Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I follow her, rolling my eyes. Obviously, what I’ve said came out wrong. Horribly wrong. I just meant that she’s pregnant and the best outcome for her would be marriage to the father of her child, especially when he can support her and the baby in ways she’s never even dreamed of. She was out of her head about getting a million bucks for taking down The Club? Well, how’s she gonna feel about snagging a husband who could buy her a million-dollar diamond necklace on a fucking whim?
“Kat, wait,” I say.
But Kat keeps stomping away.
I follow her as far as I’m allowed to go, but there’s only so far a guy can chase a girl in this particular hospital when he’s not a part of her fucking family.
Kat bursts through the swinging doors leading into the Hallowed Land of Family Members, leaving me decidedly behind in her pissy, dramatic, tempestuous wake.
“Fine!” I yell toward the doors. “Have yet another tantrum, Kat. See if I care.”
“Fine! I will!” she shouts, continuing to stomp away.
Goddamn her. Who does Kat think she is, turning me down? Who’s she planning to marry, if not me? Cameron Fucking Schulz? Well, I hope she really likes Shirley Temples and watching motherfucking baseball. I hope when her initials are KUS, she’ll appreciate the irony of her name being synonymous with “curse word.”
I turn around in a huff and take two angry steps away from her and then abruptly stop dead in my tracks.
Oh shit.
Kat could marry Cameron Schulz—or any other guy in the entire fucking world. Kat could literally have any guy she wants—it’s the God’s truth. All she has to do is crook her index finger at any man, rich or poor, young or old, professional athlete or accountant, and he’d come running, engagement ring in hand—and she knows it.
Oh my God. Kat’s gonna give birth to my child and then marry someone else!
“Kat!” I shout, loping back toward the double doors. “Wait!”
Kat stops dead in her tracks. She turns around slowly and stares at me with burning eyes.
“Come back,” I say. “Please. I have something I need to say to you.”
She bites the inside of her cheek for a moment, but then slowly saunters back toward the swinging doors, her eyes as sharp as knives. When she reaches the doors, she pokes her head out, raises her eyebrows and exhales, deigning to give me a moment of her time. “Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
I exhale. I have no idea why she keeps calling me that. “Just think about what you’re doing,” I say. “You’re being a suicide-bomber.”
Kat squints at me. “That’s what you called me back here to say?”
I shift my weight. “No. That just slipped out. I called you back to ask you to please marry me.” I pause. “It’s the right thing to do all around. For everyone. And it’s... what ... I... want.”
“It’s the right thing to do?” she says slowly. “All around?”
I nod, but I can already tell this isn’t going my way.
Kat crosses her arms over her chest, keeping the double-doors open with her shoulder. “No thank you,” she says, cold as a fucking sniper.
“Think of the baby,” I say earnestly. “Let’s not be selfish, either of us. Let’s do the right thing. Now’s not the time to be a terrorist, Kat.”
Without warning, Kat pushes completely through the swinging doors toward me—to the “non-family members” side, as it were—and glowers over me with such ferocity, I leap back, surprised. “I guess you didn’t pay very close attention in Las Vegas when I taught Henn how to bag a babe.” She leans into my face, her eyes on fire. “Remember what I told him?”
I shake my head.
“Then I’ll refresh your memory. ‘Every time you’re about to say something to a woman, ask yourself: is this more or less likely to get me a blowjob? If the answer is yes, then say it. If the answer is no, then shut the fuck up!’”
“What are you talking about? I just asked you to marry me, and you’re acting like I spit on you.”
“Because you did,” she says, her eyes flooding with tears.
I throw up my hands, at a total loss.
“Oh for crying out loud,” she says. “Let me spell it out for you, plain and simple.” She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath, gearing up. “Whoever I wind up marrying one day—whether I’m the mother of his accidental spawn or not—” She gives that last phrase “or not” exaggerated emphasis. “It’ll be for no other reason than he desperately wants me and only me to be his wife, forever and ever, as long as we both shall live.” She glares at me for a beat, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’ll be because he couldn’t stand the thought of living his life without me in it—couldn’t stand the thought of me being with any other man—because he loves me more than the air he breathes—more than life itself.” She wipes her eyes again. “And it sure as hell won’t be because he felt some begrudging sense of obligation toward the unwitting incubator of his accidental spawn.” Without letting me respond, she literally harrumphs at me, turns on her heel, and marches down the hallway, her arms swinging wildly with sudden fury.