Page 54 of Inked Daddies

I push the book away, leaning back in the chair and rubbing my temples. My stomach has been off for a few days—tight, queasy, unsettled. Certain smells make me want to gag. Even the coffee from Julie’s thermos this morning almost sent me running to the bathroom. Hazelnut. I normally love hazelnut coffee.

It’s stress. I’ve always had a weak stomach. It’s amazing I didn’t projectile vomit onto Crow as some weird defense mechanism.

My tattoo healed, and that’s about the only thing that’s going right. Work is okay—normally, I love working the new stock into our shelves, but it’s been awful with the smell getting to me.

Dad is onto me. He knows something is up. Yesterday, my father, who thinks church solves everything, offered to send me to a shrink in New Orleans to help me deal with whatever is bothering me, or even arrange a telehealth visit for me.

He knows. He has to know.

And then there’s the worst part. The guys. I’ve been avoiding them as best I can to make this easier on all of us. But it’s hard.

They’re right across the street. I’ve started parking in the rear lot just so they don’t see me come and go. But I still see Sam’s big blue truck out front of their shop. Still see when Trick pulls up on his motorcycle. Or rather, I hear him before I see him. And then I have to pretend I don’t hear him. That I don’t want to run up to the window and press myself to the glass just to get a glimpse of him.

Pretending they don’t exist is the best course of action, but it’s going to suck even more when Dad has them over during football season. Maybe I can get my own place before then.

I want to forget about this book, but I am invested in the characters already—the hallmark of a good writer. I turn on the desk fan to blow the smell away and trudge onward. The next chapter starts off with her in the bathroom. Not a usual scene for a romance novel, unless they’re hooking up in a public restroom. No, wait. She’s sick.

I roll my eyes at the tropey-ness of it. She had a one-night stand with a mysterious billionaire. Of course she’s pregnant. Isn’t that how all of these go? Boo.

It’s absurd. How many billionaires are there in the world, hooking up without condoms with a woman they’ve never met? Are billionaires that stupid? They could lose so much money by being careless like that. The child support alone would?—

Oh wait—he had a vasectomy. Huh. Plot twist. Did the vasectomy fail, or did she hook up with someone else?

I turn the page, and it’s back to her point of view, starting her day. The scent from her espresso maker sends her reeling for the bathroom…wait. My breath catches. She’s nauseous. Smells bother her. Her stomach feels tight. She hates the smell of coffee…

My hand freezes on the page. No. That’s not…that’s not what this is. Is it?

My heart pounds as I shove the book aside and get up from the desk. My legs shake as I make my way to the restroom, locking the door behind me and leaning against the sink.

This isn’t happening. It’s just stress. Stress messes with your body. Stress has made my period late before. It can make you tired and cranky and maybe even queasy. That’s all this is.

But the seed of doubt is already planted, and it’s growing fast. It better be the only thing growing in me…

By the time I’m standing in the bathroom at home, staring at the little plastic stick in my hand, my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

Two lines. Positive. Pregnant.

The word feels too big, too heavy, too real.

I sink to the floor, my knees hitting the cold tile as the stick clatters to the ground beside me. This can’t be real. But it is.

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the test like it’s going to somehow change if I just keep looking at it. The first person I think to call is Julie. She’ll know what to say, what to do. I reach for my phone, my hand trembling, but before I can press her name in my contacts, the screen lights up with an incoming call.

Sam.

Now? Are you freaking kidding me? My heart skips a beat as I stare at his name, my thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, I answer, my voice shaky. “Hello?”

“I know your secret.”

My stomach drops, and the phone nearly drops with it. How could he possibly know about the pregnancy?

“If you want to keep your secret,” he continues, “you’d better meet us at the house within the hour.”

I hang up without answering, my mind spinning. How could he know? And why does he sound so…calm?

As nervous as I am, I can’t deny the spark of excitement that flares in my chest. I’ll get to see them again. I’ll tell them, and we’ll figure this out together. That’s the only thing that makes sense to do, right?

I’m heading out the door when my dad stops me, his voice sharp and cutting through the quiet of the house. “Where are you going?”

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