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“What?” I growl grumpily as I swing the door open.
“Don’t give me that look. I get a pass. I’m part of the club.”
“The club?”
“Yeah, the kidnap club. Only the coolest of the cool get kidnapped.” She winks.
I huff out a sardonic laugh. Only Jade.
“Take this,” she says, shoving a bag of whatever she’s going to attempt to shove down my throat and sprinting for the bathroom.
Come in, Jade. Make yourself at home, Jade.
I toss the bag down onto my kitchen counter and catch a whiff of sushi. My stomach turns, and I barely have time to twist around and angle my face over the sink. My stomach is empty of food, so I mostly puke up bile. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I rinse my mouth, then turn around to find Jade, her arms crossed over her pregnant belly, her perfectly plucked eyebrow arched in accusation.
“What?” I mumble, dragging the back of my hand over my mouth.
“How long have you known? Does he know?” What the hell is she talking about?
“How long has who known what?”
“That you’re pregnant.”
“I’m…what?”
And down I go.
“Hey, stranger.” I hear a sickly-sweet voice behind me. I’m at Hot N’ Bothered, but I don’t want to be. I want to be with Quinn, but I’m not a selfish man. Never have been. So, I leave her alone. I’m just sorry I made things more complicated and hurt her by giving her false hope. I turn around reluctantly, my eyes skimming over the generic, all-American busty blonde. Missy or Melissa or some shit. It’s funny, I don’t even remember her name, but I remember her words.
“I’ve gotta say, honey. I thought you’d be better at this. I mean, you’ve got the package, but your moves need work.”
Bitch.
I glance at her and then back at my drink. I’m sitting at the bar, on call in case Graham needs me to deal with some shite. I don’t want a conversation. Least of all with her. Looking at her now, I wonder why the hell I even cared what this tart thought about me and my skills in the sack. Truthfully, I know it was deeper than that. I know it runs a lot deeper than that. Too many years of not being touched by anyone at all. My ma never touched me, not even a hug, not even to pick me up when I cried my bloody eyes out as a toddler. My da never did either. No grandparents, no family, and the Catholic school I went to was the kind of school where boys prayed not to be touched, if you know what I mean. So, other than getting into bloody fights as a teenager with other young lads like myself, I never quite touched a person until I was sixteen. Sloppiest first kiss ever, and I didn’t even enjoy it. After not being touched for so long, too much touching just felt wrong.
And so, I carried my lack of physical experience with the other sex—and at all—for quite some time. When I got to the States, I binged on women, making up for lost time. Missy or Melissa was right at the tail end of said binge. She got her knickers in a twist when I wouldn’t let her touch me, and apparently, I crossed the line at kicking her out afterward. Now, I realize that she most likely lashed out because I bruised her massive ego, but at the time, it fucked with my head. I wanted Quinn. Even then, I knew she was the exception. I couldn’t risk blowing it.
So, you probably see why I have zero fucking fucks to give about this woman right now.
“Do I know you?” My voice is dry, intentionally sounding as bored as I feel. She looks hurt for half a second before her features morph into anger. Now, she looks determined, and that’s not good for me. Missy/Melissa puts her overly augmented lips next to my ear, and I literally cringe away from her.
“Maybe you
’ll remember my mouth,” she whispers in what she must think is a seductive voice.
“Nah, I’m not much for venereal diseases.”
“Didn’t stop you before.” Her pitch is rising into dolphin sonar levels. Yeah, she’s definitely mad.
“So, you’re saying you do have STDs?”
Botox Barbie huffs and stomps a foot, like the spoiled brat that she is.
“You…I…No!” she replies, flustered. My goal is to either piss her off or confuse her until she walks away. Whichever comes first.
“Listen, Melissa—”
“It’s Mandy!” she interrupts.
