Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Don’t fight it,” I tell him, my nails scraping his defined pecs as I lay my palms flat to his chest. My lower body grinds him, bringing us both closer to the edge. “I’m almost there.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I squeeze my thighs together, and he groans, his features going taut. “Coming, baby,” he groans.
I watch him as he does, loving the noises he makes, the way his eyelids go heavy before closing altogether. The feel of him finding release inside me triggers my climax, and soon I’m the one making noise, eyes squeezed shut as I collapse on top of him.
A while later, we finally make it back to the bedroom, where we take a shower before falling into bed and getting sweaty all over again. As I’m drifting off to sleep in Garrett’s strong arms, I promise myself I’m going to tell him tomorrow.
38
Hannah
I’m going to tell him today.
I can’t not tell him today.
I’m reaching the point where I don’t think I can delay it any longer. It’s been a week since our living room sex-fest, and I still haven’t put on my big girl pants and told my boyfriend we’re with child. But Allie’s right—Garrett is going to start recognizing the changes in me. Last time, he’d noticed my swollen breasts. Who knows what he’ll notice next time. And next time, maybe he’ll connect the dots.
So today’s the day. All I have to do is wait for Garrett to finally drag his ass out of bed so I can tell him. Though in his defense, it’s only eight in the morning. I’m the one who woke up at an ungodly hour.
I thought the upside to pregnancy was not having period cramps, but joke’s on me. Now I have pregnancy cramps. I woke up at the crack of dawn feeling like I was getting kicked in the stomach by a horse. Even a long, hot shower and some Tylenol hasn’t done anything to abate this sensation that makes me long for last week’s constant nausea.
No excuses, an inner voice pipes up, that wise part of me that knows I’d been about to convince myself to use cramps as an excuse to stall again.
But nope. No stalling.
Today is the day.
“Motherfucker!” Garrett shouts from the bedroom.
Okay, maybe today’s not the day.
Lying in the living room with my laptop and headphones while I work on a new song, I jump at the outburst. Sliding the earphones off, I hear what sounds like Garrett cursing and getting into a scuffle with our closet.
I hurry toward our room. “You okay in there?”
“Do I have to wear a tie to this thing?” He comes out half-dressed with a wad of ties in his hand.
“What thing?”
He spares me a dark look. “The Legacy interview. The first taping is in a couple hours.”
Yikes. Today is definitely not the day.
I’d totally forgotten Garrett was doing that this morning. Stupid pregnancy brain has been kicking in lately, jumbling my thoughts. Yesterday I couldn’t remember where I’d left my car keys, searching for twenty minutes before realizing I was holding them in my hand.
“Right.” I eye the tie selection. “Normally I would say no, but your agent would probably disagree.”
Garrett mutters something rude under his breath and goes back to the closet for a rematch. “The premise of this whole thing is ridiculous to being with. I don’t see why they think anyone is interested in watching Phil bullshit his way through a bunch of fond family memories.”
“Because they don’t know it’s bullshit,” I point out.
But he’s now spinning himself into a small tirade. Not that I blame him. If I had a father like Phil Graham, I’d be spitting mad all the time too.
“Swear to God, if he brings up my mom, I’m going to lose it.” Garrett reappears, looping a navy silk tie around his neck. He pulls on it so tight, I’m worried he’ll choke himself.
“Did you give the producers a list of no-no questions?” I know a lot of celebrities do that. Every time Nice gives an interview at the studio, his manager steps in to remind the journalist of the questions they aren’t allowed to ask.
“Landon told them I don’t want to talk about my mother. Gave them the grief excuse, it’s too painful, that sort of thing.” Garrett’s jaw tightens. “But I wouldn’t put it past my father to bring her up himself.”
I bite my lip. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You can just call Landon and tell him you don’t want to. He gets paid to say no for you.”
“Then what? Answer a bunch of questions about why I backed out at the last minute? Phil knows I can’t.”
“So you say nothing, ignore it, and in a week or two it goes away. Some football player gets arrested or says he won’t play until they buy him a pony and you’re off the hook.”