Page 22 of Walking Red Flag

I sat down in my office chair, then decided…fuck it.

The explosion of air releasing from my body felt like a dream.

God, I really needed to stop eating pizza.

It never failed to really fuck me over.

Worse, I’d gained eight pounds.

Sure, I logically knew that I hadn’t actually gained eight pounds. The majority of it was water weight.

But that didn’t mean that I didn’t look like I was a bloated mess in front of the sexiest guy I’d ever seen.

I hated myself for wearing my running tights, Christmas Crocs, and oversized Great Smoky Mountains sweatshirt that I’d stolen from Dima.

I wasn’t even wearing makeup.

How underwhelming could I be?

There was a sharp bark of laughter outside my door, and I froze, my butthole puckering in fear.

NO.

No, no, no.

Then came the knock on the door.

My cheeks flamed when I realized that there was no way that he hadn’t heard everything that’d just come from my office.

Swallowing bile now, I stood up and prayed that when I opened the door, I’d find a family member outside and not the hottest guy I’d ever seen.

Except, my hopes were dashed as the door swung open on squeaky hinges, and there he was in all his devastatingly sexy glory.

“Haven’t heard one that good since my sister let one off at the Christmas dinner table,” he drawled.

Yep.

Mortification.

That was a thing for me now, I guessed.

Before he could say anything, his phone rang, and he growled.

“Give me a second,” he said as he pulled the phone out of his jeans and placed it to his ear. “Seriously, please stop calling me. It’s getting really fuckin’ old.”

He paused and listened for a long moment, then he shook his head as he said, “Dorie, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He listened a little longer, then frowned, pulling the phone away from his face.

“Let me ask you something,” he said, his eyes coming down to me. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you last had sex with someone three months ago, it wouldn’t net you a pregnancy that’s only five weeks along, right?”

I blinked. “Um, no. That’s not how it works.”

“Thought so.” He turned the phone onto speaker and said, “Dorie, I realize you’re trying to help this kid of yours, but I’m not that man.”

“It’s your kid,” she declared for a fourth time.

“You’re five weeks along. We haven’t had sex in three months. I’m sorry to break it to you, but that’s not how biology works,” he said. “I even asked a woman. She has all those same parts. She agrees with me, too.”

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