Don't Mess With Jess

by Megan McCoy

  “Women are amazing,” she told Sam. “I’ll raise you to appreciate them properly, okay?”

  He hit his blocks a few more times and she took that as a yes. “Good, I’m glad you agree.” He accidentally hit something that beeped and startled him. His comical look made her laugh.

  The timer dinged on the stove, and he looked over at it, while she checked her rolls. “At least we know you have good ears, don’t we?” Five more minutes for the rolls, and the eggs were done and just staying warm in the crockpot. Where were the guys? “Doesn’t matter, Sam, if they aren’t home when it’s done, you can just watch me eat.”

  “Don’t eat without us!” Mac called out walking in the back door from the garage. “We’re back.”

  She couldn’t help but grin at him. The man was hot. Charming. Rich and the soon to be father of the boy she planned to claim as her own, as theirs. Why not smile at him? Besides, he was really good at that sex thing. And that made her grin wider.

  The timer went off again as they came in. Mac washed his hands and then pulled Sam from his seat. “You want to come fishing with us, little man? You ready for it?”

  “Mac, it’s raining,” Jess pointed out.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I bet in all that stuff you’ve bought for him, you didn’t even think to get him a raincoat, did you?”

  “I didn’t. He will just have to stay here with me today,” she said. She pulled the rolls from the oven and poured the glaze she’d made earlier over them, watching it melt in. Then grabbed three plates and silverware and put them on the island.

  “I’ll get juice,” Mac said, handing Sam to Ryan. For some reason, Mac started every morning with juice. She didn’t care, but he thought everyone should. Maybe she should start making him smoothies? Why did it matter? It didn’t. If he wanted juice, he could have juice. She and Sam would have smoothies together when he was bigger.

  “That smells so good, Jess,” Ryan said, and she smiled at him.

  “Thank you. I don’t get to cook family breakfast often. Mac usually has coffee and a juice and leaves, but for a rare morning here and there where I have time to scramble him a couple eggs. Sam is still stuck on that bottle thing.” She got a spatula and forked out a roll for everyone while Mac poured juice, then dished out the eggs.

  “Maybe I should change my habits if I’d get this every day,” he said.

  “Well, I could also do pancakes, French toast, breakfast burritos, all kinds of different things,” she told him.

  Family breakfast. She loved that idea. Would anything be better than her cooking for Mac and three or four kids every day? Then they would all head off to school and Mac to work. After school, some would do sports, some would go to music or dance lessons, others to tutoring, maybe then as they got older, jobs or internships. She stared at Sam, willing this dream to become reality. As an only child, Carly and Mac, and yeah, Ryan, too, were the closest things she had to siblings. She wanted something different for Sam. Her life had been good, but different was good, too.

  Breakfast went fast, too fast for her taste, and soon, after the guys had cleaned the kitchen, they were off. It was her, Sam and the long day ahead.

  “Tummy time, buddy, while I fold some laundry,” she told him. Putting down his fishy mat, she put him down in the living room to exercise a while. Going to the laundry room, she pulled the dry laundry out and put the wet load in, then carried the basket to where Sam was, to fold it. Walking in the doorway, she paused and held her breath as he kicked one more time and rolled over onto his back. A first! Trying not to squeal, she got her phone out, and rolled him back on his stomach. “Play with your fishies,” she told him. Hitting record, she watched him kick again and roll over. Life as they knew it was over.

  Quickly, she texted it to Mac, then put her phone down and told Sam, “You still have to do tummy time. You can’t learn to crawl on your back, you know.”

  He kicked his feet, waved his arms and grinned at her. “Oh you think you are hot stuff, huh?” she told him. Flipping him over again, she started folding towels. “I don’t know, Sam, we have grown up issues you shouldn’t be concerned about.” He reached down and smacked one of the fish under the plastic. “You tell it, baby boy.”

  Her phone buzzed and it was Mac. “Can’t wait to see that in person.”

  Wishing he could have been here to share it with her, she wondered what life would be like soon. Wondering was all she seemed to do lately and nothing matched. Nothing.

  She wanted to move home so badly, it felt like a physical ache. She wanted to rent her house out so that she could stay here.

  She wanted to marry Mac because he was amazing and she mostly adored him. She wanted to marry Mac so she could adopt Sam so she could divorce Mac and take Sam home.

  She wanted to go to school full-time. She wanted to get a job here. She wanted a job in her hometown and go to school part-time.

  She wanted to grab Sam and run away to where? She didn’t know. She wanted to stay here with Mac and have lots of babies.

  “Life is hard when you grow up, Sammy boy. Stay little as long as you can, okay?” Then again, she wanted him to grow up and talk and learn and, “Sam, I’m not dealing well, today. Any suggestions?”

  With that he flipped over again and made that face she knew so well. “Diaper change time? Okay, let’s go.”

  Picking him up, she heard her phone ding, grabbed and checked her text. “Be changed and ready to go out at two.”

  “Your daddy is so bossy,” she told Sam as she carried him upstairs to change him. “Think the rain ran them out? Where do you think we will go?” After changing him, she gave him a bottle and let him settle for a late nap. “We will get back on schedule tomorrow,” she told him. “But you do you, today, okay?”

  It was about noon, so she had a few hours before she needed to change for lunch. Sam should have been napped out by then, so she’d change him, put him in fresh clothes, grab the diaper bag and go out for a late lunch with her guy. Or Sam’s dad. Or her boss. Or her lover. Or the guy that turned her over his knee and whaled the daylights out of her. Or, “Shut up,” she told her brain. Just stop it. Going back to the living room, she flipped the TV on to a game show and finished folding the laundry. She probably should do this upstairs, she told herself. If she ever got to be rich and build her own house, she’d make sure the laundry room was upstairs. It would be much easier to carry the used dishtowels upstairs than the wet bath towels and everyone’s dirty clothes up and down.

  Today was just a weird day. It was Monday but felt like Sunday because Mac was off work. Sam had slept most of the night, and rolled over, two firsts, one day. Now they were going out to a late lunch. Why that seemed weird, she wasn’t certain, but after she’d put the laundry away, she swept the living room and realized it wouldn’t be long before it needed child proofed. She really didn’t like this house, much. Sure it was modern and fancy and upgraded and all those things she saw on the house hunting shows that people were looking for. Sam’s room gave it character, like they also wanted, though no one would like the paint color and many people would walk away because paint was a deal breaker when you were buying a house apparently.

  Why was she thinking of selling Mac’s house? Because she didn’t want to live here? She really wanted to live in her house, but she could see living with Mac and Sam somewhere else. This house was just, well, she didn’t like it. Maybe he loved it. She knew he loved the location, ten minutes from his work.

  “I need my brain to shut off,” she told the laundry. The laundry didn’t seem to care. She felt like crying again, but man, hadn’t she already done that? She’d cried enough. Things would work out. She needed to trust Mac a little more. She already trusted him with her bottom, pieces of her heart and now, her sexual life. Had he even used a condom last night? She’d have to ask him. Did it matter? Not really, worst case, she’d get pregnant and he’d feel obligated to marry her and she wouldn’t have to make a decision. Whew. That felt like a little relief
off her shoulders. She giggled, and that felt better than crying. How 1950s housewife could she be? Talking about the laundry and wanting to be pregnant to trap a guy? Well, she wouldn’t have to trap him if she were a housewife. But she understood what she was thinking. And who else mattered?

  Slipping into a little blue sundress, she brushed out her hair, and put on a little make up. She needed to get some new mascara before her interviews next week, if she even wanted to go to those. Nope, not thinking of decision making, she remembered. Oh wait, it was raining, she didn’t want to wear her sundress out and get soaked in it. She pulled a pair of linen pants on, and tried not to make a face. A sundress would have been easier. Pulling the pants back off, she put her sundress on and grabbed a lighter blue jacket to put over it in the rain. Thinking of trusting Mac, completely, with everything, she thought it was nice of him to take the four of them to lunch today. She didn’t mind making lunch, but lunch out would be fun. Fishing must have been bad today. Going to Sam’s room where he slept, she grabbed the diaper bag and checked to make sure it was packed, and went to the kitchen to load a few bottles in there, too, in the small cooler.

  She’d let Sam sleep until they were ready to go. Going downstairs, she ran the fancy new mop over the kitchen floor, then went to the TV room to dust and straighten while she waited. While she really didn’t like this house, the minimalism did make it easy to keep clean. She much preferred her old farmhouse cottage filled with estate and auction items than this house with all its shiny newness. Who wanted clean lines? She wanted comfortable and homey. She bet Mac didn’t pick out anything in this house. She’d have to ask him. Would he be happy in her house filled with books and pillows and an old-fashioned record player she inherited from her grandpa that they could dance to in the living room? Would he consider moving there? Only way to know was to ask him. How would he work? He was a lawyer with lots of fancy degrees behind his name, he could figure out a way to get a job. She would work one of the teaching jobs she’d be offered for a year, and keep going to school. She’d work her way back into her beloved second-third grade classroom again.

  Jessie sighed, every time she thought she had a perfect plan, there came along another perfect plan. Then her perfect other plan seemed not so perfect and she had to go for a third perfect plan. Stay here for a year, go there with Mac and Sam. The only constant in her dreams and plans and goals and desires was Sam.

  Chapter 5

  “I don’t know why Sam couldn’t come,” she pouted.

  “Because I wanted to spend a little time with just you, and Ryan wanted to spend a little time with Sam without you hovering before he leaves in the morning.” Mac picked up his raspberry tea and held it up. “To a grown-up lunch with the girl of my dreams.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes, “And just what are you dreaming about, MacAllister Evans? How do I fit into that dream? And I don’t hover.” She would see if he was better at figuring out dreams than she was. Her brain continued to race like a hamster on a wheel. Round and round with no end in sight.

  “Jess, come on, don’t make it so hard,” he said. “Thank you,” he said to the waitress putting down their salads and breadsticks.

  “Make what hard? Figuring out my entire life? I’m unemployed, Mac. I’ve not been unemployed since I was sixteen. I hate it. Figuring out how I can possibly leave Sam? How I can possibly leave my home and life I’ve built in Macintyre to move to this huge town and your sterile house? How I can possibly leave…” her voice trailed off and she picked up a breadstick and whispered, “you.”

  Mac reached over and patted the hand that held the breadstick. Appreciating his touch, she tried to blink back tears. Why was she always crying around him? She’d cried more in the last month than she had in the past year or so, excluding when Carly had died.

  “Let’s talk about that, Jess, that’s why we are having lunch, in a public place where I won’t bust your butt or jump your bones and, woman, you have no idea how often I want to do both.”

  Jess giggled, just a little, but kept her mouth shut. This she had to hear.

  “Since I got Sam, I’ve been working on a one-year plan. I planned in a year to leave my firm, move back to Macintyre and raise Sam while working in a law firm or starting my own there. Normal people hours.”

  Her breath caught. Did he mean this? Why was it the first time she’d heard of it, other than a vague ‘maybe in a year my hours will be better’ way?

  “Move home?” she squeaked.

  The waitress showed up with the entrees and removed their mostly uneaten salads. Suddenly her crab cakes held no appeal.

  “Yeah, move home,” he said. “I can’t think of a better place to raise Sam than there, can you?”

  She shook her head. This is what she wanted, Mac and Sam in the same town, preferably in the same house as she was. Together. Sam would never lack for love and care in Macintyre, where she and Carly had grown up. Mac and Ryan, too, but she was the one with the support system there now.

  “I’ve been talking to the upper echelon at work, and putting out some feelers and I am pretty sure I can move the timeline up. What do you say you paint over that pink wall so we can sell the house and move back home?”

  “When?” she squealed.

  “I’m thinking before school starts in the fall,” he said.

  “That would work for me,” she said, happily. “I’ll keep interviewing and will find a job, I know I will.”

  “You don’t have to work, you know,” he said, slowly. “I rather enjoy coming home to you, having dinner ready and a happy, well cared for baby. I make enough for us to live on.”

  “Braggart,” she said, slowly chewing her bread stick. Did she want to go back to school full-time? Did she want to teach full-time? There was that health care benefit thing she needed to worry about too. Practical things. She would have to figure that out too. Maybe she could job share with someone. Her mind whirled at the new possibilities.

  “Wait, what? You want me to paint over the wall?”

  “Mac, no,” she complained, backing away.

  “No, what?” He advanced toward her, then stopped and crossed his arms.

  “No, thank you?” It was all she could think of. Why did she dream of spankings and then when it came time, know for a fact she did not want one? Her stomach flipped and she covered her bottom with her hands, which for some reason made him grin.

  “We talked about this. You are stressing out of your mind, trying to do everything by yourself, making all the decisions, the ones we should be deciding as a team, and what’s it doing? Making you miserable. Time to remind you who isn’t in charge around here and get some of that stress out.”

  “Spankings make me stressed,” she wailed.

  He snorted. “That’s the biggest lie I ever heard come out of your mouth. A good spanking puts you in a much better mood.”

  “Mac, they hurt so bad,” she whimpered. What could she say to get out of this? She had so much to do, she didn’t want to spend the time and energy on getting spanked. “You spank too hard.”

  “Too hard?”

  She seized it. “Yes, too hard. I don’t like it.”

  “You like it after,” he said.

  Shaking her head, she took another step back. “I don’t. I don’t like anything about it.”

  “So you are saying you need spanked for lying, too? I can do that.”

  He sat down on the bed and patted his lap. “Drop the pants and get over.”

  “Mac!”

  “Now, young lady.”

  Why that always gave her butterflies, she didn’t know. But it did. Did he have any idea how hard it was for her to do this? Sighing, she walked over to him. Mac took her elbow and stood her by his side, then pointed to her shorts. “You aren’t going to be needing those. Drop them.”

  Shaking her head, she did as she was told, pulling them down to her thighs and then spied the clear nasty plastic paddle on the bed. Taking a step back, she whined, “Mac, not the paddle, please. I
t hurts so much.”

  “It’s meant to,” he said. “Drop the panties, too.”

  “Mac, no.” Did she remember any other words? Nope, she didn’t.

  Taking a step back, she thought about running and locking herself in her room. What would he do? Would he chase her down? How fast could she run with her shorts at her thighs and how much harder would he spank her if she did do that? “Please?” Oh, wow, she did know another word.

  “Now,” he said.

  Bad word. Shutting her eyes, she pulled her panties down to just where she had to, to appease him. Then threw herself over his knee so he wouldn’t look at her in the bright light and to just get it over with. He was going to do it, she knew, and so she might as well get it over with. No one ever said she wasn’t practical.

  “You comfortable?” he asked, while shifting her a little. For better aim, she imagined.

  “Oh, sure, this is just quite lovely,” she said, reaching up and grabbing a pillow to hold. She didn’t want her hand smacked again. She needed her hand! Well, she needed her butt, too, but did he care? He sure didn’t seem to.

  “Ow! Damn it, Mac!” He’d started that dreaded paddle and she wasn’t ready! That was just… “Mac! No!” Oh see, she reverted again. “Ow! Okay, no more! I’m done! Ow! Ow!”

  The man wasn’t letting up, he pounded the paddle against her bottom making her howl and kick. Trying to get up off his lap didn’t work, so she tried to roll off. That didn’t work either, “Mac! No more, please. I’ll be good!” She had to find those magic words. “Mac!”