It’s probably the dumbest thing I could ever do, but the only thought running through my mind is fix this. I need this woman gone.
So I drop everything and charge forward. I grab Brooke’s arm to haul her off the mattress, but the bitch yanks me down. I try to avoid making contact with her naked body but end up losing my balance. She takes advantage and pushes herself up against my back. A soft laugh puffs in my ear as her store-bought tits burn against my skin.
I watch in panic as the doorknob turns.
Brooke whispers, “I’m pregnant and the baby is yours.”
What?
My entire world lurches to a stop.
The door swings open. Ella’s gorgeous face takes in mine. I watch her expression turn from joy to shock.
“Reed?”
I’m frozen in place, but my brain is working overtime, frantically trying to calculate the last time Brooke and I were together. It was St. Patty’s Day. Gid and I were hanging out by the pool. He got drunk. I got drunk. He was beyond upset about something. Dad, Sav, Dinah, Steve. I didn’t understand it all.
I vaguely register the sound of Brooke giggling. I see Ella’s face, but I’m not really seeing it. I should say something, but I don’t. I’m busy. Busy panicking. Busy thinking.
St Patty’s Day… I’d stumbled upstairs and crashed and woke up to wet, hot suction around my dick. I knew it wasn’t Abby, because I’d already broken it off with her and she wasn’t the type to creep into my bedroom anyway. And who am I to turn away a free BJ?
Ella’s mouth falls opens and she says something. I can’t hear it. I’m caught in a tailspin of guilt and self-loathing, and I can’t pull myself out of it. All I can do is stare at her. My girl. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I can’t turn away from all that golden hair, those big blue eyes pleading at me to explain myself.
Say something, I order my uncooperative vocal cords.
My lips won’t move. I feel a cold touch against my neck and flinch.
Say something, damn it. Don’t let her walk away—
Too late. Ella flies out the door.
The loud slamming snaps me out of it. Sort of. I still can’t move. I can barely breathe.
St. Patty’s Day… That was more than six months ago. I don’t know much about pregnant women, but Brooke’s barely got anything going on. There’s no way.
No. Way.
No. Way. That. Baby. Is. Mine.
I shoot off the bed, ignoring the wild trembling of my hands as I lunge for the door.
“Really?” comes Brooke’s amused voice. “You’re going after her? How will you explain this to her, sweetie?”
I spin around in fury. “Swear to God, woman, if you don’t get the hell out of my room, I’m throwing you out.” Dad has always said that a man who raises a hand against a female lowers himself beneath her feet. So I’ve never hit a woman. Never had the urge to until I met Brooke Davidson.
She ignores the threat. Continues to taunt me, spelling out all my fears. “What lies will you tell her? That you never touched me? That you never wanted me? How do you think that girl will respond when she finds out you screwed your daddy’s girlfriend? Do you think she’ll still want you?”
I glance toward the now empty doorway. I can hear muffled sounds coming from Ella’s bedroom. I want to sprint across the hall, but I can’t. Not when Brooke is still in this house. What if she runs out there, butt-ass naked, saying that she’s pregnant with my kid? How do I explain that to Ella? How do I get her to believe me? Brooke needs to be gone before I face Ella.
“Get out.” I turn all my frustrations on Brooke.
“Don’t you want to know the sex of the baby first?”
“No. I don’t.” I take in her slender, naked body and see a slight mound on her belly. Bile fills my mouth. Brooke’s not the type to get fat. Her looks are her only weapon. So the bitch isn’t lying about being pregnant.
But that kid isn’t mine.
It might be my dad’s, but it sure as hell is not mine.
I wrench the door open and run out. “Ella,” I call. I don’t know what I’ll say to her, but it’s better than saying nothing. I’m still cursing myself for freezing up like that. God, what a fuck-up I am.
I skid to a stop outside her bedroom door. A quick survey nets me nothing. Then I hear it—the low, throaty sound of a sports-car engine being revved. With a burst of panic, I sprint down the front stairs, while Brooke cackles behind me like a witch on Halloween.
I lunge at the front door, forgetting it’s locked, and by the time I get it open, there’s no sign of Ella outside. She must’ve sped down the driveway going at Mach speeds. Shit.
The stones under my feet remind me I’m wearing jeans and nothing else. Spinning on my heel, I take the stairs three at a time, only to grind to halt when Brooke steps onto the landing.
“There’s no way that’s my baby,” I snarl. If it was really mine, Brooke would’ve played this card a long time ago instead of holding it tight until now. “I doubt it’s my dad’s either, or you wouldn’t stripping down like a cheap whore in my room.”