Page 1 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

Prologue

ALLISON

“Fuck.”

That seemed to be the only word in her head at the moment.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

How did this happen?! How could it have…

Allison was a literal adult, she knew how it happened. But she didn’t understand how it actuallyhappened. She never thought a simple night of fun would turn out like this—with her staring down at the two pink lines on the small white stick she’d peed ona couple of minutes ago. She squinted at the stick, as if glaring at it would make those lines disappear.

“Are you serious?” she muttered to the stick, as though it could respond. “I mean, I know how biology works. I passed health class and everything. But really? One night of tequila and bad decisions and now I’m… this?”

She paced around her bathroom, half expecting a hidden camera crew to burst out and shout, “Gotcha!” But the only thing that jumped out at her was her reflection, looking equally horrified and bemused.

“This can’t be real,” she whispered, double-checking the instructions on the box for the fifth time. Yup, two pink lines still meant pregnant. It wasn’t like the stick was going to start showing emojis or something to make it more fun.

Allison groaned, running a hand through her hair. “This is not how I imagined my morning.” She thought she’d spend it nursing a coffee, not contemplating impending motherhood.

She glanced at the stick again, half-expecting the lines to change their mind.

How could I be so stupid?

She slumped onto the edge of the bathtub, the cold porcelain pressing into her back as she stared at the offensive stick. “How did this even happen?” she mused aloud, conveniently forgetting that tequila shots and a charming smile were a potent combination.

“Seriously, I just wanted one night off from being responsible. One night!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “And what do I get? A lifelong responsibility. Awesome.”

Her mind raced, flashing back to that night. There had been laughter, pizza talk and a very charming pair of chocolate eyes.

“Now what?” she pondered, eyeing her phone. Should she text her brothers? Maybe just Google ‘how to disappear and start a new life in the Bahamas’?

“Oh God, my father,” she groaned again, this time louder. “He’s going to kill me. I can see the headline now: ‘Father Murders Daughter Over Impending Grandchild, Blames Society and Tequila.’”

Her hand drifted to her stomach, as if the two pink lines had already materialized into a tiny, judgmental version of herself. “Great. I’ll die single, pregnant, and disgraced. And I haven’t even gone to a Taylor Swift concert yet. How am I supposed to ‘Shake It Off’ now, Taylor? How?”

Allison sighed, trying to summon some semblance of calm. She had read those pregnancy blogs before, filled with glowing mothers-to-be doing yoga and eating kale. “Maybe I’ll become one of those zen pregnant ladies,” she thought, imagining herself with a peaceful aura and perfect Instagram posts.

Then she looked at the stick again. “Or maybe I’ll just panic for nine months straight and cry over ice cream. That’s probably more my style.”

She stood up, taking a deep breath. “Okay, Allison, get a grip. First step, calm down. Second step, maybe buy some more pregnancy tests just to be sure. Third step, find a way to break it to Dad without him reenacting a scene from ‘Taken.’”

It had all beenhisfault. That hot-as-fucking-lava guy she’d met at the bar with that smooth accent and the black suit. He’d sat right next to her, and she had instantly felt the wetness pool between her legs. She hadn’t expected him to look at her with those intoxicating brown eyes or smirk at her so deliciously when he inevitably noticed her drooling all over her dark pink dress. But, he had. And the conversation had been so interesting and funny and flirty and…

And now Allison was pregnant.

At least the baby will probably be good-looking with such genes. Small blessings, I guess.

She wanted children, of course. She’d always had different ambitions in life, so she wouldn’t say she’d simply dreamed of having children. But she wanted to be a mother at some point. Just not in her current phase. Which was why this sucked so bad.

She had been throwing up like a seasick Steve for the past few weeks, which she now realized was morning sickness from the tiny fetus that had decided her womb would make a good living space, and not her badly cooked spaghetti.

She always tried to keep calm and carry on—being a Y2K baby, she had several of those little signs in her kitchen—but she couldn’t take another minute of this helplessness.

She had to do something or she would literally go crazy over this. She picked up her phone, taking a deep breath.

“Life, you sneaky trickster. I see what you did there. Well played.” As she dialed a number, she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Alright, baby. Let’s do this. But if you end up being a Swiftie, you’re paying for those concert tickets.”

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