Rett: That’s Monroe. He’s wasted. I’m amazed he hasn’t fallen in the pool already. You shouldn’t be looking at him. He’s not man enough for you.
Baby Momma: Oh, right. So who is?
30
BEATRICE
Tears continue to flood down my cheeks, and no matter how hard I try to stop them, how many times I wipe them away, they just keep coming.
And for no reason.
Well, not no reason.
I want a bath.
I want to sink my sore, aching body into hot water and sink under the bubbles.
It’s all Everett’s fault. He’s the one who suggested it.
The only problem is, my new apartment doesn’t have one.
My old one did. The bathroom there was incredible. It was one of the reasons I chose the place. But it’s gone now, and so is the large tub that sat under the window, which allowed me to look at the stars. Or at least, I used to pretend I could see stars through all the light pollution.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself as I wipe my hands on my leggings to dry them off.
Everett was only trying to be nice. He’s been the same all week with his coffee and food deliveries. As annoying and overbearing as it might be, it’s also incredibly sweet and thoughtful.
And my tears only come faster.
I hate this. I hate being so emotional and constantly on edge. One of my clients brought me cookies this week. No reason behind it; she just saw them in the store on the way in and thought we’d all like them as a treat and I almost fell apart on her.
It was just a packet of cookies, for fuck’s sake.
I blow out a slow breath and roll my shoulders back.
I know it’s pregnancy hormones and that it’ll get better, but I’m fed up with the waterworks. I’m pretty sure I’ve cried more in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life.
My cell buzzes again on my chest and I scramble to get it.
It’s ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager with a crush, not a fully grown woman messaging the man who got her pregnant who is going to get bored before long.
My brows pinch when I discover he’s sent me a photo.
I swipe the screen, and my eyes almost pop out of my sockets when a selfie of him fills the screen. But it’s not just the smirk that has my thighs clenching…he’s shirtless.
And holy cow. Those abs are the things dreams are made of.
I squeeze my eyes closed when regrets slam into me.
Why didn’t I get him naked that night? I bet it’s a sight to behold. It’s one I could really make use of right now.
My swinging emotions aren’t the only thing I'm struggling with. My libido is hanging out right behind the breakdowns.I hate to admit it, but Sienna was right.
My vibrator has never worked as hard as it has recently. But as good as it feels, I can’t deny the fact it isn’t quite hitting the spot.
I have a suspicion as to why, and it annoys me every time I think about it.
It’s his fault.
