Have You Ever Faked It?
There are so many great books about fake relationships/fake marriages out there. There's something extra angsty about reading the story of two people pretending to be a couple while each of them is secretly pining for the other, but trying so hard to stay cool and not let on.
There is a whole romance subgenre devoted to this trope. Here's a quick look at a few currently popular titles: Faking Ms. Right by Claire Kingsley, Unexpected Gift from R.S. Elliot, Fake Marriage by Ajme Williams, Backup Bride by Melinda Mink, A Cowboy and his Fake Marriage by Emmy Eugene, The Billionaire's Fake Wife by L. Steele ... and there are many more. Add in the secret baby or accidental pregnancy trope, and you've really got a hard-to-put-down read.
Claiming Haley in my new series, Babies and Brides, is in this tradition. Here's the blurb:
I’m a pregnant wedding planner who has less than two weeks to throw together a real wedding for my fake relationship.
Panting over the hot landscape guy at work was just a harmless diversion until the day he offered his pickup truck to transport a whole lot of leftover wedding liquor to my place. It was only polite to thank him with a few drinks afterward, right?
I did not plan for what happened next: an accidental pregnancy and a baby daddy who is nothing like I thought. Landscaping was just Jack’s summer job, and he’s about to start medical school. He proposes a fake marriage to solve a few very real complications, and I throw together a crazy-fast wedding while we pretend to be madly in love.
The only problem is, I’m not pretending.
This surprise pregnancy romance has a strong heroine, a dreamy doctor-to-be, a couple of bridezillas, the world’s most difficult Mother of the Bride, a manure-smeared femme fatale with a gunnysack full of baby pigs, and quite possibly the swooniest scene ever set in a pickup truck. This is the first book in the Babies and Brides series, a spin-off of the Small-Town Secrets.
Check it out
Here's enough to whet your appetite:
Chapter 1
Jack
I do a little masculine strip tease just outside Haley’s office window almost every day.
That’s where I’m standing right now. I pretend not to notice she’s watching me. It’s a coincidence that I just happen to be standing right outside her window when I decide it’s time for a fresh shirt. I take my time removing the sweaty one, and as I pull the shirt over my head, I flex my abs hard. I can’t see her, but I know she’s riveted. There’s a little breeze, and I pause to let it dry the sweat from my body. Landscaping is hard physical work, and I feel like I need a little stretch for my muscles, so I reach my arms above my head and let out a little groan, knowing her window is open and she can hear me. Then I run my fingers through my hair, because of course it might be messed up from removing my sweaty shirt. Can’t have messed up hair.
I stretch this show out as long as I can, and then I put on a fresh, clean T-shirt and get back to work. I have already manicured every square inch of lawn visible from Haley’s window, but there are other parts of the property that actually require my attention. I’m installing decorative fencing, planting flower beds and laying stone walkways. I’m turning the grounds around The Clipper into a showplace; the owner is getting ready to do another expansion and is transforming this place into a more upscale destination than the little towny bar and motel it used to be.I know Haley is lusting over me and I’m lusting right back, but I don’t let on. Nothing can come of it. I shouldn’t even be here in Fairview right now, but I took a gap year between college and medical school so I could spend more time with Mom, helping take care of her while she fought ovarian cancer. When she lost that battle sooner than expected, my old friend Ashley suggested I fill out the rest of my year off by handling her landscaping.
“A few months of hard physical labor might be just what you need before the mental load of med school,” she’d said to me as I sat one night in her bar. “And I know you did a lot of landscaping in the summers during high school and college. You could make the grounds here a showplace.”
I took her up on it. She was right. All this hard work keeps me from brooding and at the end of each workday, I can see tangible progress. There’s nothing like being able to look at a brand new fence or raised flower bed and feel a sense of accomplishment. This is the last time I’ll do this kind of work. By fall, I’ll be more than ready to make the switch to sitting on my butt all day, attending lectures and studying.
But I know I’ll miss Haley. She wears those cute little dresses that show her figure almost every single day and she always looks so soft and feminine. I like the way her hair falls across her face like a curtain when she tilts her head. And what I really like is the expression on her face behind that soft cascade of hair when she thinks I don’t see her looking at me. I know that look. It’s pure, naked desire.
She has no idea I know she’s checking me out … or that I’m teasing her … or just how often I’m looking back.
Chapter 2
Haley
A month ago, I’d have said it feels good to finally have my life back on track.
But it turns out this is a roller coaster track, and I’m bracing myself for the next plunge, and it’s all because I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with the Greek-god-like man doing the landscaping. Watching him from my office window while eating tiny pieces of fudge is my secret guilty pleasure.
Jack Packer. Even his name is vaguely suggestive. Tall, tan and muscular, he looks like he should be on the cover of a men’s fitness magazine. And if he were, women would buy every copy. He is utterly irresistible … which is why I have a pregnancy test in my purse right now.
It’s the second test I’ve made a special trip to Springfield to buy — I wouldn’t dare buy such a thing here in gossipy little Fairview — but the world is against my attempts to get the answer to the most pressing question I’ve ever had in my life.
The first thing I do after sneaking out to buy it is rush into one of the work restrooms, but my co-worker Pam, who runs the kitchen, is right behind me.
“Whoa, I’ve overdone the iced tea today,” Pam says, as she takes the adjacent stall. I decide I’ll wait her out so she won’t hear any suspicious sounds, but instead of leaving, Pam starts fussing with her hair. Ever sit on a toilet, poised to pee, and try to hold it? And then hold it a little longer? And a little longer? When your bladder is already really full? Right. Finally, I just can’t hold it any longer. I decided I’ll try again when I have more privacy.
Except my best friend Cadence sees the pharmacy bag in my purse when I am getting a snack in the break room.
“Ooh, is that Hazel’s fudge?” I suddenly realize the shape of the pregnancy test box is similar to that of the locally made fudge a lot of local businesses sell from a display by the register — both of us have a little addiction to it and often buy and share a box. Cadence teases me by reaching out and pretending she is going to steal it from my purse.
I panic. “Oh,” I say. “It’s empty.” And I quickly drop the entire bag into a covered trash can. There goes the brand new test I am dying to take.
So after work, I buy another test, and this one I have hidden in the zippered pocket of my purse. Just in case. Nothing will keep me from finding out whether my unwise (but oh so amazing!) night with Jack had had serious consequences.
Nothing, I tell you!
On my way home, however, one of my clients calls me in a panic.
“Oh, Haley, the whole wedding is ruined! I don’t know what to do!”
It’s Kate, a bride whose wedding is in a month. Kate lives out in the country outside Fairview, and sounds so hysterical that I agree to drive out to her house. How Kate handles the rest of her life is beyond me; she had nearly had a nervous breakdown when the cake topper she wanted turned out to be on backorder.
As soon as I pull into the driveway, Kate comes running out of the house, sobbing.
“Thank God you’re here! I can’t talk to my mother or Frank about this. They’d die, Haley. They’d die.” Frank is the fiance. I assume he takes tranquilizers just to deal with Kate. I know I’d have to.
“What is it, Kate?”
“I think I’m pregnant. And if I am, I won’t be able to tighten the corset enough to fit into the gown, and then everything is ruined. We want babies, but we wanted to start trying on our wedding night. Not now!”
“The wedding’s only a month away. Does it really matter so much if you’re pregnant now?”
“Haley! Of course it matters! My father paid $30,000 for this gown, and it has to fit.”
I ask the obvious question. “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”
“I can’t be seen buying a pregnancy test. Everybody in Fairview knows me! What would people say?”
My guess is they wouldn’t say anything, because if she were smart, she’d drive into Springfield to make that purchase. That’s where I go to buy things like condoms, yeast infection medication and hemorrhoid suppositories. You know, anything you wouldn’t be wild about having your friends see you buy. Including pregnancy tests.
“Wait, so you haven’t taken a test? Shouldn’t you wait until you know for sure before you panic?” After all, that’s what I’m doing. My own panic is firmly contained in what feels like a tiny box in the back of my head. For now.
“Well, I tried on the dress after the taco luncheon with my bridesmaids today. And it doesn’t fit. Not even close! And it fit fine last month. I’m bloated — just like a pregnant woman.”
“You look fine,” I say, my eyes slipping down to Kate’s belly. I’d bet money it’s all taco, no baby. But big tears are falling out of Kate’s eyes, and I know there is only one thing to do.
“It so happens I always carry an emergency pregnancy test for clients,” I say, unzipping my purse. “Here you go. The instructions are in the box, but it’s pretty straight-forward. Just pee on the stick.”
Kate hugs me before running off to the bathroom. A minute later, she comes running back out, holding the test in front of her.
“It has a line — is that bad?” She thrusts the stick toward me, and I do a quick backward retreat. Can Kate not think about the fact that she is shoving a urine-soaked object right toward my face?
“One line is good. One line means you’re not pregnant. If you’re pregnant, it shows two lines,” I say.
“Oh, God, Haley, what would I do without you?”
I just smile. I’m definitely adding a hefty charge to Kate’s bill for this.
But now I need to buy another test for myself, and the results will either send me plunging up or down this damned roller coaster track I’m stuck on.
Originally, I studied pre-med and expected to become a doctor. Moving on up! But I’d suffered a serious bout of depression in college and had dropped out, both my mood and my prospects in the dumpster. Then I scored a dream job as a wedding planner at an island resort that specialized in destination weddings. Awesome Plan B, moving up! Then the owner went to prison for tax fraud and the whole place closed, so I returned home to Fairview, where the only job I could get was running the desk at a decidedly cut-rate motel, The Clipper. Damn, going down. Then even that job ended when the place abruptly closed. Damn, going way down. Then the bartender bought the whole place, transformed it into an upscale boutique hotel/bar/restaurant, and hired me back. Going back up again!
I was overjoyed when the new owner asked me to establish a wedding planning business here. The former bartender and now owner, Ashley, had married a developer who had opened a cute lakeside entertainment complex that drew brides from miles around, so she was thrilled to learn that I had experience in wedding planning. Up, up, up!
Finally, I’m making reasonably good money and can somewhat placate my super-judgy mother with that fact. Mom still does not approve of wedding planning as a career and never stops warning me that I’m never going to find a good husband if I’m only dealing with men who are about to marry someone else.
“I paid for you to go to a good school so you could become a doctor or at least marry one. Not so you could turn right around and become a wedding planner! The only doctors you’re going to meet are going to be the ones marrying other girls.”
I tell my mother that I have no interest in marrying anybody. After all, I’ve watched half my high school friends go through divorces. “I like weddings, Mom. Marriage, not so much.”
“Nonsense. When you meet the right man, you’ll change your mind.”
I’m a little afraid of single motherhood, but what I’m really afraid of is telling my mother. And that’s probably why I’ve waited two whole weeks for my period to show up before buying all these tests.
Chapter 3
Haley
If I’m actually pregnant, it’s Maggie Finch’s fault.
That is my thought as I drive to Springfield to purchase a third pregnancy test. It has been about a month since I’ve had my little lapse in judgment. I definitely should bill Maggie for this.
Bridezilla extraordinaire Maggie and her groom don’t drink so they resisted hiring a bartender. Instead, they decide, they’ll have a stocked bar and guests who wish to have a drink can quietly help themselves. It will be more discreet, they say. I tell them it is far cheaper to hire a bartender than to let the guests make their own drinks, but they don’t listen.
“You’ll be charged for open bottles. Unopened bottles can be returned, but not open bottles.”
“My friends barely even drink. They can be trusted to handle it,” the woman breezily assures me, so that is that. I follow her wishes. I also make sure Maggie pays for the entire liquor order up front.
Naturally, every bottle is opened, and most of them have only a few drinks poured from them. When I tell Maggie afterward the liquor is all hers, she makes a little sound of distaste and says she doesn’t want any of it. So, faced with dozens of partial bottles, I ask Ashley what she wants me to do.
“I can’t sell from opened bottles. Throw them out or keep them for yourself.”
I decide this is an opportunity to stock my personal liquor cabinet so well I’ll never need to buy another bottle of booze for the rest of my life. My problem, however, is that my car is in the shop. I’ve been hitching rides from Cadence or walking. My apartment isn't all that far from The Clipper. But Cadence is working the front desk of the hotel today.
So I step into the bar to explain my problem to Dean, the bartender, and to ask him if he’s willing to give me a lift home.
“I would, but I’m on my own here today and can’t leave until closing time.”
Jack is sitting at the end of the bar, drinking glass after glass of plain water and looking far more delicious than a man who has been working out in the hot sun all day has any right to look.
“I can drive you right now. I just needed to rehydrate.”
I am about to make an excuse but then I change my mind and smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You should invite everyone over and have a party with your haul,” Dean says.
“That’s a good idea. I just might do that.”
Jack drives a truck with a trailer full of equipment hooked to the back of it. I know he isn’t a regular employee; she’s told me he is just getting things in shape and she plans to contract with a lawn service to keep things up next year. Soon it will be bye-bye golden sculpted landscaping god, and then I can stop drooling at him through my office window and get down to the serious business of ordering cakes, booking bands and calming nervous brides.
Jack gulps down one last glass of water and nods to Dean, then leads me to his truck.
I’ve never been this close to him before and I feel a mixture of shyness and intoxication. He doesn’t smell like sweat. He smells like essence of manhood, and in small doses, at least, there is no finer scent.
“The booze is at the lake lodge,” I say, unnecessarily, just because I need to find something to say. He is already driving that way. He recently installed a tumbled stone outdoor dance floor surrounded by gorgeous planters exploding with colorful flowers. There is lots of outdoor seating and a dining area that can be reconfigured depending on whether the bride wants to have her ceremony or dinner or both outside. Some brides marry in a church and have just the reception here, but others have the entire event at the lodge.
I prefer it when they have the entire wedding and reception here; it simplifies everything and I think most guests appreciate not having to drive from one place to another. But I will accommodate any request, even if I think it’s silly. A case in point being to decide to let the guests self-serve nearly a thousand dollars worth of liquor instead of paying the modest cost for a bartender.
“Didn’t you warn the bride this would happen?” Jack is a confident driver, and he turns off the radio when I climb in, not assuming our musical tastes are the same. That seems considerate, but I’m a little curious about what he likes to listen to.
“Repeatedly. She assured me it would not be a problem with her friends.” Being in the same small space with him is making me feel more intoxicated than booze ever could. Can he tell I am close to swooning, or is he so used to women losing their shit over him that he no longer notices it?
“Maybe her friends are bigger boozers than she assumed.”
“Definitely. But her loss, my gain. I may never have to buy another bottle of alcohol.”
Jack pulls the truck up to the back of the lodge, and I open the place with my key. The lodge is empty and has an air of expectancy about it; usually when people see this space, it is full of flowers and lights and beautifully decorated tables. On this particular day, however, the tables and chairs are all pushed to the side and everything is bare and boring. No flowers, no fairy lights, no white tablecloths.
Jack follows me in and I show him where the bottles are.
“I should have brought some bags to hold the bottles. But maybe I can find something,” I say, as both of us rummage around in the kitchen area.
“Success!” He holds up two empty cardboard boxes. “These will hold most of it.” Together, we fill up the boxes with the 32 partial bottles of whisky, scotch, gin, rum, vodka, tequila and more. There had been wine, but open wine doesn’t keep well so it has already been discarded.
Jack easily lifts the first box, taking care to support the bottom, and settles it into the bed of his truck. Then he returns for the other one.
I give him my address and he drives us there. I only live a few minutes away; that was true of everything in Fairview. You can drive from one end to the other in about 10 minutes. It’s only polite, I decide, to offer the man a drink and a few bottles after he carries the boxes into my kitchen for me.
“So what’s your favorite drink?” I ask.
“I never say no to a gin and tonic, if you have the limes and tonic water,” he says.
“What if I don’t have limes?” I should have thought this out and been prepared, but I hadn’t dreamed I’d have Jack in my kitchen.
“It’ll still taste good without the limes.”
“Um,” I say. “What if I don’t have tonic water? Or juice, or soda?”
“Neat scotch it is,” he says, and he gives a little laugh, which transforms his face.
“I’ll give it a try,” I say, and get out two bar glasses — fortunately I at least have some decent barware — and pour a little scotch for each of us.
“So in spite of having a bar’s worth of booze, you’re not a big drinker, I take it.” He is settled onto one edge of my sofa, and I take a chair across from him.
“Not so much, really. At least, not at home. Since I live by myself, if I’m going to have a drink, it’s nearly always going to be at a bar with friends. So I don’t keep things like tonic water and limes on hand.”
I like talking to him, because it gives me an excuse to look at his face. Jack is just so good-looking. It isn’t fair that his face looks as finely sculpted as his body does. He has that strong jawline and those piercing eyes that make women’s panties fall off all by themselves.
He’s sipping his scotch with evident delight, but I feel nervous to take my first sip. “I’ll just go ahead and admit that I’ve never actually tasted scotch before. It’s going to be strong, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all,” Jack says. “It’s very mild. Almost like water. You’ll barely taste it.”
“Really?” I take a gulp and start choking. By the time I finish coughing, tears are running down my face, and Jack is dabbing at them with his T-shirt. That level of intimacy is more than I can take.
“I am so sorry, Haley. I thought you would know I was joking. I didn’t mean to make you choke on it. Truly.”
My embarrassment is strong, but at least he isn’t laughing at me. He does, in fact, seem very contrite.
“It’s OK,” I say, feeling gullible. My mouth is inches away from his bare abs, which as he leans over and shifts slightly in order to dab at the fresh tears running down my cheeks, causes the muscles to ripple and contract. I feel a deep urge to just start kissing him, but manage to restrain myself. Instead, I inhale deeply. Hopefully he doesn't notice I am literally sniffing his abs.
When he pulls back and lets his shirt fall back down, our eyes meet and for just a second I am sure he knows exactly the effect he’s had on me, but then he looks conflicted and returns to the sofa.
“I really am sorry,” he says. “Scotch is for sipping.”
“I know that. I’ve never tasted it, but I should have known better. It’s a sort of whiskey, right?”
“Don’t let a Scotsman hear you say that, but yes. It’s an acquired taste.”
“I don’t think I’ve managed to acquire it.”
“Do you have orange juice? You could make a screwdriver. There are about half a dozen opened bottles of vodka. Maybe you should work your way up to scotch.”
We gaze together into my nearly empty refrigerator, but then I remember I have a can of frozen orange juice concentrate in my freezer, and he helps me mix a screwdriver.
“Honestly, this is more my style,” I say, taking the first sip of a not-very-strong screwdriver.
“More scotch for me,” Jack says. He drinks it very slowly, but I notice he adds to his glass at least twice. I’ll send the whole bottle home with him shortly. I’ll have to get him out of here, because I already feel a little tipsy and I honestly am not sure if it is from the alcohol or the proximity to his muscled abs when he’d used his shirttail to wipe away my tears.
But after my second screwdriver, I feel talkative and start telling him my best wedding stories. I have a million of them.
“You wouldn’t believe how many grooms have propositioned me. I always just brush it off and pretend I don’t understand what they’re hinting at unless they’re really persistent. If I have to, I just say something like, ‘I’ll forget you ever said that if it never happens again.’ That’s my go-to phrase. But this one wedding, well, I’ll never forget it. The groom made a pass during the rehearsal dinner, and then you’ll never guess who made a move during the reception.”
“The father of the bride?”
“The bride herself!”
I put down my screwdriver and stand up. I’m feeling uninhibited. “So check it out. I’m in the kitchen dealing with the caterer, who had mistakenly added cheese to the vegan dinners for some reason. The bride comes back there and takes my hand to lead me into the room where all her stuff was. It was the room where she’d had her makeup and everything done. I thought it was going to be some kind of makeup emergency or maybe she needed me to help hold up her train so she could pee. That kind of thing. Instead, she throws her arms around me and starts kissing me!”
This gets Jack’s attention. He even puts down his drink.
“So she said she and her brand-new husband wanted to invite me to join them for their wedding night. And she’s basically making out with me.”
“What did you do?”
“I was pretty stunned. But honestly, something like that could only go wrong, and it wouldn’t exactly help my reputation as a wedding planner if they ended up with regret afterward. So I made up an excuse. I generally try not to turn down whatever request brides make, no matter what, but up to then, the craziest requests were things like wanting to have a ranch dressing fountain on the buffet table or having their dog serve as the ringbearer. I’ve literally never been propositioned by any other bride.”
Jake takes another sip. “And yet, you didn’t object to the idea. You objected to it possibly hurting your career. Interesting.” His eyes focus on me, giving me an excuse to indulge in looking at his eyes. They are mesmerizing.
I suddenly realize how my story sounds and sit back down. “I mean, I wasn’t going to for lots of reasons.” And then I take another big gulp of my drink. Because I’m smart like that. Anyway, by now, it just tastes like straight orange juice.
Jake is smiling. “What I get out of that story is that you’re so hot, even brides can’t resist you. So if they can’t, how can I?” In three steps, he is standing in front of my chair, and he pulls me up to him and puts his arms around me and starts kissing me.
“Is this how the bride kissed you?”
“Well, honestly, she didn’t have any beard stubble. So not exactly the same, no.” Then I wonder why I’ve said that and try to think of something better to say, but either because of the vodka or because of Jack’s kisses or possibly because of both, I can’t form a single coherent thought.
All I know is the man I’ve been drooling over for weeks is kissing me like nobody has ever kissed me before. His lips are full and soft, but his chin is stubbled with day-old growth and the contrast is making me wild. One second, his kiss is soft and warm, and the next it is rough and hard, and I can’t keep up.
I can’t resist, either, and after several minutes of making out, we are lying on the sofa, our bodies grinding together as if we think our clothes will melt away if we just kiss enough.
“Take me to your bedroom,” he whispers in between kisses up and down my neck, and I don’t say a word. I just lead him into my room, pull back the spread with a single motion and jump right in, and we spend the next few minutes very inefficiently removing each other’s clothing. It would have been faster if we’d gotten out of bed and each of us had concentrated on undressing ourselves, but instead, we are lying down and kissing and feeling each other and trying to get each other’s clothes off. We’ve only managed to remove our shirts and my bra. This would have to be the one day I’m wearing jeans instead of a little sundress.
Finally, Jack jumps out of bed, tears off his shorts and underwear in one swift motion, and then reaches down and pulls off my jeans. I helpfully lift my bottom, and my panties come right off with the jeans. Possibly my jeans are too tight, but it’s an efficient way to get naked fast.
“Finally!” I murmur.
“Do you have a condom?”
I haven’t even thought about it, which isn’t like me. Fortunately, I do have some. “Top drawer, your side.”
He rummages around my bedside table, finally locating the box. It’s jammed pretty far back there, because it has been a long time since I’ve needed contraception. While he is taking care of things, I stare at his smooth, tan, muscular back, and the perfectly sculpted ivory of his butt. His butt looks like the model for Michelangelo’s David, and the rest of him looks like a California surfer god.
Then he turns around and rolls over onto me, and we both moan with relief as our bodies join.
He resumes kissing me again, our upper and lower bodies communicating, both speaking the same language. Maybe it’s just the screwdrivers, but I feel as if he is somehow able to read my mind and do exactly what I want him to do. It is as if he has a road map to my body, and he knows exactly how to get me where I want to go.
Maybe it is because I am so attracted to him, maybe it’s because he is such a good kisser, maybe it’s the shape of him inside me, or maybe it’s because all the movements that work for him happen to be the same ones that work for me, but I can feel my orgasm building and building. It’s not usually this easy for me. I moan and squeal and then, finally, can’t help but break the kiss so I can let out a weak scream.
Jack reacts with a low growl, and I feel his erection throb and pulse and I know he likes it, too. He gives me a final kiss and rolls away.
“Wow,” is all he says, and then he turns to me.
“Wow is right.” I cannot stop smiling.
“That bride really missed out.” He touches my cheek and trails his hand lightly down to my breast, which he gives a light squeeze.
“Something tells me she wouldn’t have been able to do to me what you just did.”
Jake sits up. “Let’s take a shower together. I was already pretty sweaty before I even came here. Sorry about that. I didn’t expect this. But now I’d like to clean up a little.”
One of the reasons I chose this apartment in the first place is the fantastic bathroom. It has a soaking tub, but it also has a large glassed-in shower area with a waterfall shower head and a bonus hand-held shower. Once The Clipper’s prospects and my own had improved, I’d quickly ditched the dingy little apartment I’d been subsisting in.
Inside the shower, we soap each other up, and he quickly grows hard again. Smiling, I drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, aiming more at teasing him than finishing him. Mostly, I want to show off. I have reason to think I’m pretty good at this, although Cadence says you can’t believe a thing men say about it. They’ll always claim you give amazing blowjobs because they want you to keep giving them. But whatever. I squeeze his butt and stand up again.
Jack soaps up my breasts and gives them the attention he’d mostly skipped before while I lean against the shower stall and let the water run down my body. I feel warm and relaxed, except my nipples, which are eagerly jutting out and enjoying everything Jack does.
But at this point, I really want to get back into bed. So I turn off the water and take a few minutes to towel off and to comb my wet hair and put it up into a messy bun. Jack’s eyes meet mine in the mirror and we smile at each other.
Our second round starts slow and sensual but ends up even more frenzied. We keep changing positions. It’s like both of us keep having great ideas for making everything feel even better. Each time we change positions, my body misses the feeling of him being inside me. When he enters me again, I welcome him inside me and sigh with relief as the good feeling resumes. I think nothing could feel better than what he’s doing, and then he does something new and it feels even better.
“Everything you do feels so amazing,” he mutters at one point, and rolls me onto all fours. He starts out gentle, but when he sees how much I like it, he begins pounding away. But he doesn’t forget about me. He reaches around and strokes me, and this time there is no warning — I just explode immediately.
Jack does the same, and we both make plenty of noise.
And then he pulls out, and the mood changes.
“Uh oh.” I swing around and see the reason for his dismay — the condom is broken.
“Oh my God,” is all I say at first. And then I repeat it. “Oh. My. God.”
“I haven’t been with anyone for a long time,” Jack says. “I’m sure I’m safe.”
“But what about pregnancy? Oh my God!”
“I understand. I’m sorry this happened. But let’s stay calm. Our chances of everything being OK are very good.” He reaches out his arms to me, but I pull away. You don’t want to think about your mother when you’re in bed with a guy, but suddenly, my mind goes there.
“My mother will kill me if I get pregnant.”
“I understand why you’re upset. Neither of us meant for this to happen.”
“No, you don’t understand how my mother is. Nothing I do is ever good enough for her. If she knew I’d gotten pregnant by the lawnmower man, she’d disown me.”
Jack’s face darkens. “That is a seriously judgy thing to say.”
“I’m sorry. I know that sounds horrible. But having a child with a guy who mows yards for a living is not in my plans.”
Jack is up and halfway back into his clothes. “I’ve seen you checking me out for weeks. You weren’t even discreet about it. But if I knew you thought I was somehow less worthy because I’m doing landscaping, I never would have been interested in you. Who the hell do you think you are, Haley?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just terrified.”
“That’s understandable.” He is fully dressed now, and is hunting down his shoes, socks and phone.
He’s right. I sound terrible. But I’m too miserable and terrified to fix it right now. I clutch my pillow in front of me as if it were a shield. “I really am sorry.”
“So am I.” And without another word, he leaves.
Chapter 4
Jack
Apparently, Haley thinks sex with me is slumming.
Maybe I could have made everything better by letting her know landscaping was just a sideline right now. But the very thought of announcing, “Oh, don’t worry. I’m about to start med school. If worst comes to worst, you can tell your mom you got knocked up by a future doctor!” doesn’t set well with me. I’m the same person, regardless of whether I’m mowing a lawn or treating a patient. And if I’m not good enough on the basis of my summer job, then why should I suddenly be good enough just because I will eventually be a doctor?
My parents brought me up to respect everyone. They taught me the world is full of people who are working in low-paid jobs for all kinds of reasons, and many of those reasons have nothing to do with the person’s talent or work ethic. Sometimes where we end up has more to do with the circumstances we’re faced with. And besides that, all honest work is respectable.
I think that’s why both my dad and grandfather were such popular doctors. My dad was the kind of doctor who got to know the whole family. My grandfather delivered about half the babies born in Fairview while he was practicing. By the time my dad joined his practice, most women went to an obstetrician to give birth, but he handled just about everything else.
Dad’s patients included all kinds of people. He took care of the wealthy and the poor and everybody in between, and every patient got the same quality care, even if they couldn’t pay. It was a different time, before insurance rules made it so hard to practice. Almost everyone in Fairview turned out for his funeral, and the hospital named a floor for him. Haley must not have been living here when he died, because she seems to have no idea who my dad was.
I feel really disappointed. I’ve enjoyed teasing her and when we started talking, I really liked her. I’d felt a real connection. Too bad she turned out to be so stuck up. I’m usually a better judge of character.
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