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“Have you told him yet?” she asks.
“He’s coming in tonight. I wanted to do it in person,” I say before chewing the inside of my cheek.
“What are you going to say?” she asks, looking uneasy.
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shake of my head. “I don’t even know what I want to do yet.”
“Well, I am here for you, no matter what, and I’ll be here tonight if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
As I stare into Sage’s eyes, I think about how we are in similar but different situations. Her pregnancy is a celebration. She is supposed to be happy for her baby.
And I find myself feeling incredibly…jealous.
I feel like a jerk even thinking that, so I shove the thought away.
Jax shows up two hours late. For a while I assumed he wouldn’t show up at all. But when I see his Land Rover park out front again on the security screen, a sense of dread washes over me.
Here the fuck we go.
Leaving the back office, I head to the front to greet him. My stomach might as well be an Olympic gymnast for how much it’s twisting in my gut. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I’m about to tell a hot, rich porn star that I’m pregnant with his baby. Is it too late to undo everything? I’d like a time machine to go back to that night six weeks ago and put that condom on him myself. Or rather, not have sex with him at all. I miss the days when I pined for Jax. Wanting is far better than disappointment.
“There’s my sexy Sadie,” he calls as he enters the club. He has the same wide, charming smile, and it makes my stomach turn even more. Why must he be so hot? It’s distracting.
I force some enthusiasm on my face as I meet him in the middle of the lobby. I don’t want to scare him away, so I have to make him think he’s here for something fun. He’s too close to the door for me to drop reality on him here.
“Thanks for coming in,” I say in my high-pitched, flirty voice. He wraps his arms around me in a way that feels intimate.
“I’ll always show up for you, sweetie,” he murmurs against the top of my head.
My brows furrow against his chest. Sweetie? We barely know each other. Why is he talking to me like we have any relationship at all? We chatted through social media for a couple of weeks. I saw him in person for about five minutes. Then he stuck his dick in me and was gone before I could say nice to meet you.
When I try to pull away, he lowers his face to mine. Instead of letting him kiss me, I turn away and try to play it off.
“Care to join me?” I say, tugging him toward the entrance to the club. “I’ve got a little something to talk to you about.”
A little something is right.
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he replies excitedly.
He links his fingers with mine as I pull him through the club toward the rooms in the back. I decide to take him back to the scene of the crime. The moment I drag him inside and let the door close, he’s on me. His hands find my hips, and his mouth lands on my neck.
“This room again?” he mumbles against my flesh.
I back up, trying to put some distance between us. “Hey, can we talk first?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replies without taking his lips from my skin. He’s trying to maneuver us toward the bed, but I plant my feet and shove him away as nonaggressively as possible.
“Sorry,” I mutter as he stares down at me in confusion.
God, did I really just apologize for that? I hate this.
“What’s up?” he asks with a little bite in his tone.
“I really do need to talk to you.”
His expression is guarded as he takes a step back. It’s amazing how, when you remove the promise of sex, the mood can change.
