Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
She doesn’t even spare a glance at the poker table, but her eyes stay locked on mine. A feeling of immense apprehension takes root deep within me.
“Hart,” Locke calls out, but I don’t look away from her gaze. “Come play poker with us. Wright’s too much of a pussy to continue.”
She shoots a glance his way, gives a tight smile, and says, “Can’t tonight.”
And then, they’re forgotten when she reaches me. With lips pressed into a grimace, she murmurs, “I need to talk to you. Privately.”
“Okay,” I say somewhat hesitantly, but I put my beer down at a nearby table, prepared to follow her wherever she wants to go for a private discussion.
Hart spins and marches out of The Apartment. I take in the set to her spine and the way her hands are clenched into fists. Same hands that were clenched around my cock six weeks ago—
Okay, stop that.
I follow her down the private hallway, through the Social Room, and into the private elevator that takes us to street level. It’s slightly chilly outside. While the temps can get in the upper eighties in Vegas in mid-May, the evenings still call for a light jacket. Hart’s hands come up and cross to rub at her bare arms. I can faintly see the pink scar left by the bullet.
I’m surprised when she does a quick look left and right down the street, and then darts across when there’s an immediate break in traffic. I jog behind her, following her to an empty bus stop bench.
Hart takes a seat and I sit down as well, angling my body so I can face her.
She pulls no punches with me, but then, Hart isn’t the type of woman to ever sugarcoat anything.
“I’m pregnant,” she says bluntly. Since I’m the one she’s telling this information to, I know it means I’m the one who knocked her up.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my short hair. I knew this was a possibility.
That night was all kinds of wild and crazy. Neither one of us had any condoms and in hindsight, neither of us cared. With Hart fisting my cock and rubbing the head through her wet folds, I was dizzy with fucking lust.
Her soft words, “Just pull out, okay,” told me all I needed to know.
I was going to fuck Hart, and there was no stopping that train.
She was safe or else she would have never said that to me. The trust I had in her was inherent as evidenced by the fact I let her cover my back while I blew up an ISIS camp. It also meant she trusted me, or else she knew I would have said no if I wasn’t safe.
Her words also told me she wasn’t on the Pill, and there was a risk of pregnancy.
Except there was no explaining that to my dick or her uterus, because I plunged in hard and deep. She responded by digging her nails into my back and drawing little half-moons of blood.
In my mind, I’d pulled out in perfect fashion. Jacked my cock three times and came all over her stomach and breasts. It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.
Guess something of me got left behind, though. I remember all about sex education in school, and I know damn well a woman can get pregnant even if the pull-out method is employed.
Apparently, being the risk takers that we were, it just didn’t matter to us that night.
Still, a flush of guilt heats me up from within. Hart had been drinking, and she was emotionally vulnerable that night.
I should have fucking said no.
“You’re sure?” I ask, not doubting it’s mine, just curious if she’s been tested.
She nods. “I didn’t think anything of it when I missed my period because I’m not regular, but I’d been having some nausea and my boobs started hurting. I took a home pregnancy test, and it was positive. Had Doc McCullough do a blood test, and he called me this afternoon to tell me it was positive.”
“Jesus,” I murmur as I give her my sincerest, most apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”
She flinches, and I know it’s because of my tone and the fact I called her by her first name.
“I don’t want a baby,” she says flatly, her expression bordering on hopeless.
I’ve never even thought about this moment transpiring. I’m years from settling down, marrying, and having kids. But something instinctive rises within me, and I find myself blurting out, “I want it.”
Hart blinks at me in surprise. “You want a baby?”
“If it’s mine, and I believe you when you say it is, then yes… I want it.”
Her eyes go dull, and her voice is practically listless. “Then let me rephrase. I don’t want to carry a baby. I don’t want to be pregnant.”
“And I don’t want you to end my child’s life,” I say softly, forcing myself to remain calm. “Because when you say you don’t want to be pregnant or carry a baby, you’re talking about getting an abortion, right?”