Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Sounds good. We’ll meet you two out at the golf cart,” Dad replies, walking away with Billy and obviously not finding it strange that Dayton offered to go with me.
“Are you feeling okay?” my bathroom escort asks quietly as we walk through the clubhouse toward the restrooms.
“Just nauseous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, it is technically your fault, so I accept your apology,” I mutter, and he laughs softly.
“My sister-in-law used to eat ginger candies when she was pregnant with my nephew. I’ll ask her where she got them from and get some for you.”
“My doctor mentioned ginger tea, but I hate tea, so I haven’t gotten any.” I peek up at him. “Also, my dad doesn’t know that I’m…” I glance around, then whisper, “pregnant.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I’m going to have to tell him soon though.” We turn to walk side by side down the hall where the bathrooms are located. “Especially since Mom and Jacob both know and Mom has been stressing about having to keep it from him. If I don’t come clean, she’s going to crack, and that won’t be good for a multitude of reasons.”
“You and your dad seem pretty close.”
“We are. He’s…” I try to come up with a way to describe my relationship with my father. “He’s not my friend. He’s never been my friend. But I respect him, and he’s one person I know I can depend on no matter what.”
“It’s good you have that relationship with him.”
“Yeah.” I rub my lips together as anxiousness crawls up my spine. I wouldn’t say that I’m scared to tell my dad that I’m pregnant, but I am worried he’s going to be disappointed, which is always worse than him being mad. I also hate the idea of him having to deal with the fallout publicly if the media gets ahold of the story and uses it to attack him.
I don’t tell Dayton any of that, though. I don’t want my worries to influence his decision.
When we get to the women’s bathroom, I motion toward it with my thumb. “I guess I’ll meet you out here when I’m done.”
“I’ll be here,” he says, and I head into the ladies’ room.
It doesn’t take me long to finish, and when I step back out into the hall, I find it empty. Figuring Dayton went into the men’s room, I lean back against the wall and take out my phone, starting to scroll through my social media.
When I first started painting again, I posted a quick sixty-second video of me working on a piece and received a message that day asking if the painting was available for purchase. That video changed everything for me, and social media is now where I get most of my sales. Eventually, I’m going to have to hire someone to run my social accounts because keeping up with messages can sometimes be overwhelming. But for now, I enjoy connecting with my followers online.
“I figured I’d be back before you were done,” Dayton says as I’m pressing Send on a reply to a message I received, and I look up, noticing he’s coming from the inner part of the club and not the men’s room.
“There aren’t many women here today, so there wasn’t a line.” I drop my eyes to his hand when he opens the can he’s holding. “You shouldn’t pay for beer when you have drink tickets, and I’m sure my dad has a cooler of beer on the back of the golf cart.”
“It’s not for me. I got you a ginger ale. I thought maybe it might help with the nausea.”
“Oh.” Damn, these stupid pregnancy hormones for making my throat go tight. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do.” He puts a straw in it before handing it to me.
Yep, things are definitely getting more complicated.
CHAPTER 7
Dayton
As the crowd goes quiet, I watch Franny line up and swing, her long ponytail hanging out the back of the ball cap on her head, swishing from side to side as she connects with the ball. She claimed that the only reason she came in number two in the state with her school was because everyone else had the flu, but after watching her play all morning, I know that’s bullshit. She’s good—better than me and a lot of the guys I’ve played with who show up every weekend and golf like they’re trying to go pro.
She’s also a distraction in that cute-as-fuck short skirt, with her long tan legs and the tank top she has on, which shows a sliver of her tan stomach every time she moves. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off her, and neither have most of the men here.
“That wasn’t so bad.” She turns to face her father and me after seeing where the ball landed just a couple of feet from the next hole.