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I joined him on the sofa, bringing two glasses and the rest of the pitcher of blueberry coconut mojitos that I had prepared. Our friends and relatives always raved over my drinks. In another life, I could have been a mixologist. I often toyed around with different concepts, so I had mixed some fresh blueberries, sugar water, and red wine in a Mason jar to allow them to fuse with one another, then made the actual drink with that mixture, some coconut rum, club soda, and fresh mint that I grew in my herb garden. It was the kind of drink that would sneak up on you. I was hoping that it had snuck up on Jason enough to make him as horny as I was.
He turned on ESPN—typical man—and kicked off his shoes. I poured us two fresh glasses and then pulled his feet up onto my lap, removed his socks, and started kneading and massaging them. I was hoping that the night would end with Jason blowing my back out, like Orpheus had done the night before.
“You are too good to me.”
He sighed and put his hands behind his head as I continued to massage his left foot with one hand and took a sip of my mojito with the other.
I stared at him.
“What?” he asked and shrugged.
“Momma confronted me today about coming in late and accused me of cheating on you.”
Jason frowned. “And what did you say?”
“I told her that I wasn’t cheating on you. What else would I say?”
“Did she buy it?”
“I doubt it. I just want to know how you always manage to sneak in here and I’m always the one who gets caught.”
“If I could manipulate Hades, what makes you think I can’t get over on your mother?”
Jason broke out in a chuckle while I smirked and threw his feet off my lap.
“What?” he said, still laughing as I stood up and headed toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to top the dessert.”
“I love you, Zoe, and this is forever.”
“Always has been. Always will be.”
Turn to the next page for an excerpt from Zane's The Other Side of the Pillow
JEMISTRY
Prologue
“Violence can only be concealed by a lie, and the lie can only be maintained by violence.”
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
2000
It had been three weeks since the abortion. What a way to kick off the new millennium. At a time when I should have been happy—recently getting my master’s in Education, working as a high school Social Studies teacher, and making decent money—all I felt was ashamed.
Wesley had been making an attempt to improve his behavior. He had no idea that I had been pregnant. As far as I was concerned he never would find out that I had killed our child. I didn’t want to do it, never thought that I would find myself in that place, not to mention that I had never imagined that I could go through with it. But I had, and not another living soul knew about it with the exception of the people at the clinic. I had not shared it with any of my family or friends. I could not bear to have them think anything negative about me.
“What’s for dinner?” Wesley asked as he walked into the kitchen of the town house we were renting in Georgetown. “I’m starved.”
“I made some chicken and noodles, and a spinach salad,” I replied, washing the pots in the sink. I always preferred to clean up before eating. Afterward I would be too stuffed to do it and I did not believe in leaving dirty dishes overnight. “I’ll get you a plate. Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll have everything together by the time you get finished.”
After I had served both of us, I sat down across from him at the dining room table.
Wesley started digging into his food like there was no tomorrow. I stared at him and even though he was incredibly good-looking, that was not enough to overshadow all of his actions.
You’re too good of a woman to keep putting up with his shit!
