So. Long.: Bad Boy Next Door (39 page)

For the fifth time, I tuck the white stick into the box. I
wish I could put the results into a box as easily.

Positive. As in, I’m positively pregnant. And so screwed.

I need to get a place of my own. Shayna insists I stay here.
But the glamor of a new baby will wear off in a hurry, and I plan to move out
before it strains our relationship—no matter what kinds of arguments she throws
at me.

I trash the box, wash my hands, and head to the kitchen for
something to settle my stomach. Bread might work. When I hit the doorway, I
stop.

Jackson sits at the table.

My queasy stomach turns a somersault. I dash for the sink.

I hang onto the counter as the small bit of food I was able
to hold down for breakfast comes up.

Big hands pull my hair away from my face. “Wow. Never had
that
reaction to my presence before.”

I turn on the water and rinse my mouth. A towel appears in
my peripheral. I take it and swipe it across my chin and neck.

“What are you doing here, Jackson? I told you before that
you should always call. This time I’m actually sick. You should leave before
you catch something.”

“Are you going to break out with a case of uncontrollable,
raging rabbit squirts next?”

I toss him a look.

He coughs into his hand. “Sorry. I—you don’t seem too
inclined to take my calls lately.”

I close my eyes and do my best to swallow the next bout of
nausea fighting to embarrass me. “I’ve been busy. Lots of time with Dave and
working on my next book.”

If you can call staring at a blank screen working.

“You and Dave are still a thing, huh?”

I shrug. “Sure. Why wouldn’t we be? I told you my methods
work.”

His arms come around me, and his eyes connect with mine. “I’ve
been missing you, Peaches.”

My nerves go haywire. I bite the inside of my lip.

His hold tightens, and everything in me wants to melt into
him.

But I’m not ready to get pulled back in. How do I tell him
what he deserves to know? Or does he deserve to know anything? He’d only have
one suggestion.
Take care of it.

“Haven’t you missed me at all?” he whispers in my ear,
sending a shiver through me.

No. It’s too fresh. I have to wait until I get a handle on everything.
Plus, there’s no sense in telling him until I’m further along. It’s an
unnecessary argument if something should happen that would make the
conversation null and void.

I withdraw from his grasp. “Now that things have finally
started working with Dave, I really need to focus on that relationship. I have
a bet to win so my book doesn’t get ditched.”

He nods, his expression stony as he shoves his hands into
his pockets. “All right; I get it. I guess I should go. I’ll have Cindy give
you a call. We’ll need to send in Shayna soon. We plan on revealing the results
of the bet on Friday, the twelfth.”

He straightens his hunched shoulders and turns to leave.

I follow him to the door, my hand pressed over the knot of
fear lodged beneath my breastbone.

He steps into the sun. When he opens the car door, he stands
for a moment, his gaze holding mine. He lifts a finger in salute and slides
into his seat.

Something propels me down the walkway. “Jack! Wait.”

He hops out and leans on the roof of his car. I stop at the
passenger side.

“So a few days ago, you said we were friends. Did you mean
it?” I hold my breath.

His lip pulls up on one side, revealing a dimple. “Yeah. I
meant it.”

“Well, just because I’m seeing Dave, it doesn’t mean you and
I can’t hang out—if we’re friends. Right?”

His eyebrows shoot up and his half-grin blooms into a full
smile that takes over his face. “Sure. I guess. I’m still going to hound you to
let me suck on that peach-flavored pussy one more time. But if you can handle
that, then—yeah. Let’s do it.”

His joke sends a thrill of heat through me, blocking out the
sickness that seemed to have settled in.

I wink. “Well, I suppose if you can handle the rejection…”

“I don’t get rejected often, but I can learn.” He slaps the
top of his car lightly. “So, when can we hang out?”

“Whenever you want. Well, unless I’m out with Dave or
working.”

“Tell you what: you give me a call when you have some free
time. I’ll pick you up. We can—I don’t know. We’ll find something to do.”

My first unforced smile in days creeps across my face.
“Okay. I’ll do that.”

I swing around toward the house, that tiny kernel of
excitement deep inside shining so brightly that I can’t hide it. Good thing he
can’t see my lips.

Shay stands inside. “What was all that?”

“Even though I told Jack that Dave and I are still an item,
he wants to hang out.”

She grins and shakes her head. “Well, wonder of wonders. Perhaps
he’s not a total ass after all.”

Dickey Bird crackles and caws. “Ass. Kiss my feathered ass.”

Shay and I look at each other. He hangs upside down in his
cage, his head turning this way and that as he nibbles at his wooden toys. We
burst out laughing.

The two-ton brick that’s been sitting on my shoulders seems
so much lighter all of the sudden. “When did you teach him that?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t.”

The cursor blinks at the top left corner of the virtual
page. It stares at me as though it expects greatness to flow into it via Times
New Roman fonts all typed into neat rows.

This is the worst part of starting any document. New books
especially.

Instead, I mess around, checking my social media accounts. I
look at my bank statement. Anything is a good distraction to put off working on
a relationship self-help book, when I obviously know
nothing
about
relationships.

I’m a complete and total fraud. One day, not long from now, some
reader is going to show up to a book signing. Instead of trying to attack me,
they’ll stand with their finger pointed, yelling, “
Fraud!”

I can’t believe
Decode the Man in Your Life
isn’t an
abject failure. I can’t even capture the man
I
love. Hell, I can barely
keep his attention for as long as it takes me to suck him off and let him do
the same for me. That’s why I keep putting off calling him to get together—as
friends
.

I can’t do
friends
with Jackson. And even though I
wish that somehow he’d change if he knew about the baby, a million women would
probably tell me differently. He and I don’t have the same long-term goals.
He’s not going to suddenly want to be a father simply because we’re friends.

I grab my phone. Gee-Gee will know what I should do.

On the fourth ring, she picks up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Gee-Gee.” I let out a slow sigh.

“Uh oh. I know that sound. What’s going on, Baby?”

All of the sudden, my throat clogs with tears that want to
strangle me. My breaths hitch and I can’t talk. All I get out is a high pitched
whine.

On the other end, Gee-Gee tut-tuts. “Now, Sweetie, calm
down. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. Did you have an
accident?”

I pull in a shaky breath and wipe the wetness from my eyes.
“Yes. But, not like you th-thi-think.”

Her tone changes to something more like the steel-backboned
woman I admire so often. “Now, Ronnie. You need to tell Gee-Gee what’s going
on.”

I’m five years old again and I’ve broken the chain off my
bike and scraped my knee, and the only one in the world who can fix me is Gee-Gee,
because she’s the only one who was always there. Mom worked all the time and
she would run Dad off anytime he tried to visit.

Word vomit spews from my mouth. “I’m in love. He’s famous.
He’s a playboy. He’s never going to want me for more than—than—”

I push out what I’m really getting at. “I—I’m pregnant. But
he won’t want the baby.”

The silence on the other end might as well be thunder
booming. I cringe. I wait. Nothing.

“Gee-Gee?”

A deep breath comes through the line.

“Well, sweet girl, it sounds like you backed into that
relationship.”

I bite my lip and sniffle as her words sink in.

“I really did, didn’t I?”

“Now, you need to start at the beginning and see if you
can’t turn it around. And if not, then he’s not the man you and your baby need,
that’s when you wait. God will send the one you need.”

The tears spring up again. I press my fingers over my mouth,
but the wail comes out anyway.

I sniff the snot threatening to run down my face and grind
out my words between clenched teeth. “But I don’t want another man, Gee-Gee. I
want Jackson.”

More soothing sounds come through, but I’m not comforted. As
much as she tries, I’ll never be happy. I’ve got a baby with no daddy, and as
soon as he finds out I’m going to get pregnant-fat and all unsexy, he’ll drop
me like a pair of dirty drawers.

I’m such a colossal moron. How could I have done this to
myself? I knew what he was from the moment we met.

Gee-Gee clears her throat. “You still there, Baby Girl?”

My voice is small. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sweet child, there has to be something good in him if you
started any kind of relationship with him. Uncover it and show it to him.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Now, when do you go back on his show to finish
up this bet business?”

I let out another long sigh. But then a tiny spark of hope
ignites in my heart.

She chuckles. “God’s in charge, Baby Girl, and He’s good
every day.”

I wish I shared her faith. I dab my tears with a tissue as
we say goodbye.

I slump at my desk. The one Jack put together—three times.
Three times to get it right. But he took the time. He was frustrated. He
could’ve thrown up his hands and said
forget it
, but he didn’t. He
stayed and finished it—for me.

That was the day he called us friends. Maybe we
can
be friends—at the very least. And if so, then I’ll gauge his reaction to my
pregnancy before I tell him he’s the father.

I suck in a deep breath and hold it. No. I need to not get
ahead of myself. One thing at a time.

Friends.

Try to make that work. And don’t let it crash and burn.

Decode the Man in Your Life

Chapter [3]:
Men Are Smarter Than You Think

Correction: Men Are Fucking Idiots

 
FIFTEEN

I pace the living room.

Bax’s head turns every time I change direction, like he’s
watching a basketball game.

I stop and hold my phone up. The words
Ronnie Fitz
top her photo.

“Should I call? It’s been a week. She should’ve had some
free time by now, right?”

He holds both hands up. “Fuck, man. Don’t ask me. My love
life’s in the shitter. I’m the last person who should hand out advice on affairs
of the heart.”

“Don’t you have some kind of medicine man on speed dial who
can give you a love potion or something?”

“What the fuck? I’m Native American, not Druid, or whatever
the hell religion uses magic. Voodoo I have no idea, but no—wrong race, man.”

I nod. “Sorry. I’m not a racist fuck; I promise.”

Bax grins, shaking his head. “I know that, Brother. Trust
me, if I had a potion, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d be getting ready for a
beautiful weekend of fucking.”

I huff. “Fucking is what got us into this mess to start
with.”

“You know it.” He pushes his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t do enough to make Ronnie see me as anything but a
fuck. I should’ve—hell if I know—what do people do to get other people to
actually like them? I’m not sure she ever really
liked
me.”

“Fuck. I was never interested in getting women to like me.
As a matter of fact, women who like me too much are generally a problem. I usually
only want them to want me for a couple of hours.”

“I should go have a visit with our man, Dave. Fuck him up.
Maybe he’ll quit seeing her.”

“Whoa, Cowboy. Didn’t you hire him to date her?”

“So? I’ll fire his ass with my fucking fist.”

“Look, I’m all in for a good ass kicking. But you should consider
what you’re saying. The guy’s gay. You’re looking at a hate crime charge. That
comes with a price tag way more expensive than a few months in juvie.”

“But he’s not gay if he’s fucking Ronnie. Besides, it would
be a hate crime. I hate that he’s fucking my girl.”

He shakes his head. “Man, she’s got you wound up like a
Jackson-in-the-box, ready to spring into oblivion.”

“Hilarious, Fucker.”

He laughs like a freaking lunatic. “You’re so fucked up,
you’re
Fitz
to be tied.”

“Wow, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you? Asshole.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it. I saw the shot, had to take it.”
He wipes the tear he squeezed out of his eye and straightens in his seat.
“Seriously, there’s got to be something we can do.”

I plop into the chair across from him, gripping my head in both
hands.

Think. Think. What does she need from me?

I drop my hands. “Maybe we should take a look at Ronnie’s
book. I mean, if it works to get men to fall for women, why wouldn’t it work
the other way around?”

“Didn’t you read it already?”

“Only the chapter headings.”

Bax eyes me like I’m an idiot.

“What? I’m a busy man.” Well, I am.

 He asks, “Do you have a copy?”

“Let me check.”

I have to do
something
. I don’t even care to fuck
anyone else. I thought I should. Thought I could. I even took Bax out to find
us each a piece of ass, but not one of the ladies I already know or met that
night remotely pricked my interest or stirred my senses. No woody—no sex. This
shit sucks.

Three hours later, I sit, forehead in one hand, Ronnie’s
book in the other.

Bax mirrors my position on the opposite end of the couch.
“What chapter are you on? I’m on chapter six. Men want honesty. I’m not so sure
I care about honesty. Do you?”

“Honesty? Shit, I don’t know. I’m on chapter ten. I don’t
get ninety-five percent of this. I must be a fucking idiot. Or maybe that’s the
problem, I’m not a man—like the kind of man a woman should want.”

I could have wined her, dined her, wooed her—I
should
have let her see that there’s more to me than my cock.

Bax points to the page. “She says women should tell men what
they need. Fuck that. I just need her to want me. Men can figure out what their
women need. Can’t we?”

My mind races. I’ve never felt so out of my depth. “I’m
going to ask her.”

Bax snatches the book out of my hands. “The hell you are.”

“Why not? She wrote it; she can explain it.” I try to take
the book.

Bax yanks it out of my reach. “Don’t tip your hand like
that, you fucking idiot.”

The phone vibrates. I check the screen.

Jackson.

Do I answer? Of course I answer. Why does he make me act so
ridiculous?

Giddiness gathers in my chest, even though I’m still pissed.
I dig deep to summon at least a little backbone from the puddle of hormones
quivering at my feet and begging me to run to him, fall into those muscular
arms, and forget all about the fact that he’s an ass who would do away with our
baby—and that he set me up to look like a fool.

I force the small lilt of excitement out of my voice.
Deadpan it. That’s all he deserves. “Hello.”

“Hey, Peaches, I miss you.” The soft rasp in his voice goes
straight through my heart and right on down to my pussy.

Play it cool. “What’s going on, Jack?”

His long inhale comes through the line. “Since you haven’t
called me, I figured I’d call you. Want to get together?”

I close my eyes and rub the little ache between my eyebrows.
“I don’t know—”

“Wait. Don’t turn me down. Listen, I was thinking of having
a Valentine’s week run up to the big day. You know, bring a little something
extra to the viewers. We had some pretty good ratings when you were on, so I
thought maybe you’d consider coming on again.”

What the hell? “Shay hasn’t even had a go at Dave yet.”

He chuckles. “Oh, no. Not what I meant. I’m just talking
about you. Come on the show and we’ll chat a bit more in-depth about your
book.”

“Really? The last time, you all but threw it in the garbage
right on stage.”

“Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry for that, Ronnie. I’ve actually been
reading a bit of it here and there. You bring up some interesting theories.
After the run-in with the guy at the bookstore, I thought maybe you could go
through some of the traits women should look for in a man.”

Exhilaration zips through me. This could mean a big boost in
sales—doubly so if Jack is on board and isn’t out to trash it. “Maybe we can
stick to four or five. I shouldn’t give all of them away, because then people
won’t buy the book.”

“Four or five would be great. I’ll pick a couple, and you choose
one or two. That way we can have a real conversation about them.”

A
real
conversation. With Jack. About what traits are
desirable in a man. This should be interesting.

I brush the hair away from my damp forehead with shaky
hands. The acid in my mouth makes me feel the need to puke again, just to get
it out. I stand and push out of the stall, staggering to the sink.

A lady with silvered hair thrusts a paper towel into my
hands. “How far along are you, dear?”

I step back from her, pointing to myself. “Me?”

Her sweet smile widens. “Who else?”

“But I’m not—I—”

She crosses her arms, her green eyes sparkling with a
knowing look. “Oh, it’s all right. We all go through it. Morning sickness is
rarely confined to the morning. How far?”

I lean over the sink and crank on the water. I splash my
face and rinse my mouth, hoping she’ll disappear before I finish. But when I
look up, she stands behind me, another paper towel at the ready.

I take the offered help. “Thank you. I’m not sure how far
along exactly. I haven’t been to a doctor yet.”

Her dimples deepen. “Well, you get on in to see one and make
sure everything is going all right. The sickness should get better before long.”

“I hope so. It always seems to happen at the worst possible
times.” I straighten my dress, apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, and fluff my
hair.

“Hang in there. Before you know it, you’ll be carrying that
babe in your arms, and then it will be hanging off your elbows, and one day
you’ll turn around and he’ll be all grown up, making a life of his own. My son
didn’t stay little nearly long enough.”

“Well, thank you for the help. I’m supposed to be getting
ready to go on stage, so I’d best go.”

“What’s your name, dear?”

I extend my hand. “Oh, I’m so rude. Please forgive me. I’m
Ronnie Fitz.”

Her eyes widen a bit. “I’ve heard of you. It’s lovely to
meet you in person.”

I lay my hand over my thumping heart. “You’ve heard of
me
?”

She shrugs. “You have a book, don’t you?”

A little thrill of excitement rushes through me. “I do. I do
have a book.”

“You’d better go, or they’ll be looking for you. I hear the
host can be a handful.”

“That’s what they say.” A little spark ignites deep inside. Only
a few more minutes, and I’ll see him again—even if only for the limited time
we’re in front of a live audience.

At the T at the end of the hall, I look both directions. The
greenroom’s to the left, or was it right? Aw damn. I forgot to ask the sweet
woman’s name. Can’t go back now, she’s probably just dropped her drawers and
getting to business. I’ll ask, if I run into her again.

I check my phone. Another hour before the show even starts.
Why on Earth they want guests to be here so early, I will never understand.

I find the greenroom after going the wrong direction and
having to turn around. Why can’t they paint the halls different colors or
something to make it easier to find where you came from?

I sit on the sofa, scrolling through emails. I wish I’d have
brought Shay with me to at least keep me company.

A few minutes roll by and Cindy pops her head in. “Ms. Fitz,
can you please come with me?”

I check the time. “The show hasn’t started early, has it?
Are we taping?”

She shakes her head. “No. Mr. Tremaine wants to go over a
couple of things with you before you go on.”