Page 88 of Never Forever
I got out of bed, still in my ice-cream cone pajamas bottoms and tank top I’d slept in last night.
The bedroom was attached to a large sitting room with a couch, mounted wall television and reading area. My vision board was propped up on a chair adjacent to the couch.
Today, the pictures of the babies seemed to mock me.
More knocking. Wow. This was one very anxious cleaning person.
“Hey sorry, I thought I had the-”
It wasn’t a cleaning person standing there with a cart full of mini shampoos.
It was Matt Sullivan. Potential Baby Daddy.
And my soul saidnope.
I tried to shut the door on him, as if somehow being near him might reinforce the strength of his sperm inside of me, but he blocked the door with his hand and stepped inside.
He wore jeans and a tee shirt that shouldn’t look so good on him. His blond brown hair was a little curly in the humidity.
We would make beautiful babies.
Damnit!
“How did you know which room was mine?” I snapped, closing the door behind him.
He paced into the living area, his hands on his hips. The shades were drawn but the sunlight tried valiantly to get into the room. It made everything hazy and soft, like we were in an old movie. “I called Jackson Dumont and told him it was urgent that I speak to you. Like literally life and death.”
“A little dramatic,” I sneered.
“No, Carrie. Not dramatic at all, actually!” he shouted. His eyes met mine and I knew why he was here. The condom. Or lack thereof.
And he was furious.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked him, incredulous. “You’re the one who didn’t use a condom.”
“You didn’t use one either!”
“Oh, you think I walk around with a supply of condoms on me?”
“If you don’t, then maybe you shouldn’t be giving out hand jobs?”
I gasped like he’d slapped me.
His whole angry expression crumbled; his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “That was uncalled for…I’m just…rattled. Let’s start over.”
“You better,” I snapped at him.
“First,” he held out his hands like I was a wild animal. Like I was the one who’d come storming into his home. Slut-shaming him all over the place.
Oh, I thought, if he only knew how wrong he was.
“You should know, I’m clean,” he said.
“I am too.” I waited for him to doubt me, but he didn’t and I kept my secrets.
“And I assume you’re still on the pill, right?”
Three years ago, I was in a rom com with John Krasinski where everyone switched the angels and devils they had on their shoulders, influencing their decisions. It was a clever movie that critics hated and fans loved.