Page 70 of Size King

“Are you sure? Do you know that it’s mine?”

“I haven’t slept with anyone else since the night we hooked up,” she tells me. “And before that night, I hadn’t slept with someone in several months. It’s yours.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to swallow. “So, what, then? You say you’re not asking for money or anything. But then, you track me down, come to my house, and say you’re pregnant, even though I wore a condom, a condomyougave me.”

“I didn’t purposefully give you a bad condom, Mason.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying you have awful, shit taste in condoms. We should sue those ineffective prick sons-of-bitches.”

“You have every right to be mad, or upset, or confused,” she says empathetically. “I’m all three of those things. But don’t go through a messy court battle over a condom when it’s possible we broke it during our amazing sex.”

“Hmm, I suppose I could concede to that possibility,” I say. “I don’t know anything right now. I’m in a state of shock, excuse me.”

Even though I feel that I have the right to sit wherever I want in my home and dwell on what Jillian is telling me, I still feel inappropriate sitting in the middle of the floor while she stands there watching me, making sure I don’t hang myself or jump off the roof.

I stand to my feet, taking a deep breath as I do so.

“I have test results from my doctor if you wanted to see for sure.”

“I believe you,” I say. “I guess my next question is, what do you want to do?”

“First, I wanted you to know,” she replies. “I understand why you went to L.A. that night. You wanted to get laid. Which is fine because that’s what I wanted, too. I don’t blame you for knocking me up because the sex we had was fucking phenomenal.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I concur. “Or maybe I won’t drink to that. Apparently, when I drink, I get girls I don’t know pregnant.”

“My point is,” she continues. “We were a fling that got out of hand. I don’t expect you to go buy a ring and propose just because I’m pregnant.”

“Good, because I’m not going to.”

“I’m not expecting anything from you,” she states. “You can be involved with this baby, or you don’t have to be involved at all.”

“But what are you going to do?” I ask again. “Are you keeping it? What options are you weighing?”

Tears begin spilling down her cheeks. “I’m not sure.”

She breaks down crying, nearly collapsing onto the floor. I hurry over to sit beside her. I hate seeing her cry.

I embrace her, holding her close to me while she sobs into my shoulder. I’m not sure if I’m comforting her or not, but I’m doing my best to try. Just being that close to each other is a tonic that soothes my anxiety.

“You’ll figure it out,” I whisper. “You don’t need to know everything right this minute. Things will start making sense and get better. I promise.”

She continues to cry, her tears soaking through my sweater. I stroke her hair, keeping a firm hand on the back of her neck.

“You’re not alone, you know,” I tell her. “I mean, I need time to think about this, but I’m not going to ghost you. That would be totally uncool. Tell me what I need to do to help, and I’ll do my best to be here.”

Holding Jillian as closely as I am also sparks something between us. I’m not sure if she had ulterior motives when we started to cuddle on the floor, but I can’t help but notice that my imagination is getting away from me.

She moans quietly a few times to herself. “Thank you. I love the way you hold me.”

I squeeze her even harder. “Good. I love holding you in my arms.”

She readjusts her arm so that she can caress my neck with her soft hands. I scratch her back, trying desperately to keep my hands in appropriate areas of her body. Then, we sit and hug each other for several quiet minutes, not moving or speaking. I try to quiet my racing pulse as my body responds to holding her soft curves. For a while, I suspect that she has fallen asleep in my arms—I am wrong.

“If you really want to help me,” she says quietly. “You’ll push your big, thick cock back inside my aching walls.”

The spark ignites to light our fire. She begins to kiss my neck, softly and sweetly at first. Then, she wets her lips to make sure she is properly tenderizing my skin as she sends shivers down my spine.

She is experiencing emotional chaos; we both are. I debate with myself about the ethics and logistics of the decision we are about to make. Will we give in to our carnal temptations yet again? Can we suppress our animalistic urges and just be there for each other as companions or even friends? I know the answer to that.