#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 5

  "Folks, we're going to depart from the back of the plane first today," the flight attendant says. I know it's only for the reason that Connor has shit himself three times in the past hour, but I appreciate it.

  I lift the baby bag up and place it in front of me, covering the stained wet spot on my jeans.

  Jake covers his wet spot with our burrito baby, and we follow the businessman down the aisle doing the walk of shame—his walk of shame. Every row we pass, I point at the man, who is so entranced with his cell phone that he doesn't have any clue everyone on the plane thinks he is the one who had the accident, three times. "I didn't know that happened to grown men," I tell several people as we depart the plane.

  Our stroller is waiting for us as we step back over the threshold, and Jake grabs it before sprinting into a run with Connor in tow. "Let's get out of her, now!" he says.

  The memory I will forever hold in my head from this trip is the mental snapshot I took of Jake running with the stroller in one hand and Connor in the other as diarrhea dripped down his leg into his running shoe. Then there's me, strutting through the gate like royalty with my baby bag covering most of my body. We made it through our first flight, and it wasn't nearly as shitty as I thought it was going to be.

  About the Author

  Shari J. Ryan is an International Bestselling Author of heartbreakers and mind-benders. Shari was once told she tends to exaggerate often and sometimes talks too much, which would make a great foundation for fictional books. Four years later, Shari has written eleven novels that often leave readers either in tears from laughing, or crying.

  With her loud Boston girl attitude, Shari isn't shy about her love for writing or the publishing industry. Along with writing several International bestsellers, Shari has split her time between writing and her longstanding passion for graphic design. In 2014, she started an indie-publishing resource company, MadHat Books, to help fellow authors with their book cover designs, as well as assistance in the self-publishing process.

  While Shari may not find many hours to sleep, she still manages to make time for her family. She is a devoted wife to a great guy, and a mother to two little boys who remind her daily why she was put on this earth.

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  Also by Shari J. Ryan

  Coming Soon:

  Last Words

  The Heart Series

  Published:

  Manservant

  Raine’s Haven

  A Missing Heart

  Spiked Lemonade

  Queen of the Throne

  A Heart of Time

  No Way Out

  Ravel

  Red Nights

  TAG

  The Schasm Series

  Preview of Manservant

  A Hot Romantic Comedy - Recently Released

  PROLOGUE

  ONE YEAR EARLIER

  One final exam left to go. Thank God. Then, I can forget about everything and spend the summer with my Andy. Our schedules haven’t allowed us to be together nearly enough this year, and I hope to make up for that over the break by spending most of our time in bed.

  Since I’m two years behind Andy, it's been hard watching him get scooped up into the real world while I'm still living on campus, but he's here every weekend, and we talk a lot. Just one year to go, and then we can get an apartment together and finally be on the same life page.

  “How did you do, girly?” Jade pops up behind me and wraps her arm around my neck as we make our way down the dorm hallway.

  “Not too bad, but I felt like Professor Adams was staring at me the whole time I was taking my mass comm final. It was very distracting,” I tell her.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “He totally wants to get in your pants. It could boost your final grade.” She squeezes me and shrieks, “One more day in this hell hole, and it’s summer vacation."

  “That’s gross. He’s like sixty or seventy. Plus, that mole on his cheek has two hairs growing out of it, and the dried boogers he always has in his nose . . . how does he not know they’re there?”

  “Yeah, good point. Don’t let him near your pants. A better grade isn’t worth it for that,” Jade says. “Oh crap, before I forget, do you have that dress I lent you last week? Chip is taking me out for our sexiversary tonight.”

  I laugh at the way she accentuates the sex part of their anniversary. Jade and Chip celebrate every milestone, no matter how small, or how large it is. “Oooh la-la! Where are you going?” I ask, reaching into my back pocket for my room key.

  “Probably a burger joint, but I still like to look nice. Plus, I don’t care if we just sit outside, and do nothing. It’s Chip," she says breathlessly. "I have no problem gazing into his eyes all night. That’s normal, right?”

  “You have it so bad for him, Jade. Please shoot me if I ever end up like you,” I jest.

  “Oh pa-lease, you and Andy are totally heading down the same path. He like totally worships the ground you walk on, and the air you breathe—all that crapola.”

  “You think so?” I ask with a small smile, wondering whether I truly am following in Jade's footsteps. It's never been my thing to fall head over heels for someone the way Jade has, but Andy does have a particular charm to him. Plus, it's been a year, and we're in love, talking about future plans. So, maybe she is right. “He’s good to me. I think I lucked out there.”

  “See, you thought all hotties were assholes. I told you that wasn’t the case,” she reminds me.

  “I was wrong," I lament. "Feel better?”

  Jade pats herself on the back. “I do feel better, as a matter of fact. Thanks.”

  “Andy’s here packing up my stuff so we can take off right after my final tomorrow. He’ll be happy to see you,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I didn’t know he was here,” Jade chirps. “Let me at the tough guy. He needs a Jade hug.”

  “Maybe I should warn him first.” I laugh with a raised brow because it takes a certain type of person to handle Jade's eccentricity. “Take a deep breath first and calm down, so you don't startle him.” Andy calls her Crazy Jade, but I've kept that to myself.

  I unlock my dorm room door and push it open. “Andy, look who’s here to see you,” I announce while pulling my key out of the lock.

  As I turn toward my side of the room, my heart does that thing where it beats twice at one time instead of beating at its normal rhythm, right before it sinks to the bottom of my stomach, and suddenly, I want to vomit.

  Andy is here, but he’s definitely not helping me pack. He’s in the middle of my three-hundred-dollar Pottery Barn comforter, butt naked, in the company of not one, but two naked girls. He has his face buried in one girl’s crotch, and his cock in the other. As I focus on the horrifying scene, I know it will be burned in my mind forever. It’s Lara and Kari from next door—with Andy—on my bed, on my comforter that cost me a whole month’s salary. There’s a naked ass on my pillow, and two sets of breasts furiously bouncing in the air. I feel totally disgusted and violated.

  Not one of them heard the door open, or my voice as I announced my entrance. They must be be having a really good time.

  Jade walks in beside me, and I shove the door closed, causing a loud thud. In response to the sound, body parts begin to fly and untangle as the three of them sit up, all with looks of utter shock. Are they actually surprised to be caught having sex on my bed? Did not one of them consider that I might get out of my exam a few minutes early and catch them? Oh my God, how long has this been going on?

  “I can explain,” Andy says. />
  Explain? I take a few steps forward, feeling bewildered, hurt, and raging mad. “Explain what? How Lara’s crotch fell on top of your mouth, and your cock fell into Kari’s? Is that the story?” I’m not sure how I’m even holding myself together right now and forming understandable words, but I never expected to see a threesome—especially on my bed with my boyfriend and two friends from next door. “You’re such a fucking douche bag,” I yell. “And you two skanks . . . I thought we were friends. Kari, I held your ratty hair last week while you vomited in a bush on the quad. What the hell are you doing?”

  "Oh man, she's totally going to kill all of you," Jade mumbles to them as she twirls her hair around the back of her ear.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Julia,” Lara says.

  “Sorry? Out. Everyone out.” I feel the sobs creeping up my throat, so I grab what’s closest to me, which happens to be a keyboard. I tear it from the computer and throw it at them, missing all three.

  “Jules, you know you have a bad throwing arm. That’s not going to work,” Jade whispers in my ear.

  I take my phone out of my back pocket and snap a picture of the horrifying scene on my pretty comforter. “You’re right, Jade. It’s better to post this picture on Instagram later, so everyone knows how slutty these three are.”

  “Guys aren’t usually called sluts,” Jade whispers again.

  “Shh,” I tell her.

  “Please,” Lara begs. “I’m up for a scholarship next year for the community service projects I’ve done this semester. This will ruin my chances.”

  I laugh. “Fuck you.”

  “Babe, let’s talk this through,” Andy says, standing up from the bed in his full glory. He quickly moves across the room and grabs my arm, pulls me into him, and presses his lips to my forehead. “I love you. I was just—"

  "You were just testing out the skanks from next door instead of helping me pack?"

  "Well—"

  “Get the hell off me,” I seethe, trying to push him away. His grip is tight, and it’s pissing me off even more than I already am.

  As I try to squirm away, he tightens his hold. “Please, Julia.”

  Fine. So be it. I knee the asshole so hard in his exposed balls that he flops to the ground like a jellyfish, moaning in pain. “Don’t worry; your little pecker problem never did much for me anyway.” I snap one more picture to make one of those cute collages, then take Jade by the arm to leave. “I told you all hot guys were assholes,” I remind her as we walk out the door.

  “Only the hot guys you seem to find, sweetie.”

  “Fuck all hot guys. No, wait. I will never fuck another one again.”

  "You just handled that so well. I could never do what you just did," Jade tells me.

  I learned long ago that it's either tears or anger—weakness or strength. I've been gutted before, and I know anger is the best way to deal with the pain draining from the core of my heart. "Don't be fooled to think I'm okay," I tell her. "I don't ever want to date again. I’m swearing off all guys, especially hot guys.”

  “Oh—uh, okay well, let’s just get out of here for a few minutes, so you don’t say anything else you’re going to regret,” Jade says, trying to pacify me at this life-altering moment.

  "It's true, Jade. I will never make this mistake again.” Three men, all too into themselves to care even just a little bit about someone else—me. Andy, though, he's the icing on the cake made of douchebags, and this heartache I'm about to go through will be enough to last me a lifetime.

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  Afternoon Delight

  B.L. Berry

  Afternoon Delight

  By B.L. Berry, mother of two

  Edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall

  Afternoon Delight

  I would like to take a moment to formally apologize to every woman who came before me and birthed a human being from their loins.

  I was wrong.

  And I’m sorry for judging you. So very, very sorry.

  Truly, I am.

  For the better part of my younger years I could never understand why you left the house in such a disarray. Your hair would be a bird’s nest on top of your head, your clothes covered in questionable sticky substances, and honestly, did you go out in public wearing anything other than leggings and casual sportswear? Because to look like you’re going to the gym when, in fact, the only workout you had was chasing your toddler up and down the aisles of Target seems a little dramatic. All I’m saying is a little effort never hurt anybody.

  But you were a mom now. You had a kid. But, it’s just that … a kid. How hard could it really be? You give birth. You integrate the child into your everyday lives, and eighteen years later you send them on their merry way in hopes you’ve laid the foundation for them to not be a dick and turn into a productive member of society.

  Seemed easy enough.

  Well, it begs repeating … I was wrong.

  And I’m sorry.

  Children, while absolutely adorable and lovable and funny, are really little assholes underneath it all. And frankly, I’m kind of pissed that nobody warned me about this. Though had I been warned, I either would have called you a lazy liar or I would have had these tubes tied long ago.

  I’m just kidding.

  (Sorta.)

  At any rate, I always swore I’d have my shit together when I finally had kids. That I’d be the perfect mom and the perfect wife, while maintaining a perfectly immaculate house and having the perfect career.

  I mean how hard could it be?

  Here’s the shortlist of things nobody warned me about before having kids …

  I will always be wrong.

  Nothing will ever be clean again.

  There is no such thing as “me time.”

  I will covet thy neighbor’s minivan.

  I will be expected to accomplish Herculean feats like finishing science projects the night before they’re due or carting three different kids to three different activities at three locations on opposite sides of town all at the same time.

  I honestly have no idea how any of you successfully do this without black magic or the assistance of a secret nanny/chef/maid/taxi service. So, hats off to all you superhuman moms out there.

  But superhuman I am not.

  I am messy.

  And rushed.

  And sleep deprived.

  And—more importantly—sex deprived.

  God, I miss regularly having sex, especially in the comfort of my own bed. But since that sacred space has been commandeered by my children practically every night for the past three years, it’s a luxury I have since forgotten.

  Let us pause for a moment of silence as we mourn the loss of my aforementioned sex life. It was glorious and adventurous while it lasted. And now it is in heaven, right along side all my single woman hopes and dreams.

  And let’s not forget the fact I’m constantly comparing myself to other moms, and I have simply come to the conclusion that more often than not, I am failing at life. I have, no doubt, in some capacity screwed up this thing called motherhood. Though, in fairness, you probably have, too. You’re just significantly better at denying it as you post perfect photos of your seemingly well-mannered family on Facebook. Emphasis on the word “seemingly,” because you aren’t fooling me. I know that for every perfect photo you publish, there are at least fifty depicting the shit show that is your real life.

  It wasn’t always like this, though. I was damn near unflappable up until the moment that Jack, Wes, and Miles came barreling into our lives. No, they didn’t take turns like good little boys do. Those hellions clawed their way out of my womb in unison.

  One baby changes everything. But triplets? Triplets catapult you into three-ring-circus status in which the monkeys are the ringmasters, and you’re merely pulling custodial duty, cleaning up the mess they leave in their wake.

  God, I miss having my shit together. The days where I could pee in the com
pany of my iPhone and didn’t eat a lunch of leftover mac and cheese and hot dogs from my kids’ plates. The time when my husband, Cameron, and I could have a little unplanned afternoon delight and take our time with each other, not fearing interruption. But dammit, at the very least, I will always try. Which leads us to this precise moment in time…

  Me, my husband, and our postage stamp-sized laundry room.

  “How many did you give them, Tara?” Cam asks, breaking the kiss to unbuckle his pants.

  I whip off my shirt in one swift motion and recklessly cast it to the floor.

  “About fifty Goldfish each, give or take.”

  “And how much time does that buy us?”

  He kicks his pants off his ankles and drops my panties before I hoist my ass up on top of the dryer. Before I snuck into the laundry room, Cam turned both the washer and dryer on in a weak effort to drown out our sound. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the added vibrations it provides, just a little bit.

  “About eight minutes if we’re lucky.”

  We’ve always measured time in how long it takes our triplet boys to eat. A banana? You’ve only got about two minutes. Goldfish crackers? Anywhere from five to ten minutes.

  “What happened to the M&M’s?”

  Dammit! I was banking on him not remembering the M&M’s time warp. Those little squids savor those chocolate suckers and eat them one color at a time, usually starting with whichever color has the most candies and working their way down through the lineup. It easily buys us fifteen minutes, at the very least.

  “I forgot. And if either of us wants to get off right now, we don’t have time to argue.”

  And Lord knows I want to get off right now. Actually, it’s less of a want and more of a carnal need. It’s been far too long.

  I frantically shove one hand down his boxer briefs and find him hard and ready for a little mid-afternoon delight. Not that there’s much delightfulness in having a quickie in the laundry room, but these days you have to get creative and take what you can get.