“Just like that. We’re already living together. You’re going to have my babies. It’s only a matter of time before you take my last name, so… yeah. Just like that.”
My body fought for neutral, no reaction, but it was impossible. I felt my brows raise all on their own, like they just didn’t give a damn that my brain screamed, “Don’t react!”
“I’m taking your last name?”
“Unless you want to keep Jones. I’m good with whatever you decide.”
“Uh… are you proposing to me?”
“Sure.”
How could one guy be my greatest dream and worst nightmare?
“Sure? That… that’s it?”
“I’m not following.”
Aliens robbed the man of my dreams. How? When? Who was this imposter?
Climbing off him, I shoved the top down on my suitcase and yanked on the zipper. It was full, too full. He sat up and pressed his hand to the top, releasing the tension so I could zip it.
“You’re mad.”
“Stop.” I shook my head. “Remember, we’re not the ‘you’re mad’ couple.”
“Then just say it.” He smirked.
It was the first time I hated his stupid dimples. “I despise clichés, I really do. And I love how we make no sense and perfect sense at the same time. I even love having no damn clue if I’m pregnant or not. It makes me feel so…alive.But…” I shook my head.
“But?”
“But ‘sure’? Really? You flew to China to kiss me. Let me say that again. You. Flew. To. China. To. Kiss. Me!”
“You want to get married in China?”
“Gah!” I threw my hands up, turned, and stomped into the bathroom. “I need to shower and get to bed. I have an early flight.”
“Early? Like what? Eight?” He chuckled.
I slammed the door. My flight was at nine, but screw him for making fun of me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE BRAWL
Iflewto New York the next morning, with a back-breaking chip on my shoulder and a boyfriend oblivious to his douchebag-ness. It wasn’t a glamorous word, or a real one for that matter, but it was the most fitting one. The notecard in my bag should have been a heart-melting gesture:
CHAPTER NINE
But it wasn’t.
The following ten days were a complete blur. At every turn I had a camera or microphone thrust into my face—questions about the photos and article, questions about my relationship with Cage, questions about my secret affair with Everson’s nanny.
Thad and I were supposed to be changing the world, but my personal life seemed to trump everything else. His incessant eye rolling and jaw grinding said he was fed up with the sideshow of my life. Even the scheduled interviews that were supposed toonlybe about the magazine article and Thad’s inventions ended with slipping in a question or two about my relationship with Minnesota’s famous quarterback.
Texting with Cage seemed to focus on the same shit. I was sick of it.
Cage:I read you’re having an affair with Thad.
