Page 191 of Chasing Sparks

“We need to talk. Now.”

“How about I don’t work around your schedule? How about I don’t feel like talking? How about?—”

“Beautiful, open the damn door.”

Ori’s lips press into a tight line, and she leans against the doorframe, clearly ready to ride the petulance train as far as it will take her. Can’t say I blame her.

“No.”

Okay, time to change tactics. Trace warned me to keep quiet, but Ori needs to know. I can’t stand another minute away from the woman I love, and if facing Trace’s wrath is the price, I’ll pay it without hesitation.

I glance around the parking lot, praying no one is within earshot. Paranoia is a bitch, and it grows worse by the minute.

Here goes nothing—andeverything—all at once.

I shove my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “It’s not my baby.”

A growl rises from Ori’s chest as she slams the door shut. For a second, I think I’ve screwed this situation up even worse, but then the latch slides off, and she throws the door wide open.

“You are such a jerk. I can’t believe you’d say that.”

Is it an asshole move? Sure, but it worked.

“Got me in the door,” I reply, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind me. My fingers twist the lock into place, ensuring no one can follow.

“Get out,” Ori grunts, pounding her fists against my chest.

I easily fend off her blows and scoop her into my arms. “I’m not leaving.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, wriggling against me.

“Just be quiet for a second, and I’ll tell you.” I carry her into the bathroom and set her on the vanity before turning the shower on full blast. “Now, as I was saying, it’s not my baby.”

Ori releases a howl of frustration, jabbing a finger toward her stomach. “This is your baby. You want a paternity test? Fine, but I’m not risking the pregnancy now, so you’ll have to cool your heels until the baby is born. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word about the baby’s daddy until then. Maybe I’ll invent some raucous story about how the father is a stripper in Vegas with a ten-foot dick.”

I cross my arms and lean against the sink, unable to hide my amusement. The more she goes on, the funnier it becomes. She’s five feet of terror wrapped in an adorable package, like one of those maniacal chihuahuas that screech and howl at every dog, no matter the size.

Best not to mention that fact right now.

“Is this funny to you?” she snaps, throwing up her hands in disgust. “You’re a bastard, Asher Hammond. You need to leave.”

She slides off the vanity, but I step forward, caging her in my arms.

Sorry, little one, but this is all the space I’m giving you now.

“Yell at me all you want. I’m not leaving your side.”

“You’re sure as hell not staying here.”

“Will you listen? After I’m done, you can decide if you’d like to continue yelling at me.”

She juts out her chin, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “What more could you possibly have to tell me? You swear me to secrecy, demand my love and understanding for your first baby mama, and then top it all off by asking for a paternity test.”

I rest my hands against her stomach, letting the warmth of her body calm my frayed nerves. “Ori, I know this is my baby.”

“Then why would you say that it isn’t?” Ori buries her face in her hands, her body shaking. “Ash, you heard the doctor. I need to reduce my stress, and you being here is doing the opposite. So, please, say what you have to say and go. Just go.”

“Lucille’s baby isn’t mine.” I hiss the words in her ear, still terrified of who might be listening to our conversation.

---