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Or is it fiction that imitates life?
That can’t be right. Maybe life imitates art… ugh, I can’t remember. I would google it if I weren’t in the middle of a wedding ceremony.
So it really doesn’t matter how the saying goes, but I’m pretty sure this exact moment in my life could be a great example. If my life were a sitcom, it’d beFriends.
I’m the maid of honor at my best friend’s wedding. My dress isn’t sage with gold and olive color accents—nothing to do with the one Rachel wore during Monica and Chandler’s wedding. Still, this could be the replica of that episode,The One with Monica and Chandler’s Wedding.
This is The One with Nydia and Manelik’s Wedding. Their friend Byron Langdon is officiating, though he’d be a terrible Joey.
His other best friends from his childhood are his groomsmen. But that’s just the setting of the story. The part I’m talking about is the one no one saw. While the ceremony was happening, Rachel was freaking out because she had just found out she was pregnant after a one-night stand.
And in this case, I would be Rachel.
Well, there are a few differences. I haven’t taken the test to confirm I’m pregnant, but my period is two weeks late. There’s no other explanation for that unless I have some mysterious illness.It’s possible.
I don’t want to think about it at all. I’ll deal with it after the reception, when I’m alone.
When I lift my gaze, I spot Iskander Cantú. Tall, dark, and dangerous Iskander Cantú.
The man I’ve been having an affair with for the past three years. We’re lovers, roommates, and nothing else. He’s what I like to call the best rebound sex I’ve ever had in my entire life.
I should give the guy more credit. He’s actually the best sex I’ve ever had.
Iskander is not a one-night stand, but our relationship—if I can even call it that—is just physical. We know there’s an end to us, and a baby… well, a baby will send him to New York faster than I can sayyou’re going to be a father.
It’s not like I want him to profess his undying love for me. I’m fine with raising a child on my own. It’s the technicalities that worry me. It’d be pretty shitty if I don’t tell him about it, but also, I don’t want to waste my time discussing something I know he’s going to reject.
Just a few days ago, we had a conversation that ended with him telling me he’d rather die than become a parent. That should be enough for me to not say a word, but then there’s his family. They’re close, and if they knew about my kid, they’d want to be a part of their life.
Honestly, if I’m going to be doing this on my own, I’d rather not have a connection with the Cantú family. That sounds so cold and selfish. But it’d be the best thing for my child. I don’t want to tell the poor thing, oh here are your uncles, but you’ll never meet your father because he’d rather take his life than have anything to do with you.
Now, that’s cruel and unnecessary.
Will I miss the Cantús?Probably, they’ve given me a lot. Iskander more than anyone. He was exactly what I needed to nurture my broken heart back to life. I was able to put all the pieces back together and thankfully, I didn’t get attached.
Though, I might have an issue once we go our separate ways. My body is going to miss Iskander. I doubt anyone will ever satisfy me the way he does. He doesn’t need much to make me want him.
Like right now, while he watches me from the first row. That smoldering look and panty-melting grin dissolve me into a puddle of goo. If we weren’t in the middle of a wedding, we’d be looking for the first closet or room where we could burn a few calories.
This is how it’s been between us since we met. There’s a pull. Two strong magnets attracting each other. The chemistry combusts without even touching.
We’ve had almost three years of euphoric, magical… very magical sex. It’s always out-of-this-world.
Yes, it’s good sex.
Not just good. The best I’ve ever had in my life.
I never thought that having a fuck buddy would be so… well, beneficial. It is.
But that’s all we have.
When we met, I was coming out of a serious relationship. Ironically, I met him the day I was supposed to marry Roland the Weasel. The man who promised a lifetime commitment and left me—for another woman—stranded in Luna Harbor.
That’s part of the past. I’m in a better place. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself since I discovered my period is late.
I’m in denial.
If I don’t have confirmation, there’s nothing to worry about. At least not yet. It gives me plenty of time to figure out my options. I might need to return to Chicago and beg for my old job. Corporate America doesn’t look as bad now that I have to support a child. I glance at Iskander, whose hooded glare sends a promise.
