Persuading Perfection Read online

  Dedication

  Don’t ever give up hope. Keep your dreams alive.

  Anything worth achieving requires hard work.

  For all the inspiration, support, and love…I thank you!

  Copyright © 2018 TC Matson

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permissions of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, whether living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Cover Design by: Sara Eirew

  Editing by: Amanda Brown

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright © 2018 TC Matson

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  More from TC

  To My Readers

  About the Author

  Connect with TC Matson

  Jade

  “Oh shit. No, no, no,” I sputter, dropping the pregnancy test onto the counter and backing away from it like the damn thing’s on fire. Cold dread ices my blood.

  “Jade? You okay?” my roommate, Freya, calls from outside the bathroom door.

  “Yeah,” I lie, trying to sound levelheaded, but I’m far, far, far from it.

  “You sure?”

  I glance to the white plastic that’s teetering on the edge of the sink. It’s taunting me, silently reminding me that I. Am. Officially. Fucked!

  “Yeah,” I try again to get rid of her.

  “You’re lying,” she states.

  Of course she’d know if I was lying or not. She’s been my best friend since ninth grade and roommate since five days after graduation. We’ve spent countless hours at ski resorts, shopping, the theater, bars, clubs, and cozying up on the couch to do absolutely nothing. She knows my deepest, darkest secrets as I do hers. We’ve been inseparable for years. Of course she freaking knows me.

  I roll my eyes to the ceiling, begging for a miracle, for her to just drop her persistence and leave well enough alone. “I’m not lying. Just give me a moment. I’m busy.”

  The door handle wiggles and my pulse spikes into hyper speed, ripping the breath from my lungs. Frantically, I wrap the test—the bullshit lying test—up in toilet paper, crush the box it came in flat, and shove them both into the waistband of my pants.

  I yank the door open wearing a scowl. “Can’t I shit in peace?”

  As she studies me, her eyes roam my body, dropping to my feet and raising back to my face. She leans, looking past me like someone else would actually be in here. “You never lock the door.”

  “Well…I had to poop…bad. I’m constipated.” I want to smack my forehead. I never said I was the brightest star in the sky.

  Her amber brown eyes silently call bullshit. “Drink some water and do some yoga. Always helps me get things moving.”

  Her stare lingers for a moment, but then she turns, sashaying her ass back down the hall. The moment she rounds the corner and disappears into the kitchen, I dart into my room and shut the door.

  There has to be a mistake. I can’t be pregnant. I’ve been on the pill since I was fifteen. Not because I was sleeping around, but because Mother Nature is a bitch and once a month she tries clawing her spiteful ass out of my uterus. The pill helps with that—regardless of how horrified my mother was when the doctor suggested it.

  Shit. Shit. Shiiiit.

  I push the test—the poisonous, lying bastard—into the very back of my underwear drawer, making sure it’s covered up and hidden well. Not that Freya would snoop, she wouldn’t, but because…I feel safer if it’s back there. Dropping on the edge of my bed, I stare at the silver handle, anticipating the drawer sliding open and the white plastic with the two lines popping out to begin levitating on its own.

  Why wouldn’t it? This is a damn nightmare.

  I’m so screwed.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I glance to my panicked reflection in the mirror. I’m flush, my face pale, my cheeks scarlet. My brown eyes are wide, worried, and so full of shit. Today is going to suck.

  I inhale a deep breath trying to collect myself and steady my nerves, except it isn’t doing a thing to help.

  Freya is sitting at the table eating a fruit salad as she flips through a Cosmopolitan magazine. She flicks her gaze at me and shoves a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth.

  You know when you’re trying to be inconspicuous, how you feel like you stick out like a neon green elephant in a room full of fluffy rabbits? Yeah. Well, I’m that elephant holding a red flashing neon that reads “I’m pregnant.” I’m trying to look unobtrusive, yet feeling obviously indiscreet.

  “You know you’ll rot your brain reading that shit.” I tip my chin to the magazine and then grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Twenty mind-blowing sex positions, Jade. Miinndd blooowing,” she draws out with a giggle.

  I roll my eyes mirthfully. “Like you need any help in that department.”

  She tilts her head and clearly I’m an idiot. “I’m never too old to find new positions to try out.”

  “Like you haven’t tried them all,” I snort.

  She sucks a grape into her mouth. “Unlike some people in this house, I haven’t had sex in three months. Three months, Jade. Not all of us are lucky enough to have a regulated booty call.”

  I grin, cocking my hip to the side. “Do I hear a twinge of envy?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She shrugs playfully.

  “Is your lady flower shriveling up in desperate need of watering?” I laugh and so does she.

  “I’m thinking about hitting up the bars this weekend to see if I can rectify the situation. You down?”

  A drink? If I’m pregnant, I can’t. I mean, aren’t the early stages the important ones? God, what all can I not do? I’ve heard there’s a list a mile long of dos and don’ts. I’m so fucked.

  “Earth to Jade.” Freya nudges me with her hip as she sets her fork in the sink.

  “Yeah!” I squeak out.

  She eyes me curiously, her brows knitted together and her lips slightly pursed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course. I have to go to work. I’ll see you tonight,” I fumble out and rush off, grabbing my purse and bolting out the door.

  There’s not a f
at chance in hell she believes me.

  Omega Trust Bank. I’ve been a part-timer teetering on the edge of full time for a year, alternating between the morning and afternoon shifts and working every other weekend. I don’t live extravagantly. I sure the hell don’t have many bills, and this job pays them and gives me extra cash to burn. When I accepted this job, it hurt my family’s feelings. Dad signed over the winery to my brother, Max, and was hoping I’d partner with him at a later date. But I didn’t. And I don’t plan on it. I know nothing about wine and I definitely don’t have the interest to care and learn it.

  Although I clocked in several hours ago, I’m robotic, moving through the routines of the job—smile, deposit, withdrawal, cash, lollipop. I’m here physically, but mentally I’m still standing in my bathroom staring at the pregnancy test, horrified. I’m scared to death those pink lines are actually telling the truth. Because if they are, I’m about to uproot and cause a slurry of chaos.

  I sneak off into the bathroom, shut the door, and lock it. My fingers tremble as I dial the number to my doctor. I’m almost in tears when I have to answer the “why,” and my voice shakes as I settle on a good appointment date. Unfortunately, it’s on Thursday at two in the afternoon.

  Two days.

  Two very long days drowning with worry.

  Two days of having to come up with excuses why I can’t do anything normal with Freya because I’m scared to freaking move the wrong way.

  The beige waiting room is a contradiction. Behind the sliding glass window is a cheery receptionist, smiling large and carefree as she laughs at something someone behind her says. Yet when I look around to the other three women in the waiting room, one clearly pregnant and probably about to pop, none of us look happy to be here. The air smells sterile and there isn’t any noise except from the occasional cough or flip of a magazine page. The chairs might be comfortable, but I’m the total opposite. My anxiety is high, hyper aware I’m embarking on my first ever pregnancy scare…alone.

  “Jade Lauder.” My name slices through the air and causes my stomach to knot.

  As the short blonde nurse in the blue scrubs walks me down the hall, my pulse begins to throb in my toes.

  I’ve answered a slew of questions, peed in a cup, given blood, and now I’m wringing my hands so tightly my fingers are cramping. Waiting on the doctor to emerge from behind the closed door to tell me it’s all a false alarm is excruciating. I look down at my sock-covered feet dangling off the side of the medical bed and wonder, if I am pregnant, how the hell I am going to tell the guy I’ve loved since I laid eyes on him that he’s about to become a dad.

  The first time I met him, he was sitting on the couch with Max and Easton watching TV. He had on a red hoodie, black pants, and white sneakers, laughing at something someone said. His catastrophic rich brown eyes sparkled at me when I came through the house bouncing the ball from hand to hand after volleyball practice. His black hair was a fucking mess and he styled it that way on purpose. Every girl wanted to run their fingers through it, me included.

  His teenage face was flawless and without any scruff, but chiseled nonetheless. His mouth had to be illegal—perfect teeth, charming smile, and the sexiest lips. But I was thirteen, a virgin, and had only peck kissed a boy on a dare. So I figured my thoughts were just some weird phase.

  Except they never stopped. I dreamed of Zachary Calloway. I doodled his name, putting his last with mine. He always had a way of looking at me, like I was his fantasy, but he never acted on it. I swore there were times he undressed me with his eyes, envisioning me butt ass naked before him. But if he really did, he hid it well.

  When I started high school, he was a junior and made me feel like I was something special when he walked me to some of my classes when Max couldn’t. I used to love the way the jealous girls looked at me—lips curled, eyes squinted. He never paid it any attention because the boy was used to it.

  Max always came to my volleyball games. Come hell or high water, he was there. And Zach was usually right beside him. I could always feel his eyes on me. It prickled my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck. And it always screwed up my concentration. If I happened to steal a glance, he’d never look away, boring into me with a lopsided grin.

  As we grew older, so did my thoughts. They were more mature, more sexual and harder to control, but somehow I managed to hide all the pent up arousal. Rumors flew around the school about how good he fucked, and although they broke my heart, they also fueled my deepest desires.

  I cried when he started dating Tiffany—the pretty girl in the neighborhood over. She was so pretty, much more than me. Her boobs were bigger, her legs were longer, and she had the thing I wanted the most—Zach. They spent a lot of time together, mostly with their mouths fused.

  I sobbed like an idiot the day he went off to college. I went from seeing him daily, even if it was with his whore of a girlfriend, to nothing. That sucked the life out of me and I moped around like I had lost my best friend. But without Zach in the picture, other boys started to catch my attention, one in particular—Noah. He was a fullback on the football team and we hit it off seconds after he ran me over in the hallway after his practice.

  He was football built—broad shoulders, a sturdy chest—and had large round dark blue eyes. He was clean cut and loved to have fun. He treated me like a princess. One night he told me he loved me and even though I said it back, I don’t think I ever really did. My heart was still in a shattered mess over Zach.

  One spring break, Zach came back into town and gave Noah shit for dating me while Tiffany was still on his arm. He was ruthless with his words, and it didn’t sit well with either Tiffany or me. I spit some nasty profanities at him, months of built up jealousy and hurt all flying out of my mouth. He sat there and smirked at me—arrogant asshole.

  A week after I graduated, Mom and Dad left town for a huge wine tasting event for one of the most reputable wineries in California, and Max threw me a huge ass graduation party. Everyone came, including Zach. I have no earthly idea how Zach and I found ourselves in my bedroom, but we did, and he took my virginity against the wall. It was everything I fantasized with the very man I dreamed of. It hurt like hell but felt so great. His mouth was on me. His dick was in me. It was hot and it was glorious. Noah and I had fooled around, but we never went all the way, and even though I’d had an orgasm before, nothing quite prepared me for the one Zachary Calloway gave me.

  He was still pulsing in me when he caged my face between his hands and told me he loved me. As much as I wanted it to be real, as much as I truly wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by him, I knew it was fake. He was just high off screwing me. I always heard guys did weird things, drunk love stuff when they came. I laughed and told him he was drunk and reminded him we wouldn’t ever be a thing because my brother would murder him. I hated myself when I said it, and was wrecked by the raw pain in his eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself believe it was true.

  Afterward, we both rushed to clean up and went back out to the party, but something was off with him. He wasn’t the same. He could barely look at me and when he did, I swore it was killing him. I figured it was his guilty conscious because the next day he was back fused to Tiffany’s mouth and it splintered me.

  Two months later we found ourselves fucking in the back of my Honda Accord. It was so damn hot, so carnal, and so wrong since we were both dating someone. But we couldn’t stop. We didn’t want to. And we haven’t…

  The door cracks open and I jerk, ripping myself out of memory lane. Doctor Shultz smiles at me as she comes in with her bands of silver bracelets decorating her wrists and sits in her rolling chair.

  “Well, Miss Lauder…”

  Her tone…Fuck. I brace for it.

  “It’s confirmed. You’re pregnant.”

  The table drops out from under me. “Oh, shit,” I mutter. Tears begin stinging my eyes, my body vibrating from panic. I blink. “But I’m on birth control…” I’m grasping at straws, hoping that
something I say will magically change the results and the outcome will be different.

  She frowns, looking at me with sympathy. “Birth control pills aren’t fail proof. There are a lot of factors at play. Certain medications can interfere, alcohol, not taking the pill at the same time every day, skipping it all together. Just because you’re on the pill doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use other forms of protection.”

  “I skipped a pill, but it’s happened before and nothing like this happened,” I babble out.

  She offers a small and apologetic smile. “Your luck ran out.”

  Well, don’t sugar coat it or anything…

  She flips the top paper on the chart. “Given your answers, I’m assuming you’re about six weeks, give or take. Normally, I don’t do ultrasounds until eight weeks in, but if you’d like, we can get you a definite today.

  I nod. I need a definite…

  He’s going to flip his lid and think I’ve purposefully trapped him.

  And Max is going to prison.

  Jade

  Since yesterday, I’ve not told anyone. I have no damn clue what to say. Freya knows something is up because I’ve been avoiding her like the plague, tossing out every excuse in the world to stay away from her. After the appointment, I came home numb and floating in a daze of solidified denial. I went to work this morning the same and drifted through the day in a hell of a funk.

  But I can’t stay quiet for long. I feel alone…and scared.

  Freya is already home when I toss my purse on the coffee table, dropping my keys beside it and causing a loud clanking noise. Her door is open but out of nervous energy, I knock instead of springing in as I normally do. She looks up at me through her glasses, her kinky curls held back by a black headband.

  “I need to talk to you.” I sit on the corner of her bed with my heart in my throat.

  She spins her chair around, pulling her glasses off. “This sounds ominous.”

  “I’ve got a situation. I’m in trouble.”