Second Chances

By NJ Cole

Second Chances
Calla Moretti married her college sweetheart, Bill. Married life was great at first, but as his career had her dropping out of college and moving away from her family and friends, Calla struggled with her role as a wife and homemaker. Stress, due to infertility and Bill’s affairs, had the marriage on the brink of failure.

When she drives home in the middle of a thunderstorm and spots first a broken down motorcycle, then the sexy rider, she decides to take a chance and offer him assistance. Realizing fate brought her together with a man who could give her the one thing her husband couldn’t—a baby—Calla decides to take a chance.

One romantic night, one big lie, will it save her marriage or fill her heart with more emptiness? Will this be the answer to her prayers? In life, are there truly second chances?

• Language: English
• Publisher: NJ Cole
• Release date: Jul 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311815644

NJ Cole

NJ Cole is a mid-western girl with a kinky side. She works by day and writes by night, all while being a mother to her wonderful boys and serving her Sir. Unlike many of today’s authors, she chooses to write in first person, allowing the readers to experience life through the eyes of the unique characters that live in her head. Her love of those characters and respect for their stories come through loud and clear in her writing. Reaching Amazon’s top 100 list in Erotica with Midnight Caller and Landslide, NJ Cole promises to entertain and excite the reader with her newest tales of love, romance, and as always, hot, steamy sex.

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Second Chances

by NJ Cole

Copyright © NJ Cole 2014

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, nor stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

Cover design by T.M. Franklin

Cover art

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Dedication

I dedicate this book to my friends, both real and imaginary. All of whom I've met by chance.

Chapter One

Negative, I said to myself, staring at the single line on the pregnancy test. It was the same result I’d gotten the last dozen or more times I’d taken the test. I took one every month, each time with the hope that the results would be different. My cycle was always irregular, so I wasn’t even sure when I was late.

I’d stopped crying several tests ago. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, or that I didn’t still feel sad each time I took one; it was that I’d learned it didn’t do any good to cry.

I had asked my gynecologist, and she’d offered to run some tests which—although helpful in telling me that I ovulated—didn’t tell me why I’d been unable to get pregnant. She’d suggested that my husband come in for some testing, too.

One night at dinner I brought it up, and just like I’d anticipated, Bill shot the idea down immediately. He was a traditional man from Long Island—one hundred percent Italian. We’d met at a party while I was a freshman in college; he was in the police academy, and I was immediately attracted to his confidence. We started dating and he treated me like a queen. By my sophomore year, he’d graduated the academy and we were engaged.

Two months before my twentieth birthday we had a huge church wedding and I became Calla Moretti. My sister stood up with me as my Maid of Honor, along with seven other bridesmaids, three of which were Bill’s sisters. He took my virginity on our wedding night, and we began our life as husband and wife in a small apartment.

The first few months as newlyweds were wonderful until I went back to college in fall. Bill was constantly suspicious of my friends and what I was doing when I was out of the house. He didn’t like when I participated in any study groups and made it clear that I was not to go to any parties.

During the break between semesters, Bill got a job offer in central New Jersey. I didn’t want to leave my family and friends, but he made me feel guilty that I was choosing them over his career. I tried to point out that I was also going to school here and only had three semesters to go. I’d also mentioned that I would never be able to start at a new school in two weeks.

Guilting me into it, I dropped out of college and we moved to New Jersey with the plan that I would find a school there and continue college in the fall. That never happened. First he said we couldn’t afford it because we’d just bought a house, then it was that I was needed too much at home. And finally, the last time I brought it up, he asked why I wasn’t content to be his wife and let him support me. He said he wanted to start a family, and if I were being honest, the thought of staying home with our children was appealing.

Three years later—five years after we’d gotten married—we’d had the dinner in which I’d asked him to get tested. He sat silently for nearly ten minutes before getting up from the table and dragging me along with him to the bedroom.

Maybe the reason you aren’t pregnant is because we hardly ever have sex anymore.

He was right. We usually only had sex about once a week. It wasn’t that being intimate with him was bad, it just wasn’t good. I spent a lot of time alone at home, and not only had I read the steamiest romance novels, but I’d become an expert at pleasing myself. Bill, while he gave it a great effort, had never actually brought me to orgasm in bed. He didn’t know this of course, and ironically, I hadn’t either until we’d been married for almost a year.

We had sex three times that night, and then every night after for the rest of the month. He seemed to make it his mission to get me pregnant. After I got my period he slacked off a little bit, missing a few nights here and there. After I’d gotten my period for the third month in a row, we were back to our regular routine of sex once a week, always in the missionary position, and always with the lights off.

That was years ago but not much had changed. I still hadn’t gone back to school, though I had been looking into taking some classes. I began to feel like I needed to get my degree so I could support myself. My marriage was going south…and fast.

Although it was a huge factor, the lack of children wasn’t the only thing that caused stress in our marriage. It was also the amount of time Bill spent at work. He’d volunteer for extra hours and go on every stakeout the town had. It had paid off in some ways, as he had just been made the Chief of Police. In a small town like the one we lived in, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, but it had increased the workload tremendously.

It seemed that if I wanted to see him, I had to go and visit him at the station. I brought him lunch a few days a week, and enjoyed talking to the dispatcher when I did. It at least gave me something to do to break up my monotonous routine.

One time I’d stopped by and she told me that Bill was at the Shady Pine Motel a mile out of town. It was the third time that month that I’d come to bring him lunch, only to find he’d been sent to the motel on a call.

I had to pass that way on an errand, anyway, so I thought I might stop by if he didn’t look too busy. I was surprised to see that there was only one other car besides his police cruiser in the motel parking lot. Before I could wonder about the reason for the call, I spotted him walking out of one of the rooms with a large breasted blonde. He was putting his police belt on as he walked to his car.

Completely forgetting my errand, I drove home to cry. I had decided to confront him about it over dinner, but he denied that anything had happened. He told me that there had been a disturbance and he’d asked the men to leave, which they had done. Then he told me that after they had gone, he’d asked to use the bathroom and the woman who owned the place was nice enough to let him use one of the rooms.

I wanted to believe him so I accepted his excuse. He’d been much more attentive for a few weeks after that, though it had gone back to the same old routine by the end of the month. Over the next several weeks, there were a few other times that I questioned his fidelity. Once he came home from work at one in the morning reeking of another woman’s perfume. When I asked him about it, he told me that he’d had to restrain a woman who was fighting in a bar. There was also the time that a woman brought an accusation to the force that she’d been pulled over by Bill and given the