I stare at her, more confused than ever. Her happiness doesn’t wilt under my heated glare. If anything, it grows. Her smile enlarges as she bats her lashes excessively. My attention diverts from her wild, crazy eyes when a screen door creaking open breaks through the silence teeming between us.
Spotting my panicked face, my dad moves to stand next to me. “Is everything okay?” His question is for me, but his eyes are fixed on Megan.
“I think we’ll have a little girl,” Megan continues, not acknowledging that my dad has joined our conversation.
“You need to leave.” My tone is both stern and worried. “If I ever see you here again, I’ll call the police.”
Megan’s watering eyes bounce between mine. She appears genuinely surprised by my rejection. I don’t know why? I could never be accused of tiptoeing around my feelings. When she remains standing, I jerk my chin to a yellow car parked in my driveway, demanding she leave with as many words as she’s using to beg me to let her stay.
She takes a step closer to me. I shake my head and take a step back.This is not up for negotiation.
Defeat crosses her features as tears drip down her face. With slumped shoulders, she pivots on her heels and stalks to her car. The wild beat of my heart slows when her car bolts out of the gravel driveway a few seconds later. She barely brakes to clear the gate, her speed as manic as her craziness.
Once her taillights are blurs of red in the distance, my eyes drift to my dad. “She was in the kitchen when I woke up this morning. She introduced herself as your girlfriend,” he explains.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I scrub my hand over the stubble on my chin, hiding its brutal shaking. “She’s fucking crazy.”
When he nods, agreeing with me, I add on, “You need to lock up the house every night.”
After slapping his shoulder to ensure him I’ll make this right, I head inside to call Isaac. My run-in with Megan has rattled me enough, I need advice from someone who’s handled this type of thing before.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jenni
Icame home for Spring Break with the intention of getting as much time with Nick as possible. For the first few days, that’s exactly what I did. My days were spent with Emily while Nick was in the studio, then my nights were a blur of lust-filled fun and wickedly naughty adventures only a man with a stamina like Nick’s could pull off. I was loving every minute of my vacation. . . until I got hit with the worst stomach bug you could possibly imagine.
I can’t keep anything down. Even the smell of coffee, which I usually love, has me rushing to the bathroom. Nick was disappointed when I called to cancel our plans for tonight, but he said he understood. Since I can’t hold down any nutrients, and I’m incredibly tired, I decided to have an early night. I’ve only been in bed for around an hour when I hear someone tapping on my door.
“Come in.” My voice is groggy, strained by the number of times I was sick this afternoon.
Maria paces into the room with a bowl that smells distinctively like her famous chicken noodle soup. The aroma filling the air makes my stomach growl and my mouth water. It’s tempting enough I’m willing to risk a night of hugging the toilet just for a spoonful.
The smirk stretched across my face from Maria’s kindness expands to a full-blown smile when I spot the person tailing her.
He came.
“Hey, how are you feeling?” Nick kneels next to my bed, the concern in his eyes growing when they assess my pale face.
“I’ve been better,” I respond, struggling not to breathe on him.
The last thing he needs is to become sick. Rise Up is putting the final touches on their album, then they have some press junkets scheduled to promote it. He doesn’t have time to be unwell.
Nick runs the back of his hand down my cheek before pressing his lips to my forehead. “You don’t feel hot, but you don’t look too good.”
I pout. My sunken cheeks and eyes were the main reason I canceled our date. I look like hell.
Noticing my drooping lip, Nick sucks it into his mouth. My heart screams blue murder when I pull away from him, but I really don’t want him getting sick.
When I tell him that, he replies, “You’ll be worth it.”
The minty freshness of his breath when he presses his lips to mine settles my swirling stomach.
He kisses every inch of my face before kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt. “Scoot.”
My pupils widen as my pulse quickens. Not just because of his impromptu strip but because we’re in my parents’ house. Maria may have placed the soup on my bedside table before leaving, but my dad is home. I said goodnight to him before I went to bed.
“My dad is home,” I advise Nick, who is standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of cotton boxer shorts.
