Sins of September (18 page)

“Sure thing.”

I reveal everything to him that Shayla’s told me about her affair with Pierce, even the part where he’s married to her sister, and about what she did with the condoms. That part was kind of tough.

When I’m finished, I sit back and wait for his response.

“Wow,” he says. “I mean, shit—what a
mess
.”

“I know.”

Is that all?

“So what advice do you have for her?” I press.

“I don’t have any advice for
her
,” he replies, “But I do have some for you—if you want it, I mean.”

“Well of course. That’s why I told you everything.”

“Okay then, my advice is for you to stay out of it. This is her problem and it’s her decision to make.”

“I know that,” I reply, “That doesn’t help me though. I’m her friend. She’s reached out to me for support. She’s already made her decision.”

“So she has. Then how does that make it your responsibility to figure out the logistics for her?”

I think about that for a second. “Well, I did tell her I would give it some thought tonight and see what I could come up with.”

He pulls me back against his chest, wrapping his arms around the front of me. His chin is resting on the top of my head.

“Baby, she came to you for support. So give it to her, but that’s where it should stop. If this is her decision, then she needs to be the one to figure out how she’s going to get past the state laws and all of that, or go to her parents and get the authorization required. All you have to do is let her know that you’ll be there for her, no matter what she decides, and then
be
there for her.”

“You make it sound so simple,” I say. “This is a gut-wrenching thing for her.”

“I understand that, babe, but it shouldn’t be wrenching your gut, too. And I can see that it is. Why?”

I shrug against him. I know why, but I’m not sure I should share it with him. Finally I do. I tell him about the condoms in his room.

I’m glad that I’m not facing him at the moment because it would kill me if I saw anger or coldness in his eyes when I admit that I had thought about doing the same thing at one point.

I’m not prepared for the soft rumbling of laughter that comes from him. I twist around, trying to make sure it’s genuine.

It is.

“You’re not pissed?”

“You didn’t go through with it, but if you had, you better damn well believe I’d have been pissed about it! That would’ve been worthy of a sound spanking.”

I see the teasing in his face, and he kisses the tip of my nose. “I sure hope that sneaky-ass streak of yours is long gone.”

“Maybe it is,” I say, turning back around and fitting my hands over his, resting on my belly.

“You sure? Should I put my condoms through the water balloon test?”

And then I start giggling at the thought of Jesse having to stop in the middle of things to put his unused condom under the faucet to make sure that it isn’t springing a leak.

“You’re just being plain silly, Jesse,” I laugh. “But seriously? I think maybe I should go on the pill.”

“What about that shot?” he asks me.

Oh shit.

“I think the pill may be a better option,” I reply.

He gives me a tiny squeeze. “You know, I think you’re right,” he agrees, kissing the top of my head. “Hey, how about I help you get tucked in for the night?”

“Sounds good. I’m gonna grab a shower first. See you in ten?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Jesse and I make love that night—twice as a matter of fact and it seems different. (In an awesomely
good
way.)

We get closer each day it seems.

And I love it.

And I love him.

The following week I see my new doctor and get a prescription for birth control pills. I tell Jesse we can still use condoms if it makes him feel safer and he looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head.

“The whole point of the pill is so that my dick can actually feel what it’s making love to,” he replies, “No more latex between my dick and your pussy, babe.” And then he gives me a devilish grin.

“I thought the whole point was to keep me from getting pregnant,” I argue, smacking his ass as he’s walking away.

“That too,” he replies, “For now.”

I’ve been super supportive of Shayla, following Jesse’s advice and being there for her as a sounding board and not as an active participant in her dilemma.

She had a showdown with Pierce, and he’s coughed up the money to fly her to New York where she can have the procedure performed in a certified clinic without needing parental permission. They’ve set a date for the following week when his wife is out of town on business for several days. She’s made the appointment and she tells me she’s fine with the decision.

Valentine’s Day is coming and I’ve secretly bought Jesse a Valentine’s Day gift that I think he’s going to absolutely love; a heart-shaped thong that is totally edible! We’ve made plans for Saturday since Scout is invited to a slumber party at Amber’s house that night. It’s the day after February 14th, but we don’t care that it’s a day late because Jesse says it’s gonna be worth waiting for. He’s hinted that he intends to spoil me rotten.

I’ve got supper on the stove, and Scout and I are sitting at the kitchen table Thursday evening, each of us working on stuff for school the following day.

I’m working on my Chemistry project, and Scout is working on her Valentines for the class party the following day.

“I’m almost done,” she says, licking one of the envelopes. “Can I put the icing on the cupcakes as soon as I finish?”

“Yeah, if they’ve cooled enough,” I reply, going over the last formula I’ve been re-doing for the past thirty minutes. It’s still not correct according to the answer key.

“Damn,” I say, crumpling up the worksheet.

“What’s the matter?” she asks me, her brows knitting up the same way that Jesse’s do when he’s puzzled.

“Oh this stupid Chemistry,” I reply getting a fresh piece of paper out of my binder. “It doesn’t come easy to me and if I want to get into nursing school, I’m going to have to do a whole helluva lot better at it.”

“Why do you want to go to nursing school?” she asks.

“Duh,” I reply, rolling my eyes, “So that I can become a . . .
nurse
?”

“Why would you want to do that?” she persists.

“Well, for one thing so that I can have a career—you know—a job? Earn money like your dad does in his job?”

“I don’t see why,” she replies, putting the last signed Valentine into its envelope. “Dad will always take care of you and me.”

And then it kind of hits me. Scout doesn’t know anything else. That’s all she’s ever seen, so how could she?

“Scout,” I say slowly, “What do
you
want to be when you grow up?”

She gives a moment of thought to the question. “A wife,” she answers with clarity. “Just like you.”

I’m stunned. I feel my jaw drop but as I look at her I know that she meant it in all of her innocent sincerity. She isn’t being snide or rude, just as honest—and observant as any nine-year-old can be.

“I’m going put these away in my backpack and then I’ll be back to put the frosting on the cupcakes,” she says.

“Whoa—hold up there a sec.”

She stops, gazing at me with those same piercing blue eyes as her daddy’s.

Damn—she’s gonna be gorgeous.

“Scout, if you think I’m a . . . wife . . . well then who’s the husband?”

I couldn’t help it; I couldn’t let her comment go without some clarification.

“Daddy,” she replies without hesitation. “I mean I
know
that he’s not your husband, but well—it just seems like it, that’s all. Can I ice the cupcakes?”

“Sure,” I reply, still in a daze. “Go put your Valentines away. I’ll get the frosting down for you.”

“Cool,” she says with a smile taking her stuff to her room, “And thanks for baking them for me,” she calls back.

I’m still in a daze after she’s off to her room as I get the icing down from the cupboard, opening the sealed lid, and stirring it absently with a knife to fluff it up. I barely hear Jesse come in from work until he’s practically on top of me.

“Mmmm,” he says wickedly, “Something smells good. What’s for dinner?” he asks, rubbing my behind.

“What?”

“Dinner?”

“Oh, uh . . . cupcakes,” I reply.

Jesse rolls off of me and throws his hand up over his forehead as if exhausted.

“September, you have worn my ass out,” he says with marked deliberation. “This old man just can’t keep up.”

“Stop,” I say with a laugh. “You’re only thirty,” I remind him playfully. “I think you might have some good years ahead.”

And then I dive under the sheets, and start giggling as Jesse follows me.

“Where’s my underwear?” I ask in feigned confusion. “Oh . . . that’s right! You ate them,” I finish, still laughing my ass off.

“And they fucking tasted great,” he adds, “Especially with that whipped cream.”

“Yeah,” I admit, “The whipped cream
was
a nice touch.”

Jesse loved his gift and I totally loved mine. He’d sent me a dozen beautiful red roses to start off. They arrived yesterday and Scout didn’t bat an eye when she saw them because Jesse had sent her a dozen purple tulips at the same time. We both arranged them and added water, setting them out on the coffee table in the living room.

Both of the cards attached had said the same thing in Jesse’s own man-messy scrawl, “I love you.” The only difference being he had signed “Dad” on Scout’s card and “Jesse” on mine.

It’s strange to see those written words from him to me. He’s never said them to me, and this is the first time he’s written them to me. But I need to hear them from his full, sensuous lips before I’m ready to believe it.

I watched carefully to see if Scout had any reaction to that and I could honestly see none. I hadn’t mentioned what she’d said the other night to Jesse, but maybe now was the time to bring it up to him.

Once Scout had left for her overnight, he had cooked me dinner, opened some expensive wine he’d bought, and gave me a wrapped gift.

I can tell that it’s jewelry, and my heart skips several beats as I tear the paper off. I open the small velvet covered box and see that it is a gorgeous teardrop diamond on a delicate gold chain. Jesse is immediately on his feet, circling behind my chair to help me put it on. Once he has the safety clasp hooked, he circles back around to take a look.