Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
“You’ve been inside me. You should know who this is.”
“Abby? What the fuck?”
The fact he knew it was me sends a flurry of relief flooding through me. I wasn’t that forgettable.
“I’m pregnant.” I pause and when he doesn’t respond, I add, “You’re the father, Rhett.”
He disconnects the call.
Asshole.
Chapter 3
Rhett
Istare at my phone in disbelief.
There’s no way.
She’s fucking with my head.
Why, though?
The vibrations in my palm from the same number calling me back jolt me into reality.
This can’t be for real.
I swipe the phone screen to answer the call, anger surging through me.
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Abby, but this is a new low, even for you.”
She huffs and then hisses, “I’m telling you the truth. I just found out less than an hour ago.”
My blood turns to ice. This can’t be happening. We only had sex once, in a damn kitchen pantry, and I pretty much pulled out.
Pretty much.
“You took a test?” I demand.
“No, I just guessed. Yes, idiot, I took a test.”
Fuck.
“How do I know it’s mine?”
She snarls from her end. “You think I’m some whore? Screw you, Rhett.”
This time, she’s the one to end the call. For half a second, I’m grateful. But then I realize this isn’t going away. If it is mine, I need to manage the situation. Quietly. And quickly.
I dial her back and grit my teeth as I wait for her to answer. Finally, she does, and sighs heavily as if I’m the nuisance here. She just blew up my fucking life with two words. I’m pregnant. Yet, I’m the annoying one.
“So, the baby’s mine,” I say under my breath, not trusting my voice to carry through the walls at my house. “And you’re sure.” I scrub a palm over my face as panic consumes me. “It’s okay. We can fix this.”
Silence greets me in response.
“Hello?” I grumble. “Did you hang up on me again?”
“No,” she says icily. “I’m wondering what your idea of ‘fixing this’ entails.”
Is she really going to make me say it?
I guess fucking so.
“Get rid of it,” I grit out. “I’ll pay for it. Hell, I’ll even take you to the appointment.”
“I’m not killing our baby,” she says, voice shrill. “Are you insane?”
Our baby.
I’m going to throw up.
“I don’t want our baby,” I snap as bile burns the back of my throat. “It’s a mistake just like that night in the pantry.”
She scoffs. “Didn’t seem like you thought it was a mistake when you begged me to put my lips around your dick. And you certainly weren’t complaining when you were balls deep inside me.”
My traitorous cock thickens at the memory.
“Trust me,” I growl. “It was the worst mistake of my life.”
I’d been so consumed with lust that the entire sexual encounter now feels like a blur. I don’t even feel like it was me who participated. It was some awful part of myself that momentarily took the steering wheel and drove me straight into a fucking wall.
“I’m keeping it,” she says, fatigue in her words.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Abby.” My voice is hoarse and pleading. “You can’t. It’ll destroy my life.”
Her laugh is hollow and cold. “And what about mine? Does it not matter? Our baby’s life certainly doesn’t matter to you.”
Fighting with her isn’t going to solve anything. I need to take another approach.
“So, you bring it to term,” I say as calmly as I can. “Then what? Are you ready to be a mom? Last I checked, you don’t exactly have your life together.”
She doesn’t respond for an eternity and then mutters, “I know what my life is like. And who said I wanted to be a mother? Maybe adoption is the best option here.”
But adoption means people finding out she’s pregnant. People asking questions as to who the father is. A lot more drama and chaos.
“No one can know I’m the father.” I clear my throat and shake my head. “I can help you until you deliver, but I need that part of it to remain a secret.”
“Heaven forbid my perfect sister find out her perfect boyfriend is not so perfect.”
A flash of anger burns hot through me. “She can’t,” I snap. “I refuse to hurt her over a single, stupid moment.”
“It’s not like I talk to her anyway,” she bites back. “And even if I did—oh, shit, the cops.”
I frown in confusion. “What about the cops?”
“They’re looking for me. Dammit!”
She starts breathing heavily and I wonder if she’s running. What in the actual hell is going on right now?
“Why are they looking for you?” I demand. “What did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she hisses breathily. “It was what my dad did.”
“That makes zero sense.”
“He cut me off.” She curses and then cries out. “Ouch.”
“Abby,” I growl, my anxiety skyrocketing. “How does that involve the police?”
She’s fully huffing now as she runs. I’m not sure running is safe for a pregnant woman. But, what the hell do I know?