially together to begin with, but if the faux relationship is off, then it’s nothing but green lights for me and my favorite beach boy.
Pepper comes in with a bowl of steaming crap and sets it on Evilyn’s desk. Her blonde hair fringes her face, cut short at the neck, and she has on something that resembles an elongated men’s dress shirt. I can’t help but think it could easily hide a baby bump before glancing down at my stomach.
“Ms. Perkins will be taking lunch in her office today.” She shuffles back to the door with her staccato mermaid-like gait. “Word to the wise. Stay out of her way.”
The smell of chicken drowning in a vat of sewage infiltrates my nostrils, and I let out a hard groan.
“I have to get out of here.” A strong wave of nausea hits, and Bella helps navigate me to Evilyn’s private throne. I heave up my breakfast and then try to convince my intestines to hurl out for the hell of it. It’s so painful that for a second I consider sticking my head in the toilet and drowning in my own vomit just to end this misery.
Bella flushes as if she heard me.
“You’ve really got it bad.” She produces a water bottle, and I rinse my mouth before knocking half of it back. “You’d better run to the nurse’s office and see if they can’t get you a flu shot or two.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s too late for anything like that.” I steady myself against the counter and stare at the endless tracks of crimson exploding over the whites of my eyes. “There’s not a flu shot in the world that can cure what’s wrong with me.” I watch my lips as I say the words, and I see Claire staring back, speaking to me, disappointed, ready to cry at how far I’ve fallen from grace—more like disgrace. She knew all of my secrets. She knew the biggest of them all.
Bella pulls my hair off my neck. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
I spend the next few hours meticulously and creatively threatening Bella’s life if she so much as breathes a word.
At 4:50, ten minutes shy of our escape from Alcatraz, she excuses herself and comes back with a small, white paper bag. Bella is full of obnoxious giggles and most likely up to no good.
“Why are you cackling?” Evilyn demands without so much as glancing in our direction. She’s been glued to her monitor, her fingers flying across her keyboard like a woman possessed, not that the possession part is anything new.
“I’m a happy person.” Bella’s affect flattens as she gingerly curls her fingers over her purchase.
Evilyn looks up and studies Bella with the bag now clutched to her chest.
“I see you’ve brought me a gift.” She bares her over-bleached fangs. They have a blue cast like fat free milk, and suddenly I’m craving the hell out of a tall glass of creamy dairy.
“Nope. No gift.” Bella shoves it down by her feet and helps me close out the files for the day.
Evilyn groans like a Yeti before walking over and snatching the bag right out from underneath Bella’s Chuck Taylors.
“I said that’s not for you!” Bella launches at her like a missile, and a tug of war ensues for the tiny paper bag. God, I hope there’s more than a pack of Skittles in there to make this worthwhile.
“I’m calling security!” I shout over their sorority sister like grunting. “As soon as I finish recording it!” I’m lying, but neither of them flinch at the threat.
Bella hikes the bag up above her head, and Evelyn jumps onto her hips, plucking it from the air. They stumble onto the desk, spilling Evilyn’s signature coffee everywhere, and a brown waterfall trickles over the edge.
“Give it back!” Bella screams, ripping the bag in half and out flies a happy purple box with the words pregnancy test emblazoned across the side like a billboard.
“Oh, God,” I hiss.
Evelyn and Bella both stare down at it. Not one of us moves, nobody breathes.
“Well”— I wince at Bella—“it looks like Jener is going to have a junior with one ‘n’ in nine months.” I didn’t mean to throw her under the bus, but let’s face it—there was no alternative.
“Areola, get your things and go.” Evelyn doesn’t take her eyes off me. “I’ll see you, Monday.”
Bella snatches up her things up in a fury as if they were about to fall into a wood chipper. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she whispers, shutting the door behind her.
“Does he know?” Her eyes pool with tears, and I’m not sure what frightens me more, the fact she’s onto me, or the fact she’s about to shed the waterworks thus harvesting the ability to disintegrate herself.
“No.” It comes from me numb. It would figure that Evelyn knows about the potential child I’m carrying prior to Ford. “And, if you try to beat me to the punch, I will wrap my hands around your giraffe-like neck and squeeze until your eyes shoot out like hard-boiled eggs.”
Her lip twitches with the threat of a smile.
“Testy are we? Must be all those errant little hormones.” She studies me from head to toe as if asking what in the hell do I have that she doesn’t. Try sanity. “When do you plan on telling him?” She wipes the tears away with the back of her hand.
“Um.” I glance out the window. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Kinx is opening tomorrow night.” She fans herself with her fingers and paces away from the desk. “Would you mind waiting until after the weekend—God, after next week? You’re going to throw him for a loop. You don’t know Crawford like I do. You probably think he’ll be passing out cigars and jumping for joy on couches like some loon but he won’t. He’ll be reeling from this just when he needs his head in the game. We’re launching—”
“Jeneration Jinx—I know.”
Evilyn takes a steady breath as she moves toward me. Her hand floats to my stomach, and she touches me there, just staring at that spot as if she were somehow experiencing what Ford and I created in that beach house all those weeks ago.
I’m pretty sure another reason she wants me to hold out is for her to get her bearings. This can’t be easy for her. She loves Ford just as deeply as I do. A dull smile swims to my lips. It’s ironic that I can finally admit it to myself while standing here with Evilyn—her wicked claw on my expectant belly of all places.
“I’ll wait to tell him.” It looks like I’m waiting to tell him a lot of things. I take my purse and leave.
I don’t need the pregnancy test.
Just like Evelyn, I already know.
Ford
The sun dipped into the moody Pacific hours ago, melting like a Popsicle on a summer sidewalk even though we’re well into fall. Southern California specializes in never ending summers—Indian summer is what they call it. Blood-red skies, hillsides lit up in flames like the bonfire of the gods as the hot Santa Ana’s blow their scorching breath from the desert, subtle as a nuclear holocaust.
I pick up Stevie a block away from campus. I asked if she was up for a mystery date, and she let me know she was cool with whatever the night had to offer. That’s one of the best things about Stevie—she’s easygoing. Everything with Evelyn was planned to the hilt. She needed to dress for the occasion—hell, she dressed me, too. It was one strained event after the other.
Stevie struts to the car in a short red dress, heels that stretch her legs to the moon, and my entire body gyrates with approval.
“Holy, holy,” I whisper as she climbs in. “You redefine beautiful.” Her perfume envelops me in a cloud of sweetness.
Stevie offers a slow-spreading grin, the color rising to her cheeks.
“You redefine me.” She says it quiet, purposeful, and something loosens in me when she says those words.
“You don’t n
eed to redefine yourself.” I lean in and land a tender kiss on her cheek. “I like you just the way you are.”
We take off for our mystery date in comfortable silence. Stevie and I are forging ahead, moving past all the trauma and drama that almost swallowed us whole these last few weeks.
We park across the street from a boxy white building with aluminum siding wrapped around the facility. It looks good—modern in a stainless, sterile sort of way, and yet everything about it makes me frown. A long line of people wait to get in. Each one is hopped up on Friday night excitement, screaming and laughing as if they’re already three sheets to the wind.
“What is this place?” Stevie leans in. Her dark hair falls over my lap, the heft of it gently slapping my dick. I want to braid it, dig my fingers in, bury my face in it and take a nap, anything but go into that nightclub.
“This is Gravity.” The words tumble from my mouth, dry as cotton. “That was my name and my club, and the jackass took it.”
The whites of her eyes glint as she darts her gaze to each of mine in a repetitive pattern—reminds me of an old clock my aunt used to have in her kitchen, a Siamese cat that would look back and forth without stopping.
“Who’s the jackass?”
“Hans Lionheart. He swiped Gravity right out from under me.”
“Hans Lionheart,” she whispers as if she’s testing it out on her lips.
We get out and bypass the crowds, head straight to security, and I hand him a wad of one hundred dollar bills. The buffed-out gym rat opens the velvet rope and lets us in like glorified VIPs.
“Smooth, Cannon.” Stevie jumps up and kisses my cheek. I should have turned my face and taken it on the lips. I’m eating her up in that short red dress, subtle as a siren, those four-inch heels that easily put her in kissing range. I’ll get my kiss, but I’m hoping she initiates it. I’m hoping she wants this night to end exactly how I do, and Gravity and all of its hijacked glory has nothing to do with it. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she whispers. Her lashes settle to her cheeks. “We shouldn’t be out together.”
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