Page 28 of Rumours and Romance
Chapter 12
Jackson
I’ve had more sex with Mila in the last two weeks than I did with Stefani in the last two years of our relationship.
And if that isn’t an eye-opener about the true state of my previous relationship, I don’t know what is.
That first night was amazing, but there was definitely a strange vibe between us immediately after. I was about to pull her into my arms when she suddenly jumped up out of bed and announced she was taking a shower. I debated joining her for about a second, but when she closed the bathroom door, I got the message. She needed space. I didn’t really blame her, I was definitely overwhelmed by the intensity of our connection.
Thankfully, by the time she came out of the bathroom, whatever awkwardness she was feeling had gone. Mila found me sitting in her living room, dressed in my shorts, hanging out with Milo. She walked over, leaned down to kiss me, then asked if I wanted breakfast as if nothing had happened. It was oddly domestic and comfortable. And when I went to kiss her goodbye, she’s the one who initiated round two with her hot little hands sliding down the front of my shorts.
Every time has been hotter than the last, and there hasn’t been any more awkward vibes. We’ve settled into this new friends with benefits phase easily, and for the most part I’ve managed to ignore the gnawing sensation in my gut that’s trying to tell me this is more than just friendship.
Every time we go out, it feels easy and natural. I have to remind myself it’s not real, that it’s all for show. Because kissing the top of her head, wrapping my arms around her, holding her hand — it all feels right. She claims to want nothing more from me than friendship and sex, and of course, our ongoing pretense of a deeper relationship. Which means I’m living the stereotypical douchebag man’s fantasy of no-strings-attached sex with a beautiful woman. The benefit is it’s someone who I truly enjoy being with. And not just regular sex; it’s spectacular, can’t stop thinking about it, world-shifting sex. We can’t keep our hands off of each other, we’re together almost every night. Even our pets get along, with Harley keeping Milo in line any time the big dog is over at my house.
So why the fuck do I feel so unsettled and confused?
I can’t seem to stop comparing Mila to my ex, even though the comparison is in no way fair. Don’t get me wrong, Mila wins, hands down, in every single way. But associating her with Stefani feels cruel. There is no contest. Being with a woman like Mila, even just as friends with benefits, is showing me how dysfunctional my previous relationship was, and just how wrong for me Stefani really was. At the time, I somehow overlooked the fact that she was always whining about us going out with her friends to fancy bars and restaurants that had overpriced drinks and food far more complicated than it needed to be. You can keep your freeze-dried flower garnishes and seventy dollar bottles of wine, thank you very much. If an invite came from my friends to meet at the bar for a drink, or at a park for a game of frisbee, there was always an excuse for why we couldn’t go.
The changes were gradual, I can see that now, but somehow Stefani managed to get her way on just about everything. The apartment we rented was decorated in her style — minimalist, stark white, and expensive-looking. She hated Harley, even if she never admitted it to my face, I knew she did. She wouldn’t ever pet him, and I saw the looks of disdain she would give him, even if she didn’t realize I saw them. More than once she suggested we get rid of him, but since she always managed to make it sound like she was teasing, I didn’t think anything of it. Now I wonder just how serious she had been.
In contrast, Mila is warmth and sunshine, happiness and friendliness. She’s down-to-earth and loves animals as much as I do.
Basically, she would be the perfect woman for me. If I had any interest in a real relationship.
When my phone rings with a call from my mom, I check that I’ve got time to talk with her before work. Mom is chatty, and it has been a while since we talked. Which means I’m in for a long conversation about all of the useless gossip that I don’t particularly care about, but I’ll pretend to for her sake.
“Hey, Mom.”
Her warm voice comes down the line, bringing a smile to my face. “Hi, honey. How are you?”
“I’m doing great. Really happy here. I can’t wait for you and Dad to visit.” I move around my house, getting everything ready that I’ll need at the clinic today.
“Oh, me too. I’m trying to convince your father that we should come next month. But of course, he’s more worried about scheduling it around his golf games. I swear, those clubs were the worst retirement present ever. I never see him anymore, and heaven help me if I need help around the house.”
Mom’s grousing is only halfway serious. I happen to know she secretly loves that my father found a hobby after retiring from his job as an engineer. Their marriage is what marriages should be. Built on trust and love, and most of all, a deep friendship. But after forty years together, having my dad at home all the time started to drive Mom nuts really quickly.
“Tell him there are some great courses over here we can check out. Maybe that will help.”
“I’ll do that, honey.” Mom goes silent.
“What’s up, Mom, no gossip to fill me in on?” I tease, but the distressed noise she makes stops me in my tracks. “Mom?”
“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this. I ran into Louanne the other day.”
The very mention of Stefani’s mom makes my stomach plummet.
“Stefani’s pregnant.”
I digest this information, letting the news sink in slowly. My ex, the woman I thought I would marry, is pregnant. I don’t want her back, and I certainly don’t want to have a child with her. Still, finding out she moved on quickly enough to already be pregnant hurts a little. But fast on the heels of that dagger to my self-esteem comes a thought that gives me even more panic.
What if it’s mine? Would she go that far?
The next words out of my mother’s mouth are both a relief, and a source of even more pain and anger.
“There’s more, Jackson. She’s due in September.”
The math doesn’t take me long. “You’re fucking joking.” I bite out the words, without any remorse for swearing on the phone with my mother. “That would mean she was pregnant before we broke up. Are you sure?”
