Page 137 of Puck Me Secretly

Oh my god.

Max’s photo was stunning. He stood in his skates and stared at the camera. His sexual charisma smoldered off the page. This man, on this page, was in the next room. And tonight, he was all mine.

“I want an autograph,” I called out, unable to tear my eyes off his naked, huge muscles. And that bulge. In those black boxers. Totally not photoshopped.

“You did not just say that.”

Something dropped on the floor. I bent down to pick it up. It was a card. Something fluttered out of the card. I flipped it over.

It was an ultrasound.

My heart pounded.

“It’s not what you think.” Max’s voice from the doorway was emphatic.

I lifted my eyes to his. “I wasn’t snooping, it fell out of the calendar.”

I put everything onto the counter and then wiped my hands on my jeans.

Max stepped closer, his eyes were on my face. “Lolita’s pregnant.”

No. No. No. No.

“Okay.” My throat almost closed as I swallowed. “Is the baby yours?”

“No. I’m not the father.”

Oxygen filled the room and I could breathe again. “Oh. Okay.”

“She’s had it tough.”

“Is the dad in the picture?”

“Can I trust you with the truth, Rory?”

“Yes.”

“Lolita was sexually assaulted and her baby results from that.”

Holy shit.

He took my hand. “Come sit with me.”

I followed him to the couch. We sat looking at each other.

He broke the silence. “Did you mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“That you want this to keep going?”

Why was he asking me this again? Wasn’t it obvious? “Yes.”

He picked up my hand. “The same thing happened to my mom.”

“What happened?”

“My mom, like Lolita, was raped, and I resulted from that assault.”

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