The Side Effects of You (17 page)

“Please, Ethan, don't make this hard for me. Some old feelings have resurfaced. I love him.”

“Wow,” he said, backing up. “Now you love him? The dude that cheated on you and gave you herpes?” he said sarcastically. I knew he was pissed, but that was a low blow.

“Well, I believe him now. I believe he didn't.”

He shook his head. He paced a bit and stared at me. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because if I walk out that door, Sam, I'm not coming back.”

I wasn't sure, but then again I was. Hell, now that Ethan had explained why I hadn't heard from him, I was a little torn. “I can't say for sure, Ethan, but I can't be with both of you.”

He let out a sigh and flopped down on the sofa. A cushion rose from the impact, and I caught sight of an object.

“What's that?” I said.

“What?”

“That.” I pointed. “Between the cushions.” He reached down and retrieved his phone.

“My phone. Thank God I found this. I need all my info out of it.” He looked relieved.

“I'm glad you found it too. I had no idea it was there.”

“It's cool.” He stood. “So I guess this is it?”

“It is.” I dropped my head.

He stepped close, lifted my chin, and then pulled me closer for a kiss. His kiss was so good, so sweet, and I didn't want him to let me go. But I was back with Charles, so kissing Ethan had to stop.

I allowed myself to indulge for a bit before I pulled away. “You should go.”

He caressed my face. “Yeah, I should.” He turned and started to walk away. He stopped at the door. “I do wish you two well, Sam. It was nice. I just hate that I fell in love with you.” Then he walked out.

In love?
Did he say, “In love”? I felt like shit. Ethan was the perfect boyfriend, and even after learning my secret, he still wanted to see me.

“Charles, you'd better be worth it,” I said as I shut the door. If he messed up, I'd hate that I'd dumped Ethan for him.

I was dead asleep, until Jeremiah burst into my bedroom, roaring like a lion. “Ann, get your ass up!” he blared.

I jumped up, jolted out of my sleep. “Wha, wha, what?” I mumbled.

“What in the hell is this?” he yelled and threw a newspaper in my face. Yesterday and the day before, the newspaper's headlines and front page had showcased him and me, but this morning it was me and Quentin. My heart started to race.

Our publicist had been working nonstop on our image because of all the whispers and rumors among the congregants at the church. We had agreed to interviews, television appearances, you name it, to prove our sham of a marriage was real. Jeremiah had assured me that this would blow over and that they were taking care of things. Now, the fact that I was in the headlines with Quentin was another fish to fry. Lately, there had been reporters at my salon door every day, with questions, trying to get answers. Quentin had shown up to rescue me, but one of his attempts had been captured by a camera, and I had been found out.

“I . . . I . . . I can explain,” I stuttered. I didn't know what to say, but I was going to come up with something.

He snatched up the paper and read, “Bliss or bull? Pastor Jeremiah Young and his wife, Andrea Young, pretend to be the happy married couple, but are they? Whisked away by her lover, Quentin Hughes, Mrs. Young avoided a mob of reporters—”

“Listen, Quentin and I are . . .” I couldn't say lovers. “Friends, okay? We started hanging out, catching up, and he just happened to come down to check on me that day. That was a day when reporters stormed my salon and bombarded me with questions about the rumors, and I was outnumbered. I was grateful he was there, Jeremiah, to save me from that aggressive crowd of reporters, because you weren't.”

“Don't give me no bullshit,” he said. “If I find out your ass is sleeping with him, so help me God . . . ,” he growled, trying to threaten me.

I refused to be bullied when he was the one in the hot seat. “So help you God what, Jeremiah? Don't threaten me, Pastor Young, because you are the one who is living foul in this house.” It just jumped out of my mouth. I was trying to keep the peace, but I was exhausted from him, his lies, and the bullshit.

I went on. “If I've done anything, I've been here and stood by your lying-ass side to make you look good. You don't love me. You don't want me. You don't even sleep next to me at night, so don't come at me with this crap. I'm not afraid of you, and what I do is my business, like what you do is yours!” I snapped.

He backed up a few paces. “Okay, you want to test me, Mrs. Young? You want to see what I'm really capable of doing? You, my dear, underestimate the power I have in this city. You, sweetheart, are a nobody. And since you want to try me, want to make a fool out of me and make me look bad, I got something for you.” He walked out and slammed my door so hard, it sounded like a gun going off.

I got up and went for my phone. I called Quentin to tell him what was going on, and he told me to relax and not to panic. He said that Jeremiah was all talk and that I should not worry. I trusted him, so I relaxed.

I dressed for work and went in. When the busy day was done, I knew I should've gone straight home, but I let Quentin convince me to stop by his place. We hadn't seen each other since the day he rescued me from the mob of reporters, and it was like a breath of fresh air to be with him.

“So you know we have to chill for a while, until this scandal with Jeremiah blows over,” I told him as we sat on his couch in the living room.

“Yeah, I know. I just miss you so much, Drea.”

“I miss you too, Q.” I rested in his arms. He gave me gentle kisses on my cheek.

“So, can I get a li'l bit?”

“Q, didn't I just say we have to lay low?”

“Yes, but you're here now. And since I won't be getting it for a while, I think I deserve a li'l bit.”

I smiled at him. I agreed because I wanted a “li'l bit” too. “Okay, but we have to get it in now, because I got to get home.”

I stood up, and he undressed me. Then I lay down on his living-room floor, and he opened my legs wide and dipped his head low. I felt the heat from his breath on my clit. I couldn't take the anticipation, so I lifted my bottom from the floor and put it in his face. He didn't make me wait any longer. He pleased me, he teased me, and when I came, he didn't release me.

“Q, baby, let go. It's too much, baby. Let go,” I begged, trying to get free.

He finally let me go and came up and went for my nipples. I wanted to reciprocate, but he plunged inside of me and started pumping like he had never felt my insides before.

“Awww, baby,” he moaned. “Drea.”

He panted and pumped like he was enjoying the pleasure my walls provided him. Then he pushed my legs back farther and went deeper, his sweat dripping down on my skin. The more he pumped, the wetter I became. It felt better with each stroke.

“Get it, baby. Do it, baby. That feels so good,” I moaned.

He picked up the pace and then pulled out. “Turn over, baby. Let me hit from the back.”

He got no argument from me. I flipped over, and he had me facedown and ass up. He banged and banged, pushed and pulled. I moaned louder, cheering him on with sexy bedroom talk. He pumped hard and fast until he came.

He swatted my ass cheek. “Drea, baby, that was the best, baby. I mean, I want this every night.”

“It was good, babe. I need some water. My mouth is dry.”

He headed to the kitchen, and I went down onto the floor. He came back and handed me a bottle of water. I propped myself up on an elbow and drank it down.

“Damn, Drea. You need another one?”

“Nah. I'm good.”

I handed him the empty bottle. I needed to get up and get dressed, but I was exhausted. He lay down on the floor with me.

“You know, I'll be so glad when this is all over,” he mused.

“Me too,” I said. I rested my head on his extended arm.

“I have to ask you a question.”

“What's that?”

“Do you want more kids?”

That caught me off guard. “I haven't thought much about it, Q. I mean, initially when I got married, I thought I'd have more than two, but my marriage ended so fast that this idea went out the window.”

“Well, I wanted to know if you'd give me another chance at fatherhood.”

“I don't know, Q. That's a lot to think about.”

“Well, can you at least think about it? I want to be with you, Drea, and I do want to have children. If not children, at least one child.”

“Okay. I'll think about it.” I sat up. “I have to head home.”

He looked sad. “I know,” he mumbled.

“I'll see you tomorrow.” I smiled.

“I just wish you could stay.”

“Me too, Quentin. But soon. Soon we will be together again.”

“And this time, I'm never letting you go.”

“You couldn't if you tried. I'm not that young woman anymore. This time, I'd fight for you.” I kissed him.

“I'm all yours.” He stood and helped me up from the floor.

I dressed, grabbed my purse, jacket, and keys, and he walked me out. When we reached my car, he gave me a sweet, passionate kiss and then opened my car door.

I got in and smiled up at him. “I love you.”

He leaned in and gave me one more kiss. “I love you too, babe. Drive safe and let me know when you're home.”

“I will.”

He shut my door, and I headed back to the house of horrors.

When I got in, of course, the kids were running around like crazy, and the kitchen was a mess. I knew they had made grilled cheese sandwiches and fries, because the evidence had been left out.

Jeremiah was nowhere to be found, so I headed upstairs to shower and change. After ordering my children to clean their rooms, bathe, and get ready for bed, I took a long shower and thought about Quentin and a baby.

It would be nice to give him a child. I was still young enough, so I thought,
What the hell? I'll do it
. I got out of the shower, did my moisturizing routine, dressed in sweats and a tee, and went downstairs to clean my kitchen. When I finished, I went back upstairs with my glass of wine and checked on the kids. They were getting ready for bed. I thanked God that they hadn't had any trouble in school, what with the scandal going on with me and Jeremiah.

I went into my bedroom, climbed in bed, and texted Q, and we messaged each other for about an hour before I finally said good night. A few minutes later I was fast asleep. Around 2:00 a.m., Jeremiah came into my room and shook me awake.

“What?” I asked. I hated to be woken out of my sleep.

“Here,” he said and tossed me a large manila envelope.

“What's this?”

“Open it.”

I did, and I found pictures of me at Quentin's. Pictures of our last exchange, when he opened the door and greeted me with a kiss and a tight hug. There was one of us kissing in the driveway when we said good-bye. I didn't say anything for a few minutes. I just looked at the dozen or so photos he had handed me.

Finally, I spoke. “Now you're following me?”

“Um, yes. This morning I put someone on you. And since you're such a whore, it didn't take long to get what I needed. So, in the morning, pack your bags and get the hell out of my house. I am filing for a divorce, and I'm keeping my children.” He headed for the door.

“Jeremiah, please, don't do this to me. Not like this. I was wrong. I have no excuse for my behavior. No matter how bad things were, I didn't have to step out, but I did, and I'm sorry. Please don't throw me out of this house, and don't threaten to take my kids. A divorce is exactly what we need. I won't argue about that.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't yell, and I didn't cuss. I was too tired to fight. “We can draw up the papers, and I'll sign, but you're not taking my children, and I'm not leaving my home. You left me long before this. You stopped loving me long before it came to this.” I stuffed the pictures back into the envelope.

“Ann, you don't call any shots around here, and if you don't want this to get any uglier than what it has, I suggest you go. My kids will stay put. No judge is going to give our children to an adulterous woman.”

“No judge is going to give our children to a faggot-ass bastard,” I barked.

He rushed over and grabbed my neck. I fought back, but he pinned me down. He was foaming at the mouth, spitting words of warning that he'd kill me if I ever said that to him again. I thought I was going to die. I clawed and punched, and he finally released me. He backed up, breathing like a man who had just run the one-hundred-yard dash.

“Get out of my house, you whore!” he growled.

My face was drenched with tears, and once I could catch my breath, I just sobbed. He backed out of my room and left me there alone. I didn't want to call Quentin, but this time, I had no choice. Pastor Young had put his hands on me one too many times, and I thought that night would be my last night on God's green earth.

I didn't pack a bag, I just got my coat, purse, and keys and left.

The next day, Quentin was by my side when I went to pack up my clothes. I didn't get to say good-bye to my kids, but I knew I'd have them soon. Pastor Young thought he had me with those photos, but I had something worse—a video of him banging another man in the ass.

I knew the judge would see things my way, and if not, the press would. Hurting me, I could handle, but my kids were a different story. I could live without any and everybody, but I could not live without my kids. I had been silent for too long. If exposing him for what he was, was the key to keeping my kids, so be it.