Page 84 of Forking the Billionaire

I checked myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink, my hair mussed. I splashed cold water on my face, pulled my hair up, and stared at my reflection.

I looked like my whole life hadn’t just changed. I looked like me, when in reality my world had been so deeply rocked that it flew out of orbit and skyrocketed into a different universe. I would never be the same.

All previous sexual encounters, which I’d thought were mediocre, had proved to be shamefully inadequate. Like on a scale of have-you-ever-used-your-dick-before to mind-blowing-sex, I would have put them somewhere in the middle, solid meh experiences.

But now, now I had to put every other man or boy who’d ever so much as winked in my general direction as sad. They fell below shamefully inadequate as soon as Jasper showed up on the scale.

They weren’t worth a rating. Maybe like negative two, are-you-sure-that-counts as-wielding-a-penis-level experiences. Pathetic.

First Contact didn’t count of course. It didn’t deserve a rating because I still preferred to pretend it hadn’t happened.

But why did Jasper have to feelso good?Why did I have to carry the ache of him in my legs and deep between? It was a reminder that he’d claimed my body as thoroughly as I’d meant to claim his.

And after hanging out a little while longer before slipping back out of the bathroom, it was clear that he wasn’t affected at all.

He easily laughed and carried on with conversation, not even glancing in my direction. He was his usual, casual, Graffiti Surfer Ken with no cares in the world.

I was the only one whose entire world had been shattered.

I was the only one who thought that stupid promise meant something, even though I didn’t want to.

Because of course. He did this kind of thing all of the time. He had casual sex with every eligible woman who entered his vicinity. He didn’t get attached. He didn’t have feelings.

Just look at what he did to Jules.

I was the only one who felt like it had meant anything at all. I knew this. I saw it coming, and I had sex with him anyway. And that made me feel like a total idiot.

The next dayas I prepped the bar for my shift, I sucked it up like the boss of my life that I was, and checked my calendar to calculate exactly how pregnant I was.

Thirteen weeks.

Crap on a cracker. That meant I wasn’t in my first trimester anymore, but had breached right into the second. That meant no more fake periods, probably.

I sliced lemons and kept on reading, maintaining my outer calm in case Rufus poked his head out of the kitchen or someone walked through the front door.

According to the interwebs, the second trimester was when the barfy stage was supposed to wind down. That was something at least. Another site said that everyone was different and that some people ended up feeling sick and barfy forthe entire forty weeks.Ugh.

Everyone agreed I needed to take vitamins. I was already on a gummy multivitamin, so at least I’d gotten that bit right. And there was tons of stuff not to do, like drinking and smoking, which I already didn’t do. I didn’t see climbing through bathroom windows on any list, but I figured I’d made the right call there, too. Another mental high five.

I needed to give myself all the props I could for every tiny win, because there was so so sooo much I was doing wrong, like having sex with a stranger at a costume party thirteen weeks ago, and having sex with my brother’s best friend during my brother’s wedding festivities. Why did my biggest mistakes have to be sex related? It made me feel like a sex-crazed monster.Me,who has had three partners ever.

Just as I was sliding from congratulating myself to full self-flagellation mode, Sage slipped onto the stool in the corner. I pretended I didn’t see her right away even though she was clearly watching me. Her thick glasses magnified both her bushy gray, thoroughly furrowed brows and her somehow both needle-sharp and cloudy blue eyes.

It was an ambush. She was waiting for her moment to strike.

I stealth flicked the browser on my phone closed and delivered the lemon slices to their container.

Sage cleared her throat with the kind of emphasis that said she most definitely did not have anything lodged in there and also most definitely was waiting for me to acknowledge her presence.

“Hi, Sage. I didn’t see you there,” I lied.

“Yes you did.”

“Yes I did.”

First, on Friday, she’d caught me buying those weird strawberry condoms. Then, Monday, she’d beenall there’s a surprise in the near future for one of youwhile shooting me a clearly knowing look through her cloudy irises. And I’d felt exposed, like she could see my secrets etched into my face.

She couldn’t reallyknowthat I was pregnant though, right? Suspect, sure. But she always suspected all kinds of things. It was her whole jam. But she couldn’t know for sure. I meanIjust found out.

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