Complicated Parts: Book 1 of the Complicated Parts Duet

by Ashley Jade

  I don't mention that I have to do something I dread even more after class.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror and cringe. It's that time of the month I freaking hate, and it has nothing to do with aunt flow coming to town.

  I have to go on a date with a guy tonight. All so I can receive my monthly allowance.

  Unfortunately, there's an incentive clause in my parents' will stating that I can only receive my monthly allotment on the basis that I'm leading a healthy and productive life. That caveat is what gives my Nanna—who is basically the gatekeeper—grounds to make her unfair stipulations.

  I know the clause, as well as the reason for the trust not being turned over to me until I'm twenty-five, was their way of protecting me and trying to be good parents. It's a lot of money to hand over to a young person, and in the wrong hands, it could have disastrous effects.

  That said, the clause has made my life a living hell.

  Even the family lawyer tried telling my Nanna the clause alluded to drugs and overall reckless behavior—not their child's sexuality—but she argued that because my parents never specified that, it was within her right to take it as she saw fit since she's not only my guardian, but the trust is in her name until I'm twenty-five.

  Apparently, me being a lesbian is her definition of not living a healthy or productive life. Therefore, she thinks it's okay to bully and punish me into being straight.

  And because that money is the only thing I have left of my parents...I let her.

  I'd like to think my parents would be ashamed of her actions, but unfortunately, I'll never know.

  Thankfully, I only have four more years of this shit, and once the money is mine, revenge will be too—because Nanna Bishop is going to get the shock of her life when I find the hottest chick around and partake in one hell of a dining experience right on her precious million dollar, antique kitchen table.

  I can feel Breslin's eyes on me, but I'm completely unprepared for the next words out of her mouth. “Is there something going on between you and Preston?”

  My eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. Here I thought my best friend actually knew me. “What? No. What the hell is the matter with you?” I point to myself. “Strictly pussy over here.”

  Good grief, she can't be serious. My mind floats back to the night at the river and a weird feeling zips up my spine. I suddenly realize she's not exactly wrong about her suspicion, she's just way off base about the underlying part of it.

  But still, the fact that she can pick up on it at all is alarming. She's more perceptive than I give her credit for.

  Then again, we've always been able to read one another like a book.

  Kind of like how I know that she slept with both Landon and Asher recently, even though she won't tell me.

  That said, just because I had a conversation with Preston and told him things I've never told anyone else, including my best friend, it doesn't mean I have feelings for him.

  Feelings other than strong hate that is.

  I mean...he's having a baby with my fiancée. Correction—Ex-fiancée.

  He's also an asshole who comes equipped with a certain appendage that I want absolutely nothing to do with.

  I snatch some paper towels from the dispenser, disgust rippling through me. “I can't believe you'd even think such a thing. Let's put it this way—if an asteroid hit the earth, leaving only me and him to repopulate the planet or face my untimely demise via being eaten and probed by aliens...I'd gladly skip toward the aliens and thank them.”

  She blinks. “Look, I'm sorry—”

  Heat rises to my cheeks and I glare at her. I don't know if I'm more pissed at Breslin for thinking what she did, or at myself, because in some way that makes no sense...I didn't hate Preston for those few hours we talked on the bridge.

  And the thought of talking to him again? Isn't the worst thing in the world.

  “I don't want to talk about it right now.”

  Before she can say another word, I bolt out the bathroom door.

  III

  “The better the gambler, the worse the man.” ― Publilius Syrus

  I'm halfway through the courtyard when I hear it. “Preston?”

  I stop in my tracks, grimacing at the sound of her voice.

  She's carrying your child—I remind myself. A child I saw for the first time today.

  My brother is convinced it's not mine, considering Becca is a cheater and all—and logically I know he might be right.

  But the second I saw that image on the screen, something inside me shifted, and I realized there was no might about the baby I couldn't take my eyes off of. I felt it.

  Poor kid isn't even born yet and already it has the worst luck in the world.

  Slowly, I turn around to face her. “Hey.”

  Becca's face scrunches in confusion. “What are you still doing here? You dropped me off an hour ago.”

  She's right. I had every intention of going back to Yale after the appointment, but I felt like I had the weight of the world sitting in my pocket. And even though I knew I was the last person Kit wanted to see, I needed to do the right thing and give her mom's engagement ring back to her.

  It was the least I could do, considering the girl has lost so much already, and I'm ripping everything she ever wanted right out from under her.

  Even though I don't want it.

  Or rather, I didn't...because that sonogram is seriously fucking with me.

  She takes a step closer and I force myself to stay put. Becca's pretty, beautiful even. Her bleach-blonde hair and blue eyes, combined with her expensive and impressive rack would have most guys giving their right nut to have a shot with her. But unfortunately, she's also the reason they say beauty is only skin deep.

  Deciding to be honest with her, I say, “I stayed so I could talk to Kit.”

  Instantly, her posture turns rigid and it strikes me that it's the most emotion I've seen from the girl since I've known her. “Why?”

  I stick my hand in my pocket and fumble for my keys. “Because you never gave her back the engagement ring and you should have.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You had no right—”

  “Bullshit, Becca, we both know you shouldn't have it anymore. She didn't deserve what you did to her.”

  I want to add that I didn't, either. But unlike Kit, Becca's infidelity makes me feel annoyed rather than heartbroken.

  I glance down at her still flat belly, recalling the doctor said she was almost twelve weeks along already. “It was the right thing to do. I figure I should start setting a good example for my kid.”

  Her eyes widen. “This is the first time you called the baby yours.”

  Shit. I sit down on a nearby bench because my head is starting to whirl.

  She stands directly in front of me. “You're right. We should be setting a good example for the baby.”

  Before I can stop her, she places my hands on her belly. My heart does a little skitter when I feel the slight bump and I can't bring myself to tear away from the contact.

  “I know you're angry with me,” she says. “I know this isn't what you want, and I'm sorry for what I did. But I'm not sorry for creating this miracle with you.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as she places her hand on top of mine. “I know you don't believe me, but I swear you're the only guy I've been with. This is our baby, Preston. Don't punish it for my mistake.”

  I swallow the lump forming in my throat because she's right. This baby didn't ask to be born, but we created it. And as much as I wish I could take care of my responsibility without dealing with Becca—I can't, because we're in this together.

  No matter how I feel about her right now, I owe this kid the best life possible...and that means doing right by its mother too.

  I rest my forehead against her stomach. “I can't believe I'm gonna be a father.”

  Her fingertips graze my scalp. “For what it's worth, I think you'll be a great one.”

  “I hope so.” I d
on't want to be the father mine was.

  I place a kiss on her belly, silently vowing to be the best dad I can be.

  “Are we really doing this?” Becca whispers, her voice cracking. “Are we really gonna be a family?”

  “Yeah, we are.” The second the words leave my mouth, something in my peripheral vision catches my eye.

  For the briefest of moments, Kit's tear-stained eyes meet mine. She looks utterly devastated, but there's nothing I can do about it. I can't fix this situation, and I can't make it better for her.

  The only thing I can do is make it better for my family, because nothing else matters from this point on.

  I pull my gaze away and stand up, my attention back on Becca like it should be. “When is your next class?”

  She checks her watch. “In a half hour, but I really don't want to go. I'm so tired and hungry, all I want to do is eat and sleep.”

  I take in the bags under her eyes and steer her toward the exit.

  “Where are we going?” she questions.

  I loop my arm around her, tucking her to my side. “Home. This way I can take care of you and the peanut.”

  Neither of us looks at Kit as we stride past her.

  Three months later…

  IV

  "You and me and never us: a complicated series of almost interactions." ―William Bolitho

  “Oh, God, baby face. You're gonna make me come.”

  Words can't express how much I hate it when she calls me that. Especially during sex.

  She throws her head back and I grab her hips and slide into her again.

  On instinct, my eyes drift from her ginormous tits down to her now visible belly.

  I look away quickly, though. Last time we had sex and she caught me staring at it, she went crazy, and not in a good way.

  Instead of enjoying myself, I spent the next ten minutes explaining that I wasn't staring because she had gained weight, but that the sight of her carrying my child, although still overwhelming, was beautiful.

  It's like she didn't even hear me, because she went on and on, blaming the baby for making her look like a whale. My only option was to stick my head between her legs and get her off, because at least then she was too distracted to keep bitching.

  I watch as she rides out the rest of her climax, and right when I'm preparing to take over—she arches her back and starts fucking me into oblivion, screaming a slew of dirty things that would make a porn star blush.

  Usually, I'd be into it, but this performance of hers reeks of disingenuity.

  I rest my head on the couch, letting the waves of pleasure take over as I try like hell to ignore the little nagging voice in the back of my mind.

  She's only fucking you so good because you get the paternity results next week.

  When she first told me she was pregnant, I demanded the test, but I dropped it after she said that having an amniocentesis would be harmful to the baby.

  But the more time that passed, and the more attached I became, the more the need to know the truth gnawed at me.

  Even though she swears up and down that it's mine, I just want to know for sure.

  My head has been so fucked up over this lately; I started placing bets with underground bookies that I know better than to ever mess with.

  I tried to stop, but I can't.

  I need the distraction. I need the rush.

  But most of all? I need something to make me feel invincible and level me out—because whenever I stop and think about how much it will crush my entire world if the little boy I've spent the last few months loving and calling my son turns out not to be mine...the deeper into the spiral I go.

  It's gotten to the point where I'm starting to lose bets. It's nothing major and nothing I don't recoup with my next bet...but still.

  I'm starting to lose. And if this baby isn't mine...I'll lose that too.

  If all that wasn't stressful enough, things with Becca and me have gone from tolerable to horrible.

  A few days ago she brought up getting married for the millionth time, and everything came to a head between us. I flat out told her that was off the table until after our son was born and I had a guarantee he was mine.

  Of course, she argued and tried to convince me getting married after she gave birth was the wrong thing to do, but I was relentless.

  No paternity test. No marriage.

  She yelled and threw things, begged and pleaded. And when none of it worked—she reminded me once again I was a shitty person and a bad father for even considering the dangerous procedure. But unbeknownst to her, I've been doing research and there's a non-invasive paternity test that won't harm the baby.

  When I told her, she tried to deflect it again, which only made the boulder of anxiety sitting in the pit of my stomach grow bigger, but I knew how to convince her.

  I put a ring on her finger and promised once I got the results we would get hitched.

  The next day we had an appointment for the blood test.

  I shift as she continues to ride me, acid rising in my stomach like a volcano.

  I have to believe she's telling the truth at this point. Becca knows how much I love this kid already. She knows how much it would fucking kill me if it weren’t mine.

  However, what she doesn't know? Is how much I'd be risking by coming clean to my father about her being pregnant.

  If things don't go as planned, the roles will be reversed once more and he'll have the ultimate leverage against me.

  Because then everyone will know.

  But I have no choice—I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my son is taken care of and protected.

  “Harder,” I demand because these thoughts are enough to turn my dick limp and if I don't get my release soon, I'll end up puking my goddamn guts out all over her and this couch.

  When she doesn't alter her pace, I motion for her to change positions.

  As soon as she's lying on her back, I pump inside her again, focusing on the way her pussy grips me and the way her tits bounce, drowning everything else out.

  I reach between us and play with her clit, bringing her closer to the brink.

  “Becca,” I say, my voice strangled as I take the bud between my fingers. “I'm gonna need you to come for me again.”

  She loves it when I beg her to come, and I know she gets off on it...but then again, she doesn't realize it has nothing to do with her pleasure and everything to do with mine.

  I need to hear her moans. I need to watch her body lose control as it writhes underneath me.

  I need all those things to remind myself that I'm in this moment...and this moment only.

  She bucks her hips but remains silent with a smug smile on her face.

  I thrust harder, trying not to go to that place, but I'm slipping, falling, and if I'm not careful...pretty soon I'll be there.

  I pinch her clit and slam into her. “Either stop the bullshit and cream my dick like a good girl, or I'll never fuck this cunt again.”

  “Oh, God,” she gasps. Seconds later, her eyes roll back and she convulses as her moans fill the living room of our apartment.

  I focus on the sounds, the scent of sex in the air, and the sight of her heavy breasts jiggling.

  My balls draw tight and I slip out of her. “I want to come all over your tits.”

  Her gaze turns smoky and I rip the condom off and quickly stroke out my release, watching as she swirls it around her nipples.

  When the last drop hits her skin, she sighs and looks at her engagement ring. “Just think how much hotter our sex life will be once we're married.”

  The calm state my body was easing into is long gone with those words.

  Thankfully, she's not expecting a response because she shoves me away and rises from the couch. “I'm gonna go clean up. But when I get back, you better be ready for round two.” Her gaze travels to my cock and she licks her lips suggestively before she skips off.

  Yeah, she's pulling out all the stops this weekend.

  With a
curse, I yank up my sweatpants.

  A moment later there's a knock on the front door. I wasn't expecting company, but I answer it anyway.

  Only to come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see.

  “Sorry,” Kit starts before I can get a word in. “I know this is weird...me coming here and all. I—um.” She motions to the small box she's holding. “My lease is up on my apartment soon and when I was packing, I came across some of Becca's stuff.”

  She looks down. “Actually, that's not right. A few months ago I packed up her stuff, but I've only recently mustered the guts to give it to her. I mean, I suppose I could have just waited until after winter recess is over and the new semester starts, but I have no clue what her new schedule is, so I figured this would be easier and—”

  I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms. “You're babbling.”

  She stops for air and her eyes land on my bare chest before she averts her gaze. “You're not wearing a shirt.”

  “I was working out.”

  It's not exactly a lie.

  The pink of her cheeks matches the ends of her hair. “I knew this was a bad idea. I should have just mailed it.” She shoves the box in my direction. “Sorry for bothering you.”

  “Kit.” I put the box down on the floor. “You didn't bother me.”

  Her eyes dart around the hallway, looking anywhere but in my vicinity. “I should go.”

  “You look tan.”

  I fight the urge to kick myself. Not only because of the strange look she gives me, but because it's not even close to what I really want to tell the girl standing in front of me.

  Instead, I swallow the words that are slowly burrowing a hole in the center of my chest whenever I think about her.

  Which is far too often for a man in my situation.

  “It's January,” I mumble. “Most people aren't so tan in the winter.”

  “I just got back from the Caribbean.” She frowns. “My Nanna insists that we go every year for the holidays. She thinks it's honoring my parents' memory to take the trip they never got to go on.”