Sharing Spaces: Book 2





Disclaimer:



This book touches on the controversial subject of abortion. The procedures and policies described are in accordance with Texas state law in order to add realism to the story. The plot of this story is no way influenced by the author’s political views, nor has it been created to incite upset, or debate.





Prologue





Staring at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the back of my bedroom door, I couldn’t see the changes yet. Every time I’ve heard women reminiscing about their pregnancies, it’s the same old complaints: big, tender boobs, nausea, dry or oily skin—depending on who you’re talking to—fat fingers and toes … you get the idea. Yet, shortly after peeing on the stick that would change my life, I was completely floored by how little I had changed. If it hadn’t been for a missed period, I never would have suspected it. Even so, six weeks after a stupid summer fling, the consequences were coming back to bite me in the ass in a big way.

Honestly, I would have preferred a raging case of the crabs. At least you can wash that away with a bottle of special shampoo and a tiny comb. This is definitely one slip up that can’t be washed away with shampoo, drowned in tequila, or smothered by a pan of brownies.

“You are such an idiot,” I whispered to the wide-eyed girl staring back at me. She’s someone I recognized—platinum-dyed hair, blue eyes lined expertly with navy eyeliner, porcelain skin and blush-stained cheeks, pink glossed lips. Is this what a mom looks like? It’s not like I have a good example to go from; my mom is Botox Betty. I don’t really think normal moms wear clothing better suited to a sixteen year old, start drinking at nine in the morning, or ignore their children completely. But then, I’m really just guessing here.

Do I want to be a mother? Definitely not. I barely even like kids. I mean, really, I don’t know that many personally. They just seem so loud. And dirty. And smelly. And sticky. Though, the little tiny clothes are cute. However, I doubt little tiny clothes are a good enough excuse to give birth to and raise a tiny person when you don’t even know what you’re doing.

Pressing a hand to my stomach, I sighed. “Sorry, kid, looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Well, there is the father, but I hardly know how he’s going to react to all this. In fact, I barely know him at all. I should have known he was going to be nothing but trouble from the beginning. The day we met, I was stuck between the need to mount him, and the urge to slap his stupid face. He was hot and infuriating at the same time, which is just an odd mix. In the end, the need to mount him won out. Boy did I mount him. Several times. Different positions. Lots of sweating, panting, moaning, and all that jazz. Now it’s looking like the only person who’s going to be panting and sweating is me … while lying on a table trying to push something the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of a kiwi.

Like I said, I should have known he was going to be trouble from the start.





“I can’t believe I let you jerks talk me into this. You promised me, no outsy-doorsy crap.”

That would be me, griping about being forced to brave the rainforest after I was promised I wouldn’t have to.

“Come on, Chloe,” Christian replied, nudging me with his shoulder as we waited for our turn to board the boat bobbing on the bank of the river, which ran through Dasia’s rainforest. “It’s not like you have to walk anywhere. Just pretend you’re on a yacht in the Hamptons or something.”

“There are no monkeys in the Hamptons,” I muttered as I glanced up and found a pair of small, wide-eyed primates staring down at me from the branch of a tree. They might seem cuddly and cute to others, but I didn’t trust them. Everything’s all fine and good until someone starts throwing poo. “You guys suck so much.”

The guide waited patiently with one foot in the boat, and his long, wooden pole in hand as we climbed in, the last to board. I cringed as my Timberland hiking boots were soaked by the water lapping at the muddy bank, but followed Christian onto the boat.

“Funny,” Christian said with a smirk as he noticed my cargo shorts and hiking boots, “for someone who doesn’t like the outdoors, you sure know how to dress for it.”