Unexpected Turn

by CY Jones

  When Nichole called, I wanted to turn her down. No way in hell did I want to be here, seated at their dining room table as McHottie glares over the ham at me. But I knew I didn’t have a choice in the matter as this was part of my requirements, nor did I have any good excuses to give her for why I couldn’t come. I doubt she wants to hear I can barely walk because her hubby’s dick is so fucking big.

  “This is a nice home. Did you decorate it yourself?” I ask, making small talk.

  “No, we hired an interior decorator,” Nichole answers with a bright smile on her face. She hasn’t stopped smiling since I got here, which is crazy since I’m sure she knows I fucked her husband last night.

  “Oh,” I reply.

  “If you want, I can call the same decorator to design your brownstone. I purchased you a nice home overlooking Central Park.”

  “Already? I thought you were going to wait until I got pregnant,” I reply, confused.

  “It had just come on the market, and in that neighborhood, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Oh, you’ll love it,” she gushes, her eyes lighting up like blue fire. I don’t know what to say. I just sit here, dumbfounded, as my situation just got more real.

  “You look pretty tonight,” she says, not bothered by my silence.

  I feel like death. Earlier, I decided to take Nichole up on her offer and used the hotel’s spa. They poked and prodded me, waxing away every hair on my body except my head. An expert make-up artist magically made my blemishes and heavy lids disappear, making it appear like everything was honkey dory in Jade land, and their hair dresser expertly styled my hair in layers. With my designer dress and shoes, all this was just armour, making me appear better than I actually felt. Truth was, I felt like shit as I battled my inner turmoil.

  “Thank you,” I mutter.

  “I knew this dress was perfect for you when I saw it in Neman Marcus,” Nichole gushes.

  “Yes, so perfect for your new toy,” McHottie snarks.

  “Grayson,” Nichole abolishes.

  “What? I’m calling it as I see it. You dress her up, feed her, provide a roof over her head, schedule her day, and both of our nights. You’re practically her pimp. When you get bored and she’s served her purpose I have some friends th…”

  I don’t hear whatever else he has to say because I rise from my chair, allowing it to crash to the floor and storm out of the house and into my car. My head is pounding, my ears ringing with overwhelming anger. This is the second time he’s insinuated I’m a whore, and I've had enough. Fuck this shit. I don’t need them. I don’t need him. I know who I am and it’s no whore. Sure, I’ve done some questionable things in life, everyone experiments, but I’ve done nothing to Grayson for him to berate me so. They came to me, not the other way around.

  I’m surprised I don’t get into an accident or run my car off the road as I drive like a bat out of Hell back to the hotel. I barely even remember the trip. My head as well as my emotions are all over the place. Mainly, I want to murder McHottie. From their house to the hotel, I’ve effectively killed him over a hundred different ways in my head. All painful, most scenarios ending with me shoving his dick down his throat.

  Once I get inside my room, I start throwing all my stuff into the Louis Vuitton luggage set Nichole bought me. Fuck this shit. I don’t have to stay here and be treated like this. Obviously McHotties’s hate is far stronger than the love any baby can give. I’ll just go with my first plan. Sell the car and start over someplace new. Maybe I’ll go to Cali where I don’t have to deal with New York’s brutal winters and McHottie’s vicious mouth vomit.

  I’m tossing all my shoes in a bag when the door opens and Nichole steps inside. She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, taking everything in.

  Finally, she says, “You’re running.”

  Sighing, I reply, “Look, Nichole, you’re nice and all, but if I have to put up with your husband any longer, I’m going to be arrested for murder and probably be given the death penalty with how brutally I will kill him.”

  “I don’t blame you. Grayson is being very...difficult, but I need to remind you, you signed a contract. Run away and I will sue you for breach of contract.”

  “And here I thought you were the nice one,” I mutter, sitting on the bed with my shoulders slumped, completely defeated.

  She sits beside me. Both of us lost in our own heads. “It’s not that bad staying here. Grayson may be acting like an ass now, but all that will change once he gets to know you, like I have. That’s the point of Friday dinners. I want us all to come out as friends by the end of this.”

  “Nichole, I like you, I really do, but you’re asking too much from me, and if I’m being honest, Grayson too. He’s your husband. He made vows, promises to you. Cancer scared you. I get that. You thought you were going to die, but you didn’t. You beat it. It’s over now. Don’t let cancer’s past destroy your future. Keeping me here, going through with this insane plan will destroy everything you value most and eventually, you. Do the right thing and let me go.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t backtrack now. You might not understand it. Hell, Grayson doesn’t even get it, but he will. You both will in the end.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, defeated. I’m starting to think cancer left a few screws loose in Nichole.

  “Nothing for you to worry about now,” she answers, giving me a sad smile.

  “What about your marriage? Don’t you care about putting that in danger?”

  “But I’m not putting it in danger. I’m helping my marriage. I...” she starts. “I can’t be with Grayson the way a wife should.” At my confused look, she continues. “I’m broken inside. I no longer have the drive or even get into the mood to have sex. I can’t even get wet. Grayson deserves better than a shell of what he once had. He’s a man and has needs, at least with you I can control the situation, and if it all works out, we’ll get a small blessing out of it. A miracle.”

  “So, you are pimping me out.”

  “In a way, yes, but I wish you didn’t see it that way. I only want to make my husband happy, even if it’s not with me.”

  “But you do make him happy. He worships the ground you walk on, don’t you see? Why else would he go along with this coo-coo for cocoa puffs plan of yours? Most women are lucky to get such devotion from their husbands,” I tell her, hoping she could see what is clearly in front of her face.

  “I’ve made my decision,” she replies in a hard tone before standing abruptly. “Tomorrow I’ll call my interior decorator. She’ll make the brownstone into a real home for you.” With that parting comment, she leaves me alone feeling utterly defeated.

  Jade

  The weekend comes and goes. Giving me space, Nichole stayed away and in true McHottie fashion, he stayed away as well. A flower arrangement of three dozen yellow roses and some expensive chocolates did show up at my door, but I’m smart enough to know it was from Nichole, apologizing for her husband. Playing my favorite animal, the sloth, I spent most of the weekend in bed, binge watching shows on Netflix and stuffing my face. By Monday morning, I felt good and gluttonous as I met up with my personal trainer.

  “Morning, Jade, beautiful as always,” Robert says, giving me a flirty smile. Today he’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a cotton tank that gives me a nice view of his delicious muscles. Where McHottie is all lean muscle and more of a swimmer’s build, Robert was a linebacker, wider, with tree trunks for arms and legs. His entire body was hard and ripped. If I weren’t currently under contract, I’d be all over him, counting each rise and dip with my mouth.

  “Morning, hot stuff,” I reply, falling into my stretches. Before we started working together, Robert went over my plan of exercise and what we’ll be working on for the duration of the year. He knows all about me being the Hastings’ surrogate, Nichole hasn’t made that a secret. It’s how I’ll get pregnant that’s being kept under wraps. I’m actually under contract to not tell anyone and I’d be dumb to try to fu
ck over a couple of lawyers.

  “How are you feeling today? Cooking a kid yet?” Robert asks as he stretches beside me.

  Popping the ‘p’, I reply, “Nope, not yet.”

  “You know, it takes a good person to do what you’re doing. Not many people would put their body through childbirth for someone else.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, a regular Saint Teresa,” I snark.

  “I doubt that’s all you’re about. I’m sure you can be naughty also.” Is it my imagination or is he flirting with me?

  Robert is hot. Like smoking, call the fire department hot. Besides the muscles, he has nice, thick, dirty blonde hair and bright sandalwood colored eyes. All the gym bunnies in here have a crush on him and pay hundreds to book personal training sessions just so they can spend some one on one time with him.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “So what are we working on today, oh muscled one?”

  Chuckling, he replies, “I thought we should hit the weights. Build your muscle mass while you’re still able to do more of the strenuous workouts.”

  “Lead away, Obi Wan,” I snark before following him over to the weights.

  For the next ninety minutes, Robert turns into my worst nightmare. I swear, if I were to go to sleep right now, Freddy Krueger wouldn’t be chasing me with a chainsaw, but Robert with a dumbell. My arms and legs hurt, feeling more like limp noodles than actual appendages.

  “Come on, Jade, you’re doing great. Just five more reps,” Robert encourages me, sounding like a demented cheerleader. Currently, we’re in the middle of the gym where I’m doing squats with a long bar loaded with weights across my shoulders and this is Rob’s version of cooling down. Gritting my teeth, I fall and rise through the squats, pushing myself through the last rotations. Once I get through the last rep, I drop the heavy bar to the floor, not caring about the gym’s ‘don’t drop the weights’ signs. I’m sweating profusely and breathing hard in nothing but a sports bra and leggings.

  “You did great,” he smiles as he picks the bar up one handed. The way he handles it you’d think he’s picking up a piece of paper off the floor.

  “Are we done or do you plan on torturing me some more?” I ask through my labored breaths.

  “I thought for the last thirty minutes we hit the ring,” he answers, tilting his head toward the stairs. I know on the upper floors there's a track as well as a boxing ring.

  “That could be fun as long as weight lifting isn’t involved.”

  He laughs but I’m being totally serious. “I pushed you hard today to get you used to lifting. From now on, we’ll concentrate on one area at a time,” he explains. It’s not like I’m out of shape, it’s just that you usually don’t see me doing exercise unless it involves me running from something or swinging a bat to fuck someone up.

  “Okay, let’s go before I change my mind.”

  “That’s the spirit.” I follow him, not ashamed in the slightest as I watch his ass ascend the stairs, wishing I could see what it looks like without the barriers. When he looks back, he catches me, but instead of getting mad about me checking him out, he gives me a wink. Cheeky bastard. I swear, Robert is going to be the death of me.

  “So I just come at you for putting me through hell?” I ask once we’re geared up in the ring. My hands are wrapped and the gloves I’m wearing are bright red since I refused to put on the pink ones he tried to hand me. I’ve never been a girly-girl.

  “That’s the jist of it. I want to check out your form and adjust as we go.”

  “Alright then.” That’s the only warning I give before I swing, catching him in the jaw. He stumbles, surprised but he quickly shields his face as he circles me.

  I might not have liked weight lifting but boxing I can get with and I have some moves. Not a lot but enough to get by. Living the life I have, a girl needs to know some means of self-defense. His muscles tense in his left arm and I know he’s about to pull a jab, so as soon as he swings, I step to the right and swing, catching him on the other side.

  “You’re no newbie,” he comments, impressed.

  “I may know some things,” I shrug, giving him a dangerous smile.

  Stepping up his game, he circles me like a shark and we both trade off throwing blows. I know he’s holding back his punches as well as his skill level. Plenty of times he could have had me down for the count. Sometimes he’d stop me to show me a more efficient way to punch or point out openings I missed. By the time the thirty minutes were up, I was actually disappointed. I wanted to keep going, my arms had long forgotten how tired they were from the weights.

  “You did awesome today, Jade. If you don’t mind, I’d like to end all our workouts this way, as long as we can.”

  “Sure, I’d love that.” I’m sure I’ll learn a lot of moves from him before my belly grows too big for me to see my feet.

  As we walk down the stairs, I can tell Rob has something on his mind but he doesn’t say anything until we’re in front of the locker room entrance. He’s nervous and I was curious as to why.

  “This may sound forward, but I have some time before my next session. Would you like to hit the Java House across the street and get a cup of joe?”

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “I would love to but I signed a contract with the Hastings. I’m not allowed to go on dates or anything like that.”

  “Then go out with a friend and have a cup of coffee. I’m sure that won’t violate the contract.” His smile is devilish, and frankly, I’d be a fool to turn him down. It’s not like Grayson is on his best behavior. Besides, how desperate am I just sitting around waiting for McHottie to come fuck me? After I get knocked up, I’ll need a friend because there will be no more visits.

  “Okay,” I agree, “but only as friends.”

  After a quick shower, I change and meet him out front. He’s showered as well and his dirty blonde hair is a bit darker from being wet. “You have great hair,” I tell him as we wait for the light to change to cross the street. Jaywalking is not an option in New York unless you want to be roadkill.

  “Thank you, yours isn’t so bad either,” he replies, pinching a strand of my hair between his fingers. The light changes and he lets go as we cross. The Java House is packed, so I give him my order so I can snag a table, barely beating some emo kid with a laptop to a window seat. Flipping his bright green hair, he gives me a dirty look before moving on. Laying my gym bag on top of the chair, I sit in the seat across from it while I wait for Robert.

  “I got you a blueberry muffin also,” he replies, setting everything on the table before moving my bag so he can sit down.

  “Ooh, I love their muffins,” I reply, licking my lips and his eyes follow the movement.

  “Right, friends,” he groans when he catches me staring at him. “So how did you meet the Hastings?” He asks, making conversation.

  “The fertility clinic actually. I met them in the elevator on my way to my interview.”

  “That’s lucky. I wouldn’t take you for the type they’d choose to carry their child.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, offended.

  “Oh shit, that didn’t come out right. There’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, you’re gorgeous, obviously. I only meant they seem a little tight laced to have chosen you, well Nichole is. Grayson has a bit of a dark side. I’ve seen his tattoos when he comes in to lift and we’ve hung out a couple of times.”

  “Who’d you think they would have chosen, Mary Poppins?” I ask defensively.

  “Something like that or maybe Carol Brady from the Brady Bunch,” he teases and immediately I drop my defensive attitude. Not everyone is out to insult me like McHottie. I need to remember that. “How is it working with them? Has the clinic shot you up with his sperm yet?”

  “Something like that,” I mutter.

  “What does that mean?” He frowns.

  “Nothing. Working with them is fine. I hope I’ll be able to give them what they want. Nichole has been through a lot.”

  “Grayson too. It was
n’t easy on him when Nichole first started to get sick. You could practically see the stress on his face. I think going to the gym gave him an outlet. An escape from the nightmare he was living through.”

  “You sound like you know from personal experience,” I point out.

  “I do. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was younger. Her and my dad always wanted to have more kids, but that wasn’t in the cards from all the things she went through to beat the cancer. We weren’t wealthy like the Hastings, and nowadays they make adopting so damn difficult unless you’re a celebrity so they didn’t have any other options. That’s why I think what you’re doing is so great. There’s so many deserving people out there who want kids but can’t have them.”

  “That must have been hard growing up like that. I see the lost look on Nichole’s face and understand why she chose a surrogate, but it isn’t fair to label me as a saint. I started this in the first place because I needed the money.”

  I’m surprised I told him that. I’m not exactly the ‘sharing is caring’ type. Usually my feelings are locked up tight in a vault located in the darkest regions of my mind, but that was before McHottie fucked me like an animal and single handedly orchestrated a break out.

  “Whatever the reason, you’re still doing it. That says a lot about your character. Actions matter, not words. Besides, a little bad girl isn’t a bad thing. I prefer it actually.” His sandalwood gaze is heated, and I squirm a bit in my seat as my own body heat rises.

  “I thought we were just going to be friends,” I say slowly, studying his lips and wondering if they are as soft as they look.

  “You’re not going to be pregnant forever, and I’m a very patient man, especially if what I want is worth the wait, and you, dear Jade, are worth it.”

  “Why me? You can have any girl in the gym or out of the gym for that matter,” I say, noting the many flirty glances in his direction. “They flock to you like pigeons on a breadcrumb.”

  Laughing, he says, “That’s why. Jade, you’re so fucking different. You never know what will come of that sweet mouth of yours and that’s refreshing. I don’t want the same high society clone who signs up for sessions and shows up in tight gym outfits looking for attention and a short affair with the help because their husbands are banging the secretary. I want the tattoo covered badass with her ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude that leaves me hard everytime I see her.”