She turns smartly, about to walk out, and I say, “Wait,” before I can catch myself.
She glances over a shoulder. “Yes?”
Her voice is coolly professional, and my gaze drops. “Nothing. I’ll be down in the lobby in thirty.”
She nods and leaves.
Ah, great. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. Just what the hell happened last night? I’ve never drunk that much, enough to pass out and not remember.
“Arrrrggghhhh!”
I shove my hands against the sides of my head and hop into the shower. It’s all Dad’s fault. I shouldn’t even call him Dad anymore. Just Julian. He deserves that.
I’m going to sue the son of a bitch. He deserves that too. He’s going down. I should’ve opted for that last night, instead of getting shitfaced and propositioning Paige. Mira knows every nasty asshole attorney in the city. Surely she knows one who can fuck him over.
My new purpose in life energizes me. I throw on a blue polo shirt and shorts.
But a lot of my anger and energy deflate when I see Paige again in the lobby. Dad didn’t force the liquor down my throat. He didn’t make me act like a total jackass with her last night, and I feel like pond scum.
She’s tapping out something on her phone, her brows knitted together. Underneath the makeup, she is paler, and her mouth is stretched thin and flat.
The drive to the airport is awkward and silent. It’s ten times worse than our flight to Virginia.
And what’s even worse than that is…I don’t know how to fix the situation so I can breathe again.
Chapter Eight
Paige
Ryder leaves town on Monday to “go fishing,” which is his code for either getting laid or partying. Whichever it is, I’m sort of glad after that crazy proposal. I already have enough on my plate, mainly how I’m going to adjust to having a baby on my own…and how I’m going to tell my family.
Frankly, figuring out the first is easier than the second. In addition to disappointing Mom and Simon, it’ll prove that the whispers I heard while growing up were right—that I’m a troublemaker, bound to let people down no matter how things appear now because sooner or later I’m going to do something bad.
Getting pregnant out of wedlock definitely counts.
Ryder’s still not back by Friday COB. I don’t think he’s in trouble…if he were, he would’ve contacted me or his lawyers. However, he should be about partied out by now. The previous record is four days.
Sunday morning, I drive to a modest house in the suburbs. My stepsister, Bethany, and her husband, Oliver, bought it last year. The previous owner was in financial trouble, and the property was about to go into foreclosure. So they got a pretty decent deal, considering that this is L.A.
Since it’s the biggest of all our homes, Bethany and Oliver usually host our get-togethers. My roommate Renni and her twin brother are invited as well. All of us being transplants, we’ve bonded tightly over the years.
By the time I ring the doorbell, it’s ten thirty. Bethany answers in a pink apron streaked with flour. There’s some on her cheek as well. Her white t-shirt is comfy and old, and a pair of cropped blue-jeans ends at the middle of her calves. Bright, neon pink polish looks great on her narrow feet, which are currently bare.
A yellow number two pencil skewers the messy brown bun sitting on top of her head. Her smile wide and welcoming, she wraps me up in a hug. “Come on in.”
I return the hug. It feels so good to be around people who love me.
We walk in together. Renni and her twin brother Gary are hanging out in the living room.
They look nothing alike.
Renni is petite and pixie-like. Meanwhile Gary is a fitness model, and he has the height and ruggedly dark looks that made him popular among romance writers looking for a hottie to grace their covers. A Captain America t-shirt stretches over his lean, muscled body, and a pair of well-developed legs shows below frayed denim shorts.
Oliver comes out of the kitchen, holding a kitchen knife. He’s in his favorite green Hulk apron. Mom made it for him a couple of years ago for Christmas. He’s on the slight side, his shoulders narrow and limbs long and slim. Rimless glasses sit on his round, friendly face, and his dark hair sticks up like he’s been zapped by experiment-happy aliens.
“Impeccable timing! And Bethany didn’t even have to text you,” Oliver says.
I cringe. I’m often late. Not on purpose, but a lot of times Ryder has some last-minute thing.