Page 94 of Vegas Daddies

“No.”

Tammy and Rachel glance at one another.

I say the word almost reflexively. Having kids with Levi was something that never crossed my mind. He was always good with kids and cradled a baby in his arms once, but my ovaries never melted and thought, “Fuck. Quick! Better release an egg.”

The two-minute timer buzzes.

“So you’d be happy with Brander, Lifesaver, or Match as the father?”

“I’d be happy with them all,” I say.

“Good.” Rachel turns the pregnancy test around.

Two pink lines stripe across the window.

“Because you’re growing one of their children.”

I stagger off the bus,thanking the driver.

I can’t even straighten my voice.

Fuck.

Warm air greets me, a nice change from the air conditioning that was starting to goosebump my skin.

How am I supposed to feel?

How am I gonna tell them?

The timing couldn’t be worse.

But at least I’m in six capable hands.

Shades of orange and pink merge together in the sky, goldening Summerlin.

Ping!

A message.

I slip out my phone.

Lifesaver: Your location says that you’re walking. Alone.

Me: That’s right.

Brander: It’s sundown too. What are you playing at?

Me: The bus stop is a five-minute walk from my dad’s

Lifesaver: Then hurry up.

Anxiety clots in my stomach, pulse drumming erratically in various arteries. For now, I’ll keep the pregnancy to myself. After all Daddy has done, he doesn’t deserve the gift of a grandchild.

But I can’t tell him anyway, because the next question will be “Who’s the father?”

And the answer will be plural.

Plus, he still doesn’t know that I broke up with Levi.

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