Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Of course, cat shit and my arrogant sister weren’t enough for my wretched bad luck. Because on the subway ride home, a woman changed her toddler’s crap-filled diaper on the empty seat beside me. Fine.
What made it horrible was that just as she’d yanked it off, the train came to a screeching halt, and the stinky diaper flew out of her hand and into my lap with a sickening splat.
I’d never run home so fast in my life.
By the time I’d showered, Grace had let herself in with her spare key. Out of all my siblings, I was closest to her. Three years my junior, Grace preferred Dad over Mom and absolutely detested the magnet board. Even though, as the baby of the family, she’d spent more time in the number one spot than anyone else.
I came out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair as I explained to her what had happened on the subway. “I showered three times and still don’t feel clean.”
She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail, then grabbed my laptop from the dresser and plopped onto my unmade bed. “It’s just poop. You’d think you, of all people, would be used to things shitting on you.”
She had a fair point.
“What time is your flight?” she asked.
“Midnight.” The worst possible time I could think of to fly into Clint Rock Falls, or whatever the place was called.
I tossed my towel to the overflowing hamper in the corner and told myself I should attempt to do a few loads before I invited Vance over. Although, I kind of found the way his eye twitched when chaos surrounded him sexy.
“Have you found anything to order?”
“No. Everything sounds gross.” Grace glanced at me over the top of the laptop. “Speaking of gross. Are you really going to Kate’s party?”
“Yeah. It’s more of a statement than anything.”
“I’m still not going.” She repeatedly clicked the touchpad. I’d never seen it take Grace so long to find food. The girl loved anything. “More of a statement than anything.”
I shoved a pair of jeans into my carry-on along with a Golden Girls T-shirt Margot had bought me for my twenty-first birthday.
“I give up.” Grace pushed away the laptop, then rolled over on my bed. “Food is overrated these days, anyway.”
“What about The Giggling Squid?” I zipped my carry-on. “You love Thai food.”
Her eyes widened like I’d just suggested the most disgusting thing in the world.
“What? You love fish curry.”
“Oh. That’s…” She slapped a hand to her mouth as she simultaneously shot off my mattress toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind her. A few seconds later came the nauseating sound of vomit splattering in the toilet.
“So, no Thai food…” I snatched the laptop from the foot of the bed where she’d discarded it and clicked on my recent orders. “The Electric Iguana has BOGO tacos.”
When Grace hurled again, I glanced at the closed door.
“Do you still have that virus you had before I left for Europe?”
The toilet flushed. “No.” The water cut on. “It wasn’t a virus.” A few seconds later, the bathroom door opened.
“Then…” Only one other thing could make someone that ill.
Grace slumped to the velour-covered beanbag in the corner of my bedroom.
“Grace…?”
When she started crying, I pushed the laptop to the side and wrapped my arms around her.
“What’s going on?”
Her shoulders shook, and she sucked in an uneven breath. “I’m pregnant, Blake.”
Sometimes a person’s reaction to that kind of news is to offer a big smile and congratulations. Sometimes it’s… “Oh, shit, Grace. Are you sure?”
“I took five tests. All positive.”
“How long have you known?”
“Two weeks.” She pulled back, swatting tears from her cheeks. “And I was already two weeks late and sick before I took the test. I knew. I just didn’t want to really know...” Her eyes watered again. “It’s the hormones. They’re awful.” She threw back her head on the beanbag. “I don’t know what to do.”
I didn’t know what to tell her to do. I got up, grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and took it back to her. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”
“Yes.” She tore off a strip of tissue and blew her nose. “And he’s terrified.”
“That’s understandable.”
“We kept saying it wasn’t serious. Just fun. And it was fun. The sex was really fun. And now…” She glanced down at her still flat stomach, then burst into tears again. “And now the fun is over!”
What was I supposed to say to that? She’d just said the sex was fun, like that had been the highlight of her relationship with whoever this guy was. And a baby was a lot of responsibility. A lot of responsibility. God, I was not good in those situations.
“The guy’s a complete disaster.” She pushed out of the beanbag, tissues in hand. “You know how he makes his money?”