Page 181
That’s it?
“Man, what the fuck do you want from me?” I asked, throwing my arms to the side.
“Nothing. I just…” He rubbed his jaw. “I was hoping maybe we could start over.”
I laughed. “Start over?”
“Hart—”
“I’m almost thirty. You don’t get to ambush me and ask for a do-over.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem like you do.”
He looked away, and I checked my watch again. “You have three minutes.”
He exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s something else I want to tell you.”
“Of course there is.”
He hesitated, then, to my absolute disbelief, he smiled. “I’m gonna be a father again.”
I stared at him because I knew I didn’t just hear the words that came out of his mouth.
“What the hell did you just say to me?” I whispered.
“My girlfriend’s pregnant.”
My mouth gaped, and for several seconds, I couldn’t find my words. Eventually, I laughed. I was cracking the fuck up—not because anything was funny—but because what the actual fuck?
“You’re joking.”
He shook his head. “No. We found out a few months ago.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” I repeated, waving my hands. “Who is we? Who is this woman? How old is she? Does she know that you’re broke? How are you going to raise this kid?”
“She’s 28. Her name is Armani, and she works down at the—”
I closed my eyes and raised a hand, interrupting him. “Dad.”
“What?”
“Just shut the fuck up for a moment.”
“Are you gonna give me an extension on my five minutes?”
“Please… please just stop talking for one second while I wrap my head around all this.”
“Fine,” he huffed.
I finally took that seat on the edge of the bed.
“Let me make sure I have all the facts. You’ve been fucking on strippers at The Red Room?”
“Just one, and it’s politically incorrect to call them strippers. They prefer dancers.”
“I don’t give a fuck what they prefer,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “And don’t tell me what the hell to call them like you give a damn about respecting women! How could you be so reckless? You don’t have steady income—”
