Always Wrong

by Xyla Turner

  When we were back at the beach house, well, both of our beach houses, Jacquez spent the night. I didn’t think anything of it until I woke up to him staring at me while I was sleeping. The sun had barely risen, and I thought the two of us would be jetlagged, but not him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked as I nabbed the glass of water on my night table.

  Without any hesitancy, he asked, “Last night, you said that I had asked you for your hand in marriage and that you had already said yes, but I forgot. When did you say yes?”

  Oh.

  Okay.

  Sitting up, I chuckled a bit and reminded him, “In the very beginning, we went through several bouts of verbal contracts. Baby, houses, citizenship, mating, and more. I agreed to each of them. Yet, when you got on one knee to ask me for my hand in marriage, I realized that you didn’t understand my original agreement. Everything you proposed then, I agreed to. I could have a baby with anyone, Jacquez. I don’t have to live in the same house with the father. Get dual citizenship with the father. Nor do I have to cohabitate with him in anyway. However, we decided to live our lives is what I agreed to.”

  “Sheryl, I asked you to marry me, and you said we get it always wrong. You turned me down,” he clarified.

  “No, Jacquez, we do get it always wrong. It shouldn’t have been let’s have a baby and do everything a married couple does except make it official. It should not be a marriage proposal after that plan fizzles out. It should have always been us falling in love first. We were out of order, and you know it.”

  He sat up and looked at me as if he wanted to argue, but there wasn’t a leg to stand on when it came to that point. We were wrong.

  “We’re not wrong for each other,” he pointed out. “We were just wrong with how we started.”

  I nodded, since that was something I could agree with. Seemingly looking for something to say, Jacquez finally spoke and said, “Marry me, Sheryl.”

  “Was that a question?” I asked.

  “No, it’s not a bloody question. I’m telling you to marry me. I’ve been trying not to be a pushy bloke, but crikey, woman. Fucking marry me. You see I’m all for you. Trying to do it right, we are right. Not bloody wrong.”

  Getting on all fours, I crawled to him and wrapped my legs around his waist. Then I leaned in and said, “I like that we were wrong. I don’t think we would have ever made it to right.”

  “Is that a yes?” he asked while searching my face as his eyes darted back and forth.

  “Yes, that’s a yes.” I kissed him chastely on the lips. “I will marry you.”

  “Bloody hell,” he exhaled. “Thank Christ.”

  That was when he turned me over on my back and began to pull the clothes off of me and then him with lightning speed. With no warning or even a check, Jacquez entered me, and I was ready. He pushed in, and we began to rock like an ocean cradling a boat that was set to coast. The timing and meeting of our hips created such friction that I came almost immediately. I held on to Jacquez as he took me under and began to hammer into me, causing me to cum again and again. With my nails digging into him and teeth causing indents in his tanned skin, I began to feel him stiffen inside me.

  “Cum, baby,” I coaxed. “Cum inside of me and fill me up.”

  And oh, did he. No contracts, no barriers or rules. If we didn’t get it wrong, we would have never gotten it right.

  When we finally woke up, Jacquez disappeared to his beach house and then came back twenty minutes later with a suitcase. Yup, no questions or any asking, just plain olé’ alpha man.

  “I guess you’re moving in,” I commented.

  Instead of answering me, he dropped on one knee and told me to come there.

  With a smile on my face, I sashayed over to him and sang, “Yes.”

  That was when he pulled out a black velvet jewelry box and opened it up to show the biggest, most beautiful ring I had ever seen. I mean, it was big and completely over the top, which I would not complain about.

  “Yes,” I answered before he could ask again. “I will marry you.”

  Always wrong.

  He pulled out the ring and slid it on my ringer. And then he stood up and kissed me hard. That led to him taking me right over the couch. It was rough but sweet and excruciating, as he kept building up the ache, and then when he finally let me release, it was us releasing together.

  That felt so right.

  Epilogue

  Jacquez

  Finally.

  Bloody finally. My mother was the first person that I told, and she said the same thing.

  Finally.

  Then she wanted to FaceTime so she could see Sheryl. Somehow, my phone was in her hands and she was walking away to talk with my mom. I watched her on the beach, laughing, smiling and nodding at whatever they were discussing. This made me feel good because my mom didn’t have any daughters, so this would be a great change for her. When Sheryl returned, she had a smile on her face and a kiss for me.

  “Your mother is the cutest thing.” She lingered in my arms. “I love her already. She’s pretty sassy.”

  Ahhh.

  This made sense, because the way Sheryl’s mom was described, she was someone that she’d mostly taken care of, because she was unable to do so for herself. Mental illness and other neglectful rubbish that my woman had overcome. She would love a mother figure and now that she had her true father, who’d opened up his arms and family – this was the life. I loved that for her.

  The next week, we went to visit my mom and stayed in New York for a week. The two of them often acted as though I was not in the room. My mom kept saying that she could not wait for some little babies. Sheryl didn’t take offense but agreed with her. I nearly kept her close to me and could not help but touch her. Lately we had been having a lot of sex, but we didn’t go our original route, which was tracking her ovulation timeframes or a bunch of other stress producing techniques. Before, she and I had been hyper focused on having a baby, but now our focus was on us. We wanted babies, but even if she couldn’t have any, we planned to adopt. This revelation made her tear up and crawl into my lap. We sat, like we did at the end of every evening watching the sunset, but this day, she cried silently in my chest and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Noah and Maxine came out to visit us while we were in New York. Maxine pulled Sheryl away almost immediately, and I was able to chat with Noah.

  “Feeling trapped yet, mate?” Noah asked with one eyebrow up.

  “Absolutely-fucking-not!” I slid him his signature drink as we toasted.

  This caused him to laugh out loud as he congratulated me and Sheryl.

  “Marriage is the best thing that happened to me, but it’s only because it’s with my soul mate.” He took a sip. “You’re going to love it. Sheryl is right up your alley. Won’t take any rubbish off you.”

  “You are correct, mate.” I chuckled as I thought about her denying me. “You are correct.”

  “Have you selected a date?” he asked.

  “We’re thinking it will be in a few months. Before she gets off of her sabbatical that she’s already extended. Just close family and friends,” I shared.

  “Doesn’t she have a big ole family in Indiana?” Noah asked.

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” I shook my head.

  “Well, I’m just glad that you and Sheryl worked this out, because the number of times Maxine has threatened to bury my ‘friend’ are too many to count. That was if you hurt her.” He shook his head, and though I was tempted to laugh, I knew there was some truth and seriousness around the threat.

  “Well, your wife called it. She tried to warn me that she would eat me alive.” I remembered the day I’d seen her, and she’d piqued my interest. Almost instinctively, it was like she was calling out to me, without paying me any damn mind. This woman.

  She was so resilient and capable. Sweet, yet tough as nails. Beautiful and confident. Sexy and adventurous. She did, in fact, eat me alive. I never stood a chance against her ways
. Here I’d thought I was running shit. I was, in fact, not.

  The day of the wedding, the entire family clan was in full effect, including her mother who seemed medicated enough. In addition, my mom, Elsbeth, my mates from London, Noah, Maxine, Harvey, Zora, Tammy, and executives at both of her companies, and mine were at the not so small wedding.

  We wrote our own vows, and standing on the beach in sunset, I told my lady, “I never stood a chance with you, and each time we were always wrong, but it was in those times when we were wrong, it when we found what was right. Us. I vow to love, cherish, devote, motivate, encourage, support and embrace you in sickness and in health. Even in uncertain times, the phone hang-ups, no coffee and irritable times. I’ll always love you, because two wrongs can make a right.”

  Fourteen Months Later

  Baby Janique was born to Sheryl and Jacquez Costa, weighing seven pounds and three ounces. It was then that the father knew two things. One, there was no way he could take an authoritative role with his princess and two, he would have to get bodyguards. As he held her, holding Sheryl’s hand as she softly slept after having their child, he laughed at the absurdity of his original thoughts. His mom had called it. The revelation hit him as he held the treasure that he tried to fit into his Baby Planning Project II proposal.

  Thank fuck, Sheryl put a stop to that shit.

  Now, he had the sun and the moon and would do everything to protect them both.

  The End - but get a sneak peek of my next novel, Lucas: Across the Aisle Series Book 4.

  Also check out the other previews…

  Thank you for reading Always Wrong. Jacquez and Sheryl have been with me a long time now, but I’m glad that you were able to meet them. Tell me what you could relate to or identify with in a review.

  Thank you again for your continued support!

  Lucas: Across the Aisle

  Zion Delaroo

  Something was wrong, and in my gut, I knew it, but I would not accept it. It was like a dark cloud over my head that only I could see. Nobody else knew about it, and the last person that was close enough to know, I got rid of him. He wasn’t a keeper. Yeah, he was literally the boy next door. Better yet, we were the high school king and queen. Not because we were popular, but because our GPAs were the highest. The school I attended did not go by those traditional mechanics of popularity. Your work is what spoke for you, which fueled the conqueror in me. My motto was about being original, ethical, and the hardest worker in the room. I did not accept defeat. As an option, but as I stared looking in the mirror, I knew, this one was out of my league. I tried to outsmart this thing, but it was coming back with a vengeance and that was not something I could accept. They say fate is a fickle bitch, but this thing. She had nothing on fate. Especially for a black woman. This was just fucked up.

  As one of the few black women in Congress, I prided myself on standing up for my people. My motto was, I was born to do this. Period. I had not made a lot of friends, but I had a strong few. This was a new season for me, my first term actually, and it was going to be great. I was meant for this. Nothing, and I mean nothing, would stop me from succeeding at this. I worked hard and would work harder. My dad’s voice was in my ear all the time. He was the town’s coach for years, and he produced more Division One players than almost the whole league. He and Coach Carter were close friends, he used to be the head coach for the semi-pro league, but now he had his own.

  “Who outworks you?” my dad used to drill in me.

  “Nobody. Ever.” Was always the answer.

  It was the same chant he gave to his players, who would have to do the suicide exercise until they were throwing up or they could not physically do it anymore. They deemed him to be excessive, but he argued that excessive won championships. After his third warning, he was let go from the team, in which shortly after that, while I was away at college, he passed away in his sleep. I maintain that he lost something that he never would get back. Or maybe he got tired of working so hard for people that didn’t want him. I will never know the answer, but I was crushed. No one could console me, I had to take off of school for a year, and I don’t think I could function for months. Mom had people coming over to pray for me, then she had therapists and counselors. But one day, somehow this coach, not the athletic kind, but a life coach came. I’ll never forget the words she said, because pure rage ran through me.

  “How long do you plan to sit here and wasted your life away like this?”

  My head slowly turned to look at her. She was a short woman, maybe five feet and four inches. She looked in shape, dressed in khakis with scrunch bottoms and a pair of Jordan’s on.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, because I knew that I didn’t hear her right.

  She nodded, took one step closer towards me, and asked again, but slower.

  “How long do you plan to sit here and waste your life away?”

  This woman was batshit crazy.

  “As long as I want,” was my retort.

  “Okay, then.” She nodded. “I get paid by the hour, so I’ll let your mother know to call me when you’re ready to get off your ass and do some work. I work with those that want to do the work.”

  This caused me to stand up with a burst of energy that I did even know I had.

  “Who are you?” I asked accusingly.

  “Jessica Bains, life coach,” she answered. “Maybe I’ll see you soon, when you’re ready.”

  To my surprise, she turned to leave, but a voice spoke from my mouth and the word wait came out. I swear it was beyond me. Sometimes I think it was my father, but that freaks me out some. Yet, she heard it and stopped.

  “Yes?” She turned around and looked at me in my eye.

  “I am always ready to work,” I told her, which was definitely me this time.

  “Well then, let’s do it. From what I hear, there’s a whole world waiting for you out there. Ready for you to conquer it. But that, Zion. That takes hard work.”

  It was a challenge. This was familiar to me and I guess I responded.

  “I can do it,” I told her those many years ago.

  Twenty-three to be exact, and now she’s a celebrity life coach with her own television show, and I still have sessions with her once a month. She often reminds me of that day and shared that she is so glad that I took the challenge because people were waiting for me to get into position. As I look at my engraved name etched on the gold plate outside of my new Washington, D.C. House of Representatives office, I smile, nod, and hold back a tear, sending private thanks to God, my father, and Mom. My constituents, campaign personnel, and supporters. Then I thank Coach Jessica. Finally, I thank myself for stepping up to the plate and give myself a moment to enjoy the victory.

  “Feels good, huh?” That moment was interrupted by a male voice.

  Turning my head to wipe my face, but not the makeup, I swung back around to look at the person who dared interrupt my time of thanks and smile.

  “Yes, hi, my name is Zion Delaroo.”

  My eyes landed on a tall man, fit, in shape, handsome, with a clean shave and even cleaner cut. His eyes were a light ocean blue that I’m sure his blue dress shirt and dark navy suit just accented. On his face was a smile, a warm one that didn’t seem pretentious or arrogant. No, this guy actually seemed to be genuine, but time always told.

  “Yes, I know.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I was rooting for you to win and boy, did you.”

  He was right.

  I won with seventy percent of the vote because my incumbent decided to keep running even after he was pulled over for his second DUI and seen outside with someone other than his wife. Some people, well white men, thought they were above the law. Kramer surely did. The people made their choice and came out in droves to say they would not tolerate it any longer. I was proud of them on this day. I planned to make them proud of me.

  This brought me to my current conversation, where this random guy said he was rooting for me.

  “Why?” I asked.

&
nbsp; One of his eyebrows lifted, then he shared, “Isn’t it obvious? We need more people of color and especially women of color at the decision table. It’s grossly inappropriate in favor of white men, and unfortunately, they have not voted in favor of the disadvantaged and underserved.”

  I blinked maybe a good two to three slow times to take in what the white man was saying about his white counterparts and himself.

  A chuckle escaped me before I asked, “You are white, right?”

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “So you’re talking about yourself then too.” I asked.

  This time, he was the one that blinked at me before answering. “It pains me to share that I am, but I hate to be categorized in the same boat at some of my counterparts. There’s a movement happening here in small and relevant ways, but yes, I own my privilege. I also know that having you here is about to shift some things, because your voice needs to be heard, Delaroo. Welcome to the House of Representatives.”

  He nodded his head with that last statement and made his exit, which was down the opposite side that I entered, which made me think his office was down there.

  Wow.

  That was weird, but oddly on point. Year 1 and Day 1 of my first time as a representative of the House for the United States, I was excited and thought I did not know all of the trials to come, but I was willing to put in the work to see it through.

  …

  To get updated on when Lucas, the last book in the Across the Aisle series comes out, click here or text 313131 to EZXYLA.

  Mr. Vega - Prelude

  “You live in the clouds, girl,” my mother snapped again. “Your art degree will not do anything. Like I told you six years ago. The agency is hiring, just like they were when I first came over here, eh.”