Page 68 of How to Catch a Rockstar

His angry voice has thoughts of how strong his arms are and how they can lift me up without straining flying out of my mind.

“Wherever I want. You’re not the boss of me.”

The driver backs away. “I’ll just…,” he says before fleeing.

Great. I was counting on him helping me move my stuff out of Jett’s house.

“You’re carrying my baby,” Jett grumbles. “I have a right to know where you are.”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I don’t go blind. “Your baby? He isn’t your baby. He’s my baby. You don’t want him, remember?”

I place a protective hand on my stomach. I got you, Little Bean. Don’t you worry.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to hear it. I saw enough.”

He scowls. “I didn’t fuck those women.”

“I don’t care.” I lie. “It’s none of my business. We’re not together.”

“We need to talk,” he repeats.

“Yoo-hoo! Aurora!”

I glance over my shoulder. Feather waves from across the street where she’s standing on her porch.

“How was your trip?” she asks and begins walking down her sidewalk toward us.

“It was good. But I’m tired. Exhausted.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about being pregnant, it’s how the word exhausted can be used as a ‘get out of jail free’ card.

I wave to Feather before hurrying into the house. I trudge up the stairs toward my bedroom. No, not my bedroom. The guest bedroom. I don’t live here anymore.

The sight of the comfortable bed has my resolve nearly crumbling. I can sleep here tonight and figure out a plan tomorrow. But then Jett enters the room and sets my bags down at the end of the bed.

Nope. No staying here. I need to leave before I decide I can survive a lifetime in jail for killing Jett. How bad can prison really be?

Contemplating prison? Yep. I need to go.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I reserved a room at the Inn on Main.”

Jett growls. “You’re not staying at the Inn.”

“How many times do I need to say this for you to get it through your thick skull? You are not the boss of me.”

He snorts. “You made yourself perfectly obvious when you snuck off to the airport and left on a commercial flight.”

“I didn’t sneak off.” I’m not a troubled teenager sneaking away from her parents. By the time I hit my troubled teen years, my parents were gone. I didn’t need to sneak at anything. No one cared what I did.

“You did, but I don’t want to argue about it.”

“Good.”

I glance around the room. I know the closet is full of clothes. As is the dresser. Plus, there are the bags of dirty clothes on the ground. I don’t have the energy to deal with all of it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow for my things.”

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