BEG 1
Authors: Kristina Weaver
BEG
PART 1 of 3
KRISTINA WEAVER
All Rights Reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The club that Linda and the other girls have brought me to is my worst nightmare. It’s hot, crowded, and smells like booze, vomit, and something that I know isn’t the sweaty armpit of a bear but smells like it.
And the lights. They’re flashing, strobes that gave me a headache the moment I teetered in on the high-heeled death traps Linda had shoved on my feet—after squeezing my size eight butt into a dress that looked small enough to fit an eight year old.
“Isn’t this place great!” one of Linda’s many friends yells into my ear, her vodka-scented breath hitting my cheek in a hot puff of air and spit combined.
“Sure,” I mutter with a fake smile, as I lean against the bar and signal the bartender for another water and a round for the rowdy bunch sitting in one of the lounge areas.
This is not my scene, and I would have avoided it at all costs if I could have, but Linda—my college roomie, all round pain in my ass, I-love-her-she’s-a hyperactive-party-girl—refused to leave me alone in the dorm and had practically twisted my arm.
So here I am, pretending to drink while fighting off a migraine and hoping that I make it out of here alive and with at least some hearing left thanks to the music and the screaming, writhing crowd on the dance floor.
“So Lin says you’re done. You finished your studies three months early?” she yells, leaning over and shaking her bust at the grinning barman.
I don’t even know why she’s bothering to ask since she’s obviously not interested enough to pretend to wait for my reply, but I bite back my annoyance and wait for the order, while trying to block out the din around me.
Yeah, I have finished three months early. It’s something I’ve worked my ass off to accomplish so that I can be a shoo-in for the internship at the museum of natural history.
The program isn’t new, but it’s so sought after that only a few students know about it because the school and lecturers have singled them out as suitable candidates.
You’d assume that I’ve spent the last four years of my life studying for something I’m passionate about, but that is just not true. I chose the field of History and Archaeology because, not only is it a very stable one, but the money isn’t bad. At all. And that will mean that I’ll always have a job and a decent income.
That’s important to me since I come from a broken home that’s run by a mother whose only goal in life is to torture not only me but my twin brother Alec, too.
He’s away at Tulane, thank God, and free of her tyranny so that just leaves me. I’d elected to stay in the dorms at school—even though the house is only two trains away—and you better believe I’d sever an artery and endure a hospital stay before going home during breaks.
I have a definite plan for my life and nothing will stop me from getting there. That’s why when my professor had advised me to try and finish sooner than is actually humanly possible, I’d taken his advice and worked myself half to death to get done.
Now I’m almost positive I’ll get that internship.
“Hey Shaw! Are you growing roots girl? Where are the drinks?”
I grimace and shoot the bartender a look to get his eyes out of…Ann’s...cleavage and get cracking with the order before Linda can yell at me again.
Seriously, this blows. I’d really rather go back to the dorm and finish packing my stuff so that I can get a head start on moving tomorrow. I’ve got a tiny, one-bedroom apartment waiting for me, thanks to the money I’ve saved all through college.
As I said, I’ll do myself harm before living with my drunken, verbally abusive mother again.
“Here you go, baby.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, throwing down the money and glaring at Ann to help me carry the glasses over.
I spend the next hour trying to avoid Linda’s drunken whooping, but it’s hard. The bar is ironically the only place I can go to get away, and it’s as I’m ordering another water that I feel a tingling sensation creep up my spine and settle at the nape of my neck.
When I turn to look, I meet a pair of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re smiling—yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but this guy’s eyes are truly happy—and focused solely on me.
“Hi.”
I swallow my drool and nod back because I can’t speak as I’m checking him out. He’s got sandy brown hair and his features are…I can only describe them as angelic.
But it’s the mouth that seals my fate because his lips are puffy and red and curved in a smile that is at once nice, and yet not. He’s what I’ve avoided my whole life…a bad boy to the bone.
And I want him so badly that I am blindsided by a shock of lust and the immediate urge to grab his hair and pull him down to my lips. I’m not drunk, not even close, and maybe that’s why instead of making a fool of myself, I smile and turn away, taking a deep breath to still my racing heart.
“You’re shy?” I hear from a point over my right shoulder, and I turn back, surprised to see Mr. Blue Eyes standing so close I feel his breath feather over my shoulder.
“No.” Because I’m not. I’m just not sure I like this instant attraction I feel for a guy who could be a douche at best and an ax murderer at worst.
“Then why the brush off, angel?”
I sigh and turn back, cringing when I spot Linda over his shoulder, making a beeline for us.
“Look, I’m not into picking up men in bars, okay. And F.Y.I. unless you want to be stuck between me and a rabid coyote, I’d leave.”
A quick glance over his shoulder tells the story, and he turns back with a smirk and a raised brow.
“Why hello there, handsome.”
Great, she’s reached her target and is locked on and in the process of batting her lashes and climbing him like a vine. I may as well just head out because, as always, Linda has seen something she wants and she’s going after it.
Part of the problem is that it seems that the blonde bombshell always wants whatever I have, and she takes a lot of pleasure in proving that she’s got the goods to kick me to the wayside and lure any guy I like into her web.
“Good evening.”
“So do you wanna dance? Shaw hates dancing. Real drag if you know what I mean.”
I roll my eyes and start turning away when a hand slides around my back and locks over my hip, pulling me into a warm, hard body.
“No thanks. Shaw and I were just leaving,” he says amiably, nodding once before chucking my chin to close my gaping mouth and pulling me away.
I regain my senses only when we’re outside in the cold, fresh air and he opens the door to a waiting car.
“No way. I am not getting in a car with a stranger who, by the way, has yet to tell me his name,” I say with a gasp, pulling away to glance around for a cab.
This is unreal and thrilling and everything I have never experienced. First time ever that a guy has chosen me, Shaw Mallory, the mousy chick who wears glasses and only brushes her hair twice a week when she remembers.
And he wants me to get in a car with him and, and…
“Robert Stone. Call me Rob,” he drawls, smiling down at me with a look that tingles all the way from the tips of my hair to my curling toes.
“Well, Robert Stone, I don’t know you, and I don’t want to. I don’t have time for relationships and—”
“Give me a chance, sweetheart. Give me one night to prove to you that I’m a good bet and I swear you won’t regret it. What’s the worst that can happen? We spend one night giving each other mutual pleasure, and if you don’t want more, I’ll disappear.”
I shouldn’t. This is all wrong and way too risky to even contemplate, but instead of turning away and leaving the blonde bad boy in my dust, I find myself placing my hand in his and following him, my entire body caught in the thrall of the promise shining in those blue eyes.
I can’t say why I do it, only that I can’t resist the chance to do something I’ve never done before. I’m always busy, aware of what I need to do to achieve my goals, and always conscious of never doing anything that in any way detracts from my calm, orderly existence.
I get in his car and let him take me away because I want one night, maybe more if I’m lucky, to collect on the promise in those eyes and experience every thrill I’ve denied myself.
“Trust me, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you need.”
Famous last words
, I think, staring into his eyes, as he leans forward to seal his mouth over mine.
Shaw
“You can’t stay here no more Shaw! I’m not putting up with your shit and looking after your bastard brat. You have tonight to get yourself sorted out and then I want you gone.”
My stomach roils as my mother’s words wash over me, and I swallow back tears, closing my eyes against the hopeless dread that’s settled into my bones since I’d found out I’m pregnant and alone.
Robert, the father of my child and the asshole I’d fallen for and trusted to be here for me, has of course vanished and left me holding the bag. Our one night together had not materialized the night we’d met because though I’d been half insane with need by the time we’d reached his hotel and ready to do something I’d never have contemplated, it turned out the guy was a gentleman.
He’d taken me to a late dinner and spoken to me about everything and anything, from my studies to my plans for the next year. I’d learned a lot about him, too. Or so I’d thought when he’d told me about his job and family and the brother he hated more than anything in the world.
The next day he called me while I moved from my dorm—amid death stares from a still peeved Linda—and then we’d had dinner again and spent the night unpacking my boxes and setting up my ancient TV.
I’d spent a week falling for him before falling into bed with him, my only thought for the pleasure we’d share and the closeness that would come from giving him my virginity.
I’d woken the next morning alone, and I’ve been alone since, having long ago accepted that Rob was one of those guys who used his charm to get what he wanted before leaving to get to the next conquest.
I’d been okay after a week of cursing him to hell and back because I had plans and I would never let something as silly as a broken heart ruin what I spent years working for.
And then I’d found out the one thing that had the power to mess with every well-laid plan I’d made.
I’m knocked up. Bun in the oven. Joey in the pouch.
Not the end of the world, right?
Wrong!
I’d been asked to leave the internship—yeah I got it!—after I’d puked all over a T-Rex fossil that had cost the museum more than I’ll make in a lifetime of hard labor, and with the economy the way it is, I’d been forced to give up my apartment and move back home.
That artery’s been looking great lately.
I have no money but for the seventy bucks in my account, and now, now the woman who gave birth to me is kicking me out.
“Mom, please I—”
“No. This isn’t no charity house, and I’m not letting Earl waste his hard-earned money supporting you and your kid. Call Alec, he’ll help you,” she mutters from her perch at the kitchen table, her cigarette dangling from her pursed lips.
“You know he can’t help even if he wanted to. He’s at school.”
Tulane to be exact and miles away from New York. I wouldn’t call him even if I wanted to, because even with as much trouble as I am in now, I would never allow my brother to give up his scholarship to save my stupid ass.
He’d worked hard to earn that scholarship and even harder to keep himself fed and clothed when Mom had refused to help him out with start-up money to get there.
Alec is and always will be my number one guy, and no matter what, I won’t let him know what’s going on because the fool would drop everything and get a dead-end job to fix my mistakes.
“Well, you’d better find someone who will ‘cause you have tonight. And then I’m going to start throwing your stuff out onto the street,” she growls, coughing and wheezing through a cloud of smoke.
I know why she’s doing this and it’s got nothing to do with Earl because, ironically, Earl and I get along great. He likes me and treats me like the kid he never had. It’s Mom’s jealousy that’s the problem.
“Fine. I’ll be out tomorrow morning.”
***
“Here, darlin’. Take this.”
I’m almost sick with terror when I stand at the front door, as Earl reaches into his pocket and glances around, checking for Mom, before shoving a roll of cash my way.
“Earl I—”
“Now don’t argue, darlin’. It’s only a hundred, what I could sneak out of my sock drawer before the wicked witch could catch me, but it’s enough to keep you fed for a bit. Take it. Please.”
I take it, not only because he feels bad about what’s happening and I don’t want to make him feel worse, but also because I have no other choice. Pride won’t keep me fed and off the streets, no matter how I wish it would.
I need this money. I need a job. I need a place to stay. And I need to find a way to contact Robert Stone so that my kid can have more to look forward to than social welfare and a crappy start in life.
“Thanks, Earl,” I say in a choked whisper. “And thanks for taking some of my stuff to storage. I’ll come back and get it as soon as I can.”
“No worries, darling. Now you remember what I said and go find that man. I’m sure once he knows about the sprout, he won’t leave the mother of his child out on the streets.”
I hold back the snort that threatens to escape and kiss him on the cheek before dragging my bags out onto the porch and starting down the road. No money means no cab, and it’s a long way to the subway from Mom’s crappy little shoe box.
It starts drizzling about halfway to my destination, and I groan at the thought of going to St. Mary’s Shelter for Women in this state.
I look bad, like really bad, since I’ve been sick most days and have lost a considerable amount of weight. Ironically, all of my clothes are too big for me, and I envision never having to buy any maternity gear if this keeps up.
First time in my life that I’ve been bordering on skinny, and it’s not from a diet or any real effort on my part.
I take the train all the way to the middle of downtown and then grab a bus. When I get to St. Mary’s, I get lucky and run into Sister Francine, a nun I’d known in those rare days that Mom would let me go to church on a Sunday instead of hanging around to cook for her flavor of the moment.
“Oh, Shaw dear, you look…”
“I know, Sister,” I say when she trails off and grabs my hand to drag me into her office.
“What’s going on and don’t even mention that mother of yours because I’m a nun and I’d hate to blow my shot at the Pearly Gates for that…specimen,” she spits out, throwing a towel around my wet shoulders and bustling to her sideboard to get me a Styrofoam cup filled with weak, hot tea.
“I did something really stupid, Sister. Like brain dead stupid. And now…I lost my job and my apartment and Mom kicked me out when she found out about…” I close my eyes and bite my lip. “I’m pregnant.”
“Don’t cry. Please. Or I’ll drop this habit and go find your mother.”
That makes me laugh, and I grin at her scowl around the rim of the cup.
Sister Fran is one tough-talking, straight-shooting bride of the Church, and for some reason, she took a shine to Alec and I the few times we’d come to church.
I’m not even Catholic, so you can understand how much this nun must like me to even consider me a good bet. A lot of Catholics think the rest of us are going to Hell just on principal, but to hear Sister Fran talk, a lot of her own flock is headed for the hellfire.
At any rate, she’s my last hope.
“Is there any room here at the shelter? I have some money, but nothing that’ll last me more than a few weeks if I’m frugal and…I need some time to track down the father, so I can’t start working just yet.”
“I can give you a month before the new rotation starts. The program requires all of the women to make an effort to find employment and housing, but I can give you some work right here in my office while you’re trying to look for the man.”
I thank her and finish my tea while she teaches me how to curse like a God-fearing nun. She’s creative about it, I’ll give her that, but nothing replaces a good “Fuck you!” or my personal favorite “Go fuck yourself!”—and that’s exactly what I’m planning to say to Robert when I finally find that bastard.
