Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Why the hell am I tired?
Wren grunts loudly before thrusting in once more, and I lie here panting as he slowly pulls out, smiling as he unsheathes himself from the rubber he’s wearing and stands up. He tosses it in the trashcan without a backwards glance and moves to put on his shorts again.
“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly, wondering if my legs are ever going to stop shaking. I feel… boneless. Incredible. I feel—
“I’ve got to go find Tag. I’ve been missing for a while. I’ll catch up with you some time.”
—like someone just slapped me.
My heart sinks like a sickening rock, and I move to sit up, sure that I heard him wrong.
“You’re leaving?”
He staggers sideways, barely catching himself on the wall, proving he’s much drunker than I am.
“Yeah. Bye, Allie.”
The door shuts and a tear falls from my eyes without my consent. How could I seriously be this stupid? I knew better—fucking knew better—than to expect more, but after spending all day together, I at least expected a damn kiss after the deed was done. Or during.
Feeling used and exposed, I stand, only to feel something that only makes me even sicker. My thighs are much too wet, and something is trickling down my leg. I rush to the trashcan to retrieve the discarded condom. To my horror, my fears are confirmed. The end is broken, meaning…
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It takes me ten minutes to calm the hell down, but I finally convince myself that there’s no way I’m pregnant. No one gets pregnant after just one time. I’ll be fine. No worries. It was just a mistake that will never happen again.
Wren Jacobs will forever be my cautionary tale when I want to trust a guy too soon or do something as spontaneous and stupid as this. He’s a reminder why I keep my guard up. He won’t be the son of bitch that ruins my life.
Chapter 4
Present
WREN
“When’s Mommy coming?” Angel asks, looking up at me as though she’s bored to death.
I officially suck at being a father, because she’s always bored out of her mind when she’s here. One hour. I can’t entertain a kid for one hour?
“She’ll be here in about twenty minutes or less.”
She just stares at me while sitting on my black leather sofa, ignoring the TV where I lamely turned on cartoons. Her innocent face, soft blonde curls, and young age would deceive someone into thinking she might actually enjoy cartoons.
“Would you prefer the Discovery Channel?”
“That would be better than this,” she says while pointing to the odd show of two kids building things far too elaborate, and a nagging sister that seems to be obsessed with getting their mother to see it.
“Can I ask you something?”
She shrugs as I change the channel, keeping my distance. I’m still not sure about what I’m doing. I’ve never spent time around kids very much. And considering she’s rarely ever in my care, I’m not getting any more comfortable with her than she is with me.
“What sort of things do you like? Next time I can have stuff here for us to do. It’d have to be better than spending an hour staring at each other.”
She barely smiles while nodding. She’s so damn smart for her age, so I know she understands this fucked-up situation we’re in.
“I like cooking. Mommy and I cook together a lot. Then we watch our shows. Or movies. Basketball is my favorite to play, but I don’t have a goal at home, so we go to the park when the big kids aren’t playing on it. Mommy holds me on her shoulders so I can throw the ball in.”
Park, cooking, basketball, movies… I can do this. Well, not the cooking part.
“Basketball was the one sport I played in school. I could teach you a few things.”
Her eyes light up at the suggestion and she nods. “That would be much better than this. This is so boring.”
Brutal honesty. At least I don’t have to worry about her holding back.
“If I can get everything ready, would you be okay with me asking your mom about you spending some more time with me? We can’t get to know each other if we only spend an hour or two at a time with each other every few days. And I really want to get to know you, Angel,” I tell the six-year-old.
She thinks about it. For almost five minutes. I start worrying that she’s either ignoring my question or she has been distracted.
“Sure. As long as we do something less boring.”
I smile at her, and then the doorbell rings. Sighing, I move to go answer the door, knowing the cold face that will be on the other side.
I swing the door open, ready to put on a mask of civility no matter what she says, but to my utter horror, it’s the wrong frigid woman waiting on the other side.