Page 230 of Unexpected Hero

After our little talk, I had to leave. And I didn’t bring his no pressure pills with me when I left.

That’s not happening.

For fuck’s sake, I can’t even take birth control yet because it’s a daily reminder of my impurity.

How could James think that was a good idea for someone like me?

He’s been clueless before, but this tops them all.

Despite his insisting I stay the night, I bolted after reassuring him I was okay. He knows I’m not, but he pretended to believe me. And I pretended to mean it.

I needed space to think.

To cry some more.

To freak out without sucking him down into despair with me.

Sometimes, a girl needs to cry herself to sleep alone in her room with music blaring. So I did. Not sure it helped.

All day I’ve been itching to message Stella to get her take on this cluster I’ve fucked myself into. Hell, I might have been so bold as to call her.

With my voice!

After all, she needs to hear about this huge leap I’ve made toward the Liberation of Lettie Holt — making the sex tape and watching it.

Plus I can’t wait to hear what choice words she has to say about how I immediately eroded my victory by doing the Lettiest thing ever — being spontaneous, reckless, and forgetful all at once. The ADHD trifecta.

Can’t believe I forgot to use a fucking condom.

I’m going to end up pregnant and unmarried, exactly like the woman who birthed me.

Shit ass. And my birth father was a soldier — like James was.

I’m such a fucking cliché.

Then again, did my mother date her soldier for a year before she got knocked up? Does that make my situation better? Worse? Did my father try to give her Plan B?

Wait. Was Plan B even a thing in the 1900s?

Dammit, Lettie, focus! Stop chasing mental squirrels.

I need my Stella Bella. She’d help me figure this shit out.

But I’m afraid to touch the phone.

What if I accidentally sent her the video or posted it on social media? Accidental sex tape leaks are a thing. They happen all the time to celebrities. All because they had to text their best friend about their dirty deeds.

And if anyone is going to have an accidental slip like that, it’s Calamity Lettie.

“Hello, sunshine,” Freya singsongs as she bounds through the front door.

I bolt from the table to assist her with what appears to be thirteen hundred grocery bags. Her hands are as red as her lipstick, thanks to her death grip on the plastic handles.

“Why didn’t you call me to come help you unload?” The weight of one of the bags nearly drags me to the floor. “Or you know... make a second trip?”

“Second trips are for pussies!” she declares, chin raised. “My mother didn’t raise me to be a multi-trip-making shopper.”

“Nope. Looks like she raised a pack mule instead.”

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