was pregnant, I couldn’t bring myself to get an abortion. Gary was pissed. He slept with Paula a few nights later. And I kept believing the lies, him promising he would change. Once he was convicted, I was put under close scrutiny by the courts. I had social workers all over my case and I had to prove I was fit to keep my son. Never again . I will never take Gary back and let him destroy our lives as he’s such an expert at doing.
Ben's snoring. Carefully extracting myself, I leave the bed and gently take the book from his loose hold. I brush aside a stray black curl and kiss the top of his head. My little Duders. His father might not love him, but I can't imagine my life without him. Everything I'm doing now is for him. Moving him to a better neighborhood is at the top of my priority list. I sigh, then head to the bathroom to fix some of the mascara that’s streaked down my face. I need to invest in waterproof.
After touching up my makeup, I head to my front door. Taking a deep breath, I cut the lights. The only glow is the dim light from Ben’s night-light. I step out into the hall and lock up my loft. A wild commotion comes from downstairs. It sounds like we have some business and my somber mood brightens a little. They won’t wake Ben because I soundproofed the floor with padding when he was a baby. Living with Gary and his crazy biker parties, I made that a first priority when I brought Ben home from the hospital.
The commotion grows louder the further I go down the small staircase. Tryst’s gravel voice is the loudest of all. He doesn’t sound angry, and I think this is the first time in a long while I’ve heard his booming laugh.
"Tryst, what the–" I stop dead in my tracks. My heart races and my stomach flips. Piercing ice-blue eyes bore into mine. Morgan.
Morgan
Shay. Up close she’s even more gorgeous than I remember. Her plump lips are perfect for her pixie-like face. The sea green of her eyes is indescribably beautiful, pulling me into their depths like a riptide. Damn, this hallway’s too small. I can’t move. I didn’t mean to cut her off, but I really have to take a piss.
Say something, jackass. Why have I suddenly become shy? I may have stage fright often enough, but in front of the opposite sex I usually can find my voice box and not look like a nitwit. My high wore off an hour before we came here, and because of the damn bet I can’t spark up. I try to remember all the Mary Jane–infused smooth lines I’ve successfully delivered to women in the past, but I’m coming up blank.
My eyes work as if someone else is guiding them. They drift over the outfit she’s wearing that accommodates her tight, well-toned body. The black silk tank that glitters in the light and pronounces her perfect breasts. My eyes wander down to her perfectly shaped hourglass hips. She’s wearing tight black skinny jeans and black high heels that make her legs go on forever. Damn, she’s sexy as hell.
My urge to pee is gone because my dick wants to do something entirely different.
" Yo." Her sharp voice brings my eyes back up to her face. "That’s right, buddy. When you meet someone, the eyes are a good place to start. Not the boobs."
Shit ! My cheeks start to heat. Ah, fuck, I’m blushing. She turned me back into that geeky fourteen-year-old boy who used to receive wedgies and swirlies on a daily basis, the computer nerd all the good-looking girls shied away from.
"Bathroom?” I squeak then cough to cover it. "Where is it?"
She leans against the wall, and her eyes study me for a second. "You’re not going to shoot up, are you?"
What?
She shoves off the wall and points her finger in my face. "Because if you are, I’ll have you arrested."
Where the hell is all this coming from? Looking down at myself, I wonder why she thinks I’m some kind of junkie. I’m slightly offended, but at the same time confused by her blunt assumption. "I don’t use hard drugs."
"Good to know." She pats my
Ben's snoring. Carefully extracting myself, I leave the bed and gently take the book from his loose hold. I brush aside a stray black curl and kiss the top of his head. My little Duders. His father might not love him, but I can't imagine my life without him. Everything I'm doing now is for him. Moving him to a better neighborhood is at the top of my priority list. I sigh, then head to the bathroom to fix some of the mascara that’s streaked down my face. I need to invest in waterproof.
After touching up my makeup, I head to my front door. Taking a deep breath, I cut the lights. The only glow is the dim light from Ben’s night-light. I step out into the hall and lock up my loft. A wild commotion comes from downstairs. It sounds like we have some business and my somber mood brightens a little. They won’t wake Ben because I soundproofed the floor with padding when he was a baby. Living with Gary and his crazy biker parties, I made that a first priority when I brought Ben home from the hospital.
The commotion grows louder the further I go down the small staircase. Tryst’s gravel voice is the loudest of all. He doesn’t sound angry, and I think this is the first time in a long while I’ve heard his booming laugh.
"Tryst, what the–" I stop dead in my tracks. My heart races and my stomach flips. Piercing ice-blue eyes bore into mine. Morgan.
Morgan
Shay. Up close she’s even more gorgeous than I remember. Her plump lips are perfect for her pixie-like face. The sea green of her eyes is indescribably beautiful, pulling me into their depths like a riptide. Damn, this hallway’s too small. I can’t move. I didn’t mean to cut her off, but I really have to take a piss.
Say something, jackass. Why have I suddenly become shy? I may have stage fright often enough, but in front of the opposite sex I usually can find my voice box and not look like a nitwit. My high wore off an hour before we came here, and because of the damn bet I can’t spark up. I try to remember all the Mary Jane–infused smooth lines I’ve successfully delivered to women in the past, but I’m coming up blank.
My eyes work as if someone else is guiding them. They drift over the outfit she’s wearing that accommodates her tight, well-toned body. The black silk tank that glitters in the light and pronounces her perfect breasts. My eyes wander down to her perfectly shaped hourglass hips. She’s wearing tight black skinny jeans and black high heels that make her legs go on forever. Damn, she’s sexy as hell.
My urge to pee is gone because my dick wants to do something entirely different.
" Yo." Her sharp voice brings my eyes back up to her face. "That’s right, buddy. When you meet someone, the eyes are a good place to start. Not the boobs."
Shit ! My cheeks start to heat. Ah, fuck, I’m blushing. She turned me back into that geeky fourteen-year-old boy who used to receive wedgies and swirlies on a daily basis, the computer nerd all the good-looking girls shied away from.
"Bathroom?” I squeak then cough to cover it. "Where is it?"
She leans against the wall, and her eyes study me for a second. "You’re not going to shoot up, are you?"
What?
She shoves off the wall and points her finger in my face. "Because if you are, I’ll have you arrested."
Where the hell is all this coming from? Looking down at myself, I wonder why she thinks I’m some kind of junkie. I’m slightly offended, but at the same time confused by her blunt assumption. "I don’t use hard drugs."
"Good to know." She pats my
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