by Tasha Fawkes
Neither one of us said anything for several minutes. The waitress looked over at our table a couple of times, but each time, I softly shook my head. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of sadness and disappointment. Regardless of what had just happened, I had gotten my hopes up.
Had I really thought that Scott would forsake Kristin and claim he wanted me, come hell or high water? That I was more important to him than all the money in the world? Thinking that Scott still felt something for me? Something more than he had in high school, anyway. He reached his hand across the table, palm up. I stared at it for several moments, wanting more than anything to place my hand in his, but I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
“I’d better be getting home,” I said softly. “Tomorrow, Kristin and I have several appointments, so I probably won’t see you.” I paused, then took a deep breath and said what I needed to say. “Scott, I want you to know that I don’t regret what we did. And I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t feel… but nothing’s going to come of it.”
He nodded and I quickly slid out of the booth and walked out of the diner without a backward glance. While I admired Scott for wanting to take responsibility for his actions, I wanted to scream at him for allowing himself to be roped into a loveless marriage; one that would prove to make him miserable. If the child turned out to be his, I had no doubt that he would do right by that child in the ways of support, but to be saddled with a woman like Kristin just because of money or the fear of losing it?
That was something I couldn’t, and probably never would, understand.
Chapter Fourteen
Megan
Two weeks passed. Interminable, difficult, and heart-wrenching weeks, at least as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t believe that I was having such a hard time adapting to this new arrangement that Scott and I had agreed to. What was that saying? The more you weren’t supposed to do something, the more you wanted to do it?
I carried on working for Kristin, but on the occasions that Scott was around, it felt like torture. With every beat of my heart, I ached with the knowledge of what was truly going on. Every time I had to sit next to Kristin, pretend to be happy for her, and planning her upcoming nuptials, and of course, the baby shower, I resented her more and more. What kind of a person would do that to someone? Could she possibly think it was beneficial to force someone into marriage? Did she possibly think that some day, Scott would actually fall in love with her?
I also grew increasingly frustrated with Scott. How could he allow this to happen? How could he buckle under like this? It had been two weeks since Scott and I slept together, and every night, I lay in bed, reliving those moments. Sometimes even resorting to giving myself pleasure, recalling and reliving every second of sex with Scott. But it was more than just sex, more than a momentary pleasure. I felt so connected to him, on a soul level. I knew that sounded corny, but it’s true. And it wasn’t just my teenage feelings for him burgeoning to the surface. Sure, they had always been there, but now, ten years later, I was startled by my growing desire and love for him, despite everything going on around him. Around us.
Every time I saw him or heard his voice, my heart raced. When I could watch him unobtrusively, admire his profile, I felt a surge of warmth burgeoning in my nether regions. It wasn’t just desire either. It was emotional. Once, when I heard him laughing on the phone in the kitchen while I sat at the dining room table, my breasts had tingled, remembering the soft laugh he had made after we made love at the B&B.
Bottom line? I realized that I was truly in love with him. It wasn’t going to go away, dammit. I couldn’t help feeling that serendipity, fate, kismet, whatever you wanted to call it, had brought us back together after nearly a decade apart.
What made it worse was knowing that he didn’t love Kristin and likely never would. I had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that he was as attracted to me as I was to him. I knew where those feelings came from on my part. But on his? In his mind, was any woman, besides Kristin, someone he could latch his hopes and his affection onto? Was I merely a convenience, or were his claims of his feelings for me true, deep-down and honest feelings?
I knew there was a child involved. I knew the issue was complicated. But I had a deep belief that if Scott and I were honest with each other, most especially about our feelings, we might find a way to be together. I had grown so comfortable just seeing him, being around him, hearing his voice, and enjoying the few moments that we found to be alone… they were invigorating and never failed to bring me a sense of tranquility and satisfaction. The thought of never seeing him again, of not being around him, was disheartening, and I avoided those dark thoughts as much as possible.
But what could I do?
That afternoon, two weeks after our visit to the vineyard, I came to a decision. I couldn’t go on like this much longer. I had to talk to him. I had to tell him that I loved him. Maybe this would be my last chance. If he loved me, he could still back out of the engagement. Sure, it might cause him some embarrassment—and potential financial ruin—but maybe if he knew just how strongly I felt about him, it would be enough to encourage him to take that leap of faith, that leap for love rather than love of money.
He wasn’t a bad guy. He just lacked true self-confidence in himself and his abilities. He’d never had to put himself to the test. Not really. I never thought I’d adapt to our new circumstances after my dad killed himself. But you know what? It wasn’t so bad. Sure, we struggled, but my mom and I had each other. We loved each other. That, to me, was worth more than a fat bank account. Sure, money helped, but it wasn’t everything. I wished Scott realized that. I decided that there was only one thing that I could do. I had to lay all my cards on the table. So did Scott. The only way we could do that was to talk and get it out in the open.
Later that afternoon, with Kristin in the kitchen, rewriting—again—the potential menu ideas for the wedding that I had created after going over the possibilities with her umpteen times, I sat in the living room, reviewing my notes regarding hotel accommodations for guests who are coming in from out of state. Time was running out. Once those invitations were sent out, it would be difficult for Scott to put the brakes on his wedding plans—if he decided to, that is. I had written a small note and tucked it into my pocket on the off chance that I would be able to catch him alone at some point today. I had begun to lose hope when abruptly, he entered the house, looking frazzled.
He glanced around, saw me on the couch, and paused, his eyes lingering on my face, a silent communication passing between us. I rose, and making as if I needed to go upstairs, I quickly pulled the note from my pocket and pressed it into his hand. Without giving him a second glance, I went upstairs. I felt like a spy. I felt… uncomfortable, but at the same time, a certain burgeoning sense of desperation grew inside me. Now or never.
The note I had passed him was cryptic:
Five o’clock.
I hadn’t dared write anything else, just in case Kristin managed to find the note. I had even disguised my handwriting. I felt silly, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. I assumed that Scott would be smart enough to know what the words meant. To meet at the diner in my neighborhood.
Well, I would find out sooner or later, wouldn’t I?
***
I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes after five. Would he show up? We had agreed that we wouldn’t pursue any kind of a relationship. I knew that. I had to tell him how I felt. Then I told myself that I would let the chips fall as they may. At least he would know. After that, I would except whatever decision he made, but I had to hear it from his own lips.
I stared down at my porcelain mug of coffee, now growing lukewarm. I was relieved that a different waitress had been on shift this evening when I came in. Nothing like being too obvious. I would give Scott another ten minutes and if he didn’t show up by then, I would have my answer.
Then I looked up and there he was, approaching the booth in the corner. Dusk had approached and I sat, half shadowed
in that corner, my back to the window. I couldn’t read his expression. He slid into the booth, glanced at the window, then pulled the string to lower the blinds. My heart skipped a beat and I felt a surge of guilt rushing upward, accompanied by a brief flash of panic. I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have come. I—
“I thought we agreed, Megan, not to—”
His voice was soft, gentle, filled with… regret? I swallowed and nodded. “There’s something you need to know.” He started to speak but I held up my hand, shaking my head. “No, just let me say it, all right?” His eyes never left my face as he nodded.
“Scott, I love you.” There. I said it. “I have to be honest about my feelings. It’s growing increasingly difficult to be around you if we can’t be together. It’s too… painful.”
I noticed the dark smudges under his eyes, the way he glanced down at the table, fingering the napkin and dull silverware in front of him. He looked up. His posture almost looked… crumpled.
“I’m truly sorry, Megan. I know this isn’t easy—”
I rushed on. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Scott, but I also know that if you marry Kristin, you’ll be resigning yourself to a life of misery. I think you know that too.” He said nothing, merely glanced down at that damned napkin again, then up at me, his expression pained.
“I know I’ve waffled once or twice, but I can’t watch this anymore. I can’t watch you destroy yourself, surrender yourself to Kristin or your dad. You’ll never be happy with her, and I think you know that.” He offered a brief nod and I rushed forward, desperate to get it all out. “You can still be there for your child, without having to marry her. You can be a great father. I know that. But, Scott, I—”
“I think I’ve loved you since high school,” he interrupted, his voice low and filled with regret. “You should’ve said something then. I should have, but I didn’t. I was a jerk, afraid to commit myself. And then it was too late, and you were gone.”
I stared, dismayed, and then my heart burst with what I could only describe as an intense joy—an intense joy filled with the most unbearable pain. The joy won over; not triumph, not like I had just come in first place, but a gradual flush of pleasure, peace, and relief, knowing the truth. Then reality hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.
“So what are we going to do?” He reached out his hand for mine. This time, I placed my hand in his and he clasped it.
“The first thing we’re going to do is get out of here. Let’s go someplace more private, where we can talk.”
As it turned out, we did a lot more than talk. He had parked his car behind the diner, and we walked to it and climbed in. He drove away from my neighborhood, hit the on-ramp to the freeway, and we headed east toward the San Gabriel Valley. Neither one of us said a word. My thoughts were spinning. What did this mean? I knew that we would end up in bed, and I relished the thought while at the same time trying to tamp down feelings of guilt. My feelings were true, and I believed Scott’s feelings for me were true also. He wasn’t married yet. I kept telling myself that. He hadn’t taken his vows.
But did that make it okay? And what would happen when he did?
We ended up at a nice yet nondescript hotel near Pasadena. I waited in the car while he checked us in. When he emerged from the sliding glass doors, I saw him finishing a phone call, and then he slid the phone back into his pocket. Calling Kristin? Telling her that he would be late, or that he’d left on a sudden business trip? Again, I shook guilty thoughts out of my head. I deserved a little bit of happiness, didn’t I?
The next few hours passed in a blur, most of my memories of our brief stay at the hotel filled with passion, emotion, and, honestly, struggles with my own conscience. When we made love this time, it wasn’t nearly as frantic, frenetic, or desperate as it had been the first time.
One particular instance still got my blood pumping. In the bedroom, we barely made it to the bed before we sat down, so close to each other you couldn’t have pried us apart with a shoehorn. He wrapped his arms around me as I wrapped my arm around his waist, feeling his solid bulk, his muscles, the way his body tensed when my fingers clutched at his back. We kissed then, not needing to say a word, our lips and tongues and hands and fingers exploring, tugging at clothes, sliding inside to feel warm skin…
He squeezed my breast and then tweaked the nipple, then moved to the other. My hands explored his, his small nipples hard and erect, the muscle beneath so unyielding. He lay me back on the bed, his fingers unbuttoning my pants, me doing the same. I felt his erection, long and hard, straining for freedom. The next moment we lay pressed against each other, our pants tangled around our ankles. He probed, and I squeezed. My breath— and his—grew erratic, uneven, harsh with desire. Before I knew it, my breasts lay exposed to his view, and I saw his engorged dick wavering toward me with a seeming life of its own, pulsing with desire.
I reached for that cock of his, wrapped my fingers around it, and stroked its velvety softness, the skin sliding gently while beneath it was as hard as a rock. He broke off the kisses, released his mouth from my nipple, and watched as my hand clasped his erection. The image seemed to thrill him, especially when my thumb traced a lazy circle around his head. It bounced. Soon, his cock was slick with moisture. His breath grew harsh.
He reached for my hips and encouraged me to spread my legs. I did. His hand stroked my mound, then slid further, his fingers exploring my slit. His dark tanned fingers looked so stark against my pale skin. And then he tweaked my nub and slid one of those fingers inside, probing, exploring, teasing. I gasped.
His face looked flushed, as I was sure mine did as well. I spread my legs further apart and he stared down at my slit, his pupils dilating more. Just watching him look at me prompted a surge of wetness, and my lower lips pulsed with desire. He reached down for his pants, retrieved something from them, and then I realized it was a condom wrapper.
His eyes never leaving my pussy, he tore open the packet and slid the latex over his engorged cock, then looked at me. I nodded. He nestled himself between my legs and then in one surge, pushed inside. I gasped. I couldn’t help the low gurgle of pleasure that escaped my lips. I threw my head back onto the pillow, my hands now clutching his shoulders, my breasts lifting upward, throbbing and aching for the touch of his tongue. Then he was there, swirling around my nipples, first one and then the other, leaving a trail of liquid heat behind him. I lifted my hips and then slowly gyrated, pleased at the groan I elicited from his lips.
We rocked together, slowly and sensuously, no hurries, just relishing every sensation, every little move. I took in every inch of him and still wanted more. After endless moments of bliss, his hips began to move faster and I met him, stroke for stroke. My hips thrusted upward with every dive he took. I felt his balls slapping against my ass as he went even deeper. I accommodated him, spreading my knees wider, my breasts jiggling with the pounding—faster, harder, deeper. I had to clench my teeth to prevent myself from squealing with pleasure I had never experienced before.
Then, without having to say a word, I knew it was time. We both slowed down. I glanced up at his face, saw the vein in his neck throbbing, his eyes hooded, his jaw tightly clenched. I felt the waves of my climax surging and slowed my movements still more, circling my hips while pressing his ass close between my legs, still trying to pull him in even deeper. And then, as our movements grew even more sinuous and we slowed more, I felt it surging upward, the sensations burgeoning, growing, unstoppable. I gasped and felt my muscles clench around his dick as I climaxed, followed seconds later by the rippling contractions of his orgasm.
And then we lay there, he collapsed on top of me, breath warming my neck, both of us gasping for air as we rode the waves of pleasure
***
It was nearly midnight when Scott dropped me off in front of my apartment building. I saw my mom’s car in her parking space and turned to smile at Scott as I reached for the door handle. Yes, things were going to get complicated, but
we had both made a commitment to the other. Physically as well as emotionally. We loved each other. I knew it. While we didn’t talk about it, I had hoped that Scott would realize that true love was more valuable than any bank account; that with love, people could survive. I had learned to live without luxury and I was sure that Scott could as well. He just needed to realize it for himself.
Despite misgivings on the one hand, my selfish side decided to enjoy Scott as long as I could, until the moment he said his vows. I knew I was setting myself up for incredible pain, but I deserved to be happy, even if for a short while, didn’t I? Kristin didn’t love him, so was being with him so evil? I wasn’t evil. I was just… I was just a woman in love, trying to hold onto what I could until the very last second. That didn’t make me so bad, did it?
We kissed goodnight, the kiss tender and gentle, our lips lingering, hesitant to part. But then, I abruptly turned, opened the car door, and stepped out. He didn’t drive away until he saw me slide my key into the lock and enter my apartment.
I found mom sitting at the kitchen table, still in her scrubs, sipping her usual chamomile tea before bed. She glanced up at me with a smile.
“Well, she’s keeping you busy, isn’t she?”
For a moment, I didn’t follow. And then I nodded. After what had just happened between Scott and me, our conversation, followed by passionate sex, I knew that it was time to come clean with my mom about what was going on between us. She had long been encouraging me to find that special someone, to settle down, start growing a family. I smiled, my heart lifting as I sat down across from her.
“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” she commented, laughing softly as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips. “You have a good day?”
“Better than good, Mom,” I said. “I have something to tell you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “What is it, honey?”
