Page 101 of Accidental Baby Daddy

“I know but?—”

Oliver turned to kiss me again, shutting me up. “No buts.”

“Okay,” I sighed, and got up with a grunt. I went to my closet, groaning when I realized I barely had any clothes that fit anymore. “I’m too fat to wear anything,” I moaned.

“What? You’re not fat, Lex, you’re pregnant. And glowing.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t get too close, I could be radioactive.”

He barked out a laugh and got up, coming over to put his arms around my waist from behind, locking them just below my breasts, which were swollen and aching from the pregnancy.

“I’ll buy you some maternity clothes,” he said. “For now, why don’t you wear that little milkmaid dress of yours? The one with the polka dots.”

“You remember that dress?”

“You wore it to pick up your check from work last week. You looked incredible in it,” he murmured, kissing my neck, biting gently at my collarbone.

“Don’t do that,” I groaned. “We’ll be even later than we already are.”

We were up so late last night that we had slept past noon.

Oliver let me go with a chuckle and dressed in his clothes from the night before, picking his phone up from the nightstand.

“We have to go,” he said quickly. “My mom has somewhere to be.”.

I hurried to get dressed and grabbed my purse, following him and frowning.

“Are you sure I should go?”

“You go where I go, Alexandra Tripp,” Oliver said, smiling weakly at me, and I wondered what was wrong.

We arrived at his mother’s place in record time, with Oliver driving a bit over the speed limit.

Oliver helped me out of the car and we walked hand in hand up to the door. He knocked quickly, letting go of my hand.

I looked over at him, confused, but then his mother opened the door.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she said with a sigh. “Trent’s been so worried.”

Trent came running down the stairs, slamming into his father and grabbing him around the waist.

“I thought you left," he sobbed as Oliver picked him up.

“I would never leave you, buddy,” Oliver said quietly, and I just stood there, feeling awkward, unsure what was happening.

“He gets like this sometimes,” Oliver’s mother explained, ushering me into the kitchen. “I’ve made some tea.”

I paused at the door when I saw Oliver’s father sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea.

“Oh. Hello.”

Oliver came into the kitchen with Trent, who still had his head buried in his father’s chest.

“What are you doing here?” Oliver growled.

His father held his hands up in defence. “I'm just here to see your mother. She needed some help calming Trent down.”

“And you weren’t available,” Oliver’s mother added, but there was no bite to her tone as she smiled at me. “Do you like sugar or cream?”

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