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“Good afternoon, Aura. He has been waiting for you for about an hour,” she says, motioning to Lane.
“Thank you, Tammy.”
After the third day, my boss and Tammy found it odd that Lane was always at the diner exactly when my shift started and would leave when my shift ended. I had no choice but to tell them he was my baby’s father and my ex-boyfriend.
Tammy found it sweet, but when I told her what he did and how he left me all alone, she told me to make him sweat. Since they are not in the racing world, they haven’t noticed that Lane Turner is in their diner waiting on his baby momma until her shift is over.
Customers walk in, and I get to work. I hand out the menus and head over to Lane’s booth. I take out a pad and pen, ignoring the scowl on his face. “What can I get you?” I ask.
“You back in our house.”
“That’s not gonna happen. Are you going to order something or are you going to sit here and watch me?”
“Why?”
“You know why, and I hate repeating myself. I don’t like that house. It reminds me how I got here, and I want to move on, and so should you.”
“Is it the house? You don’t like it?”
I take a deep sigh. My feet have started to bother me more and become more constrictive in my shoes. I place my weight to give my other foot a break.
He notices, and he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
My feet are swelling like pumpkins each day, but I don’t tell him that or that my clothes hardly fit and I don’t make enough to buy bigger ones. It is not his problem, but mine.
“Nothing. Now order, or I’ll take the next customer.”
“Fine, I would like”—he scans the menu–“a burger with fries and a Coke.”
“We have Cherry Coke. It’s your fave.”
He grins. “I’ll take it,” he says.
I go put his order in and work for the next three hours until my break.
After a month, I notice he is getting antsy. After placing his order, Lane picks at his food and sits at the booth the whole time until he sees me head to the back toward the restroom. I’m aboutto close the door when he barges in and closes it behind him and flicks the lock.
“What are you doing?”
“Turn around,” he says in a hard tone, but I don’t move. “I’m not going to ask again. I said, turn around.”
“Lane—”
He spins me around and bends me slightly, and I grip the sink. He slides his hand under the skirt of my uniform and rips my panties. I gasp and clench my thighs.
I’m sensitive. Everywhere. I’m wet, and my thighs are sticky from my arousal. I read in the book I got at the clinic that offers health care for single expecting moms that hormones from pregnancy make you want to have sex. I guess what I read was true. I’m extremely sensitive and like what he’s doing.
A few times in my tiny depressing shower inside my apartment, I pleasured myself. Most of the time, I thought of Lane, and then one time, I guiltily thought of Kalum. I immediately stopped, shut off the water, and cried myself to sleep. I was ashamed of myself. I blamed it on my hormones, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t get off.
Lane looks at me through the mirror. I can hear the zipper of his pants, and I close my eyes. I want him to touch me. I need him to touch me. My skin prickles with anticipation. Goose bumps form all over my skin, and my stomach flutters. Not because of the baby but because of what Lane is about to do to me.
“Lane,” I whisper.
In one swift movement, he slides into me so fast my feet almost lift from the ground.
“Hold on, Aura. I need you. I can’t be without you. I’m sorry for hurting you. Please, Aura. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t protest. He moves inside me, and I clench around him in a tight vise that makes him groan. The slapping of our skin echoes in the small bathroom.
