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For the first time, I’m thankful for the fact I’m not showing so much in the belly department. I can pass this belly off for three or four months, maybe. So, when Cade leaks to the press that the reason I’m hiding—because at this point in my life, I don’t trust men, let alone men I literally just met; best friends with my good friend, or not—no one will put two-and-two together.
Homewrecker has a completely different tone to it when a baby is the result.
No one bothered to print it when I told them I didn’t remember the night. That I thought I’d been drugged.
Well, they did, but with their own twist.
Wasted.
High.
Drunk.
Just another Hollywood starlet unable to give in to the pressures of her job.
Not so sweet, after all, is she?
Fucking assholes.
My eyes begin to burn, and fuck Cade Johnston for being here and forcing me to face it.
My anger at him is irrational, but it’s there, and I’m going to embrace it.
I stomp up the stone staircase and powerwalk to the Adirondack chair my things are folded on. First, I pull my sweatshirt back down over my body. Then, I step back into the shorts.
My back is to Cade, but I can feel him behind me.
“So, are you, like, trying to pull a Kardashian? Hiding the fact that you’re pregnant?”
I shake my head and stop myself from rolling my eyes. He’s still behind me; it would be a wasted effort.
“That’s what it looks like, don’t you think?” I answer, still refusing to turn. I move toward the glass door and step inside.
Immediately I’m torn between anger and indifference with Cade.
The guy brought food.
Again.
But he brought food.
He really is trying hard to get on my good side.
Too bad I don’t have a good side at the moment.
I hear the door slide shut behind me and I can’t help but go fully into defensive mode again, my arms crossed tight around my chest. My body language clearly states stay away.
Why do I have a feeling that phrase isn’t going to be part of Cade’s vocabulary?
“You hungry?” he asks, and I feel, then see, as he walks around me. He’s lost his hat since he was here last, and I have the uncharacteristic urge to run my fingers through his hair.
See if the waves are as thick as they look.
You have no business thinking about men right now, Dylan O’Neill.
“I’m okay.” I look at the food on the counter though, and my stomach betrays me.
Cade doesn’t look up from his task of opening the pizza box and other boxes—wings—but I do notice his eyes crinkle at the sides.
