Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
The good news is, he already knows she’s pregnant. Had he caught us in the act, it probably wouldn’t have been the worst. It would have been burned into his brain forever, but it’s not like he doesn’t know we already had sex.
Shit, wait.
I don’t think he knows it’s me who’s the baby’s father, and if he had suspicions or has suspicions, they’re going to be confirmed in a matter of minutes.
Buzz shoves the door closed and almost clips me in the process, causing me to shift at the last second. His arm goes up and he points toward where I expect the living room to be, through an arched doorway at the back of the house.
It’s not a giant house, nothing nearly as big as the one Buzz and his wife live in, but Tripp doesn’t strike me as the flashy type. He’s probably taken his football money and invested most of it rather than spent it on expensive cars, watches, and women.
This is your typical, run-of-the-mill suburban house.
True sidles up to me with a grimace on her face. “That was so awkward, I’m sorry. He’s like that sometimes, gets weird. I—”
“Don’t apologize, babe. I know how he is. Are you forgetting I’ve seen his balls?”
“That wasn’t necessary.” She laughs.
“Pause.” Buzz interrupts us loudly, staring at me from behind the kitchen island, hands braced apart. “Did you just call her babe?”
He heard that?
What the hell—does the guy have spidey senses?
“Did I?” It’s neither a confirmation nor a denial.
“Yeah, you did.” His head tilts as he studies True and me as we fully enter the kitchen. “Care to tell me why?”
Welp. So much for easing into this confession softly and without tension. Maybe getting him drunk will help? Sober Buzz is making me way too nervous.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I wet my own pants from the nerves.
This brotherly side of him is already getting on my last nerve, and I haven’t been in the house for more than two minutes.
Nice welcoming committee.
Not.
“Why are you coming at me like this?” I stand on the opposite side of the counter now, mirroring his stance. It’s not that I want to be confrontational, but I’m certainly not going to back down when he’s trying to bully me.
I have every right to be here; he just doesn’t know it yet.
Dick.
“Coming at you? This is my house—I can say what I want.”
Tripp—who has been riffling through the refrigerator mostly ignoring me—rises to his full height and turns. “Um, this is my house. Stop being an asshole or you can leave.”
I knew I liked the giant bastard.
He has a stalk of celery in his hands, proceeds to the sink to wash it, then gets out a cutting board.
We all turn as he causally begins slicing the celery into pieces large enough to dip in peanut butter, which he spoons from the container onto a plate.
Crunch, crunch.
His chewing fills the silence of the room before he swallows. “So, not to be rude, but what are you doing here?”
True and I glance at one another.
I’m not sure if I should start talking or let her start talking, since these are her brothers, her family members. Then again, I’m part of it too and want to be a united front, which puts it well within my rights to begin the conversation.
Crap, I wish we’d gone into this with a game plan.
“Maybe we should go sit in the living room,” True finally says, choosing her words carefully.
“People only say that when they have bad news,” Buzz decides, not moving toward the living room.
“It’s not bad news,” his sister explains, though we both know her brother isn’t going to think this is the same kind of good news we do. “Just come sit down and stop being stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” he grumbles, snatching a piece of celery from Tripp’s plate and begrudgingly stalking toward the room with the fireplace and television.
He plops down in the recliner with his legs spread, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands.
“Is he here because you invited him, or did Tripp invite him?” He’s cross-examining us before we have the chance to take seats on the couch.
“Um, I did.” True says the words slowly.
She glances at me with a shrug, unsure how to proceed.
“Why?”
“It’s complicated,” True says, twisting her hands as if wringing out a dish towel over the sink.
“That’s what people say when they’re in a relationship but don’t want to admit they’re in a relationship,” her brother snorts, grabbing the remote control for the TV and pointing it at the fireplace, near where the TV is located.
I take True’s delicate hand in mine and squeeze.
You’ve got this.
“If you’re not going to spit out the reason we’re all sitting here, I’m going to lose interest real quick.”
Tripp lobs a pillow at him from the other couch, and it lands square in his face.