Page 122 of Pucked Up Plans
Raquel. Fitting.
She sits at the table, eyeing the donuts. I can’t help but plate a donut and slide it over to her.
I was pregnant once, and donuts were my kryptonite.
“Thank you.” She smiles warmly at me, but her concentration returns to Walsh.
The air in the kitchen thickens, the only sounds are of her munching on the donut and my pounding heart. I can’t tell for sure why it’s beating so fast, but my flight instinct’s activated.
Trouble’s on the horizon.
CHAPTER 28
WALSH
Oblivious to the thrumming of my heart, Raquel sits and eats the donut Tate offered her.
Why is she here? What does she want from me? How did she find me?
I barely remember our night several months ago. And not because I was drunk or high or in any other way impairing my ability to remember. It’s because she was not memorable. We had sex, and I regretted it immediately.
It was the last time before I met Tate. I’d gone almost a year without it, and I caved that night. With this girl. Damn. Something must have diminished my judgment.
Your cock, dude. It was your cock.
Still. What the hell is she doing here now, eating donuts given to her by my girlfriend? Tate’s affected by her presence. She’s trying to hide how much.
“That was delicious. Thanks.” Raquel wipes the leftover crumbs off her mouth with the back of her hand.So classy.“It’s yours.”
I’m too busy lost in my head to discern what she means. But Tate’s gasp clues me in I should heed the words.
My eyes fly to Tate, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. Literal shock. White pales her face, and a heavy weight rests on her shoulders.
I rewind Raquel’s comment.
“It’s yours.”
“What is whose?” I stammer out, my gaze not once leaving Tate’s. My pulse beats faster. What am I missing?
“The baby. It’s yours, Walsh.”
Oh.
OH!
Oh shit.
My body pushes out of the chair.
“It’s not, Tate. It’s not mine.”
I stand in front of my girlfriend, begging her to listen to me, not some puck bunny who showed up here. If memory serves, she had no reason to believe I was a hockey player. Just some lonely girl wanting a good time. Does that make it better?
No.
Tate’s eyes glisten with tears, the crushed guise of betrayal seeping into every pore. Shit. I have to make this better. I have to make her see the girl’s lying.
“How do you know?” Her words are barely audible, and I’m standing six inches away.
