My stomach roils. “Try it again.”
“I tried it six different times. Got another card or cash?”
Dread washes over me. Nope. I have nothing of the sort.
“Uh,” I say slowly as I slide out of the booth. “Let me look.”
The waitress shuffles over to another table to refill their drinks. I really hate to do this to her, but I have no other choice. Without thinking too hard on it, I rush out the front door. I hear her shout at me, but I’m already out and hoofing it down the sidewalk before she can stop me.
My heart races inside my chest. I quickly turn a corner and hobble down the dark alley. All this walking in Jody’s stupid combat boots are wearing a blister on my heel. As I walk, I scroll through my phone, searching all my contacts. The list is getting thinned out by the day.
You could call him.
You have to speak to him anyway.
When I reach the end of the alley, I sit on a curb in front of a convenience store. I’m grateful for what battery life I have left as I search the internet for the country club directory.
Rhett Monahan.
As soon as I see his name, a flash of a memory zaps through me. I remember being so thrilled to see the uptight bastard lose control.
The guilt at what I’d done came after I sobered up.
Does he feel guilty?
I mash his number and wait for him to answer.
“Hello?”
“We have to talk.”
“Who is this?”
I’m tired and cranky and my feet hurt. Plus, I enjoy flustering the man.
“You’ve been inside me. You should know who this is.”
“Abby? What the fuck?”
The fact he knew it was me sends a flurry of relief flooding through me. I wasn’t that forgettable.
“I’m pregnant.” I pause and when he doesn’t respond, I add, “You’re the father, Rhett.”
He disconnects the call.
Asshole.
Chapter 3
Rhett
Istare at my phone in disbelief.
There’s no way.
She’s fucking with my head.
Why, though?
