Page 112 of Jilted

It felt like my blood was boiling, I was so filled with hot rage.

The guy grabbed his clothes. The motherfucker was lucky as shit that I was so surprised, or he’d be pounded into the ground by now. He ran past me, looking like he was going to piss his pants.

And that—that’swhat Whitney was focused on. She screamed after the guy. “You freaking wimp! Running away like a damn coward!”

Un-freaking-real.

I shook my head. “You’re lucky you’re a woman.” I pointed to her, then to the door. “Get your goddamned clothes on and get the fuck out of my house.”

“Gladly!”

This woman had some set of balls. No apology. Not even an attempt at faking embarrassed or ashamed. She acted like I’d done something wrong. I needed to put some distance between us so I didn’t explode. So I stormed into the living room and waited for her to get dressed.

A few minutes later, Whitney stomped out—the Louis Vuitton duffle bag she’d talked me into buying as her hospital bag on her shoulder. Her face was indignant. “You’rethe one who should leave,” she spat. “I’mthe one who’s pregnant.”

My eyes dropped to her belly. I swallowed. “Yeah? With whose baby?”

31WILDER

“Whatever you did, we’ll fix it.” Andrew slid onto the stool next to me.

I raised my hand to order another drink, though I’d already had one too many, and shook my head. “I don’t think even you can get me out of this mess.”

“Well, you got me out of bed at three in the morning. So why don’t you clue me in on what we’re talking about and let me be the judge of that.”

I deadpanned at my friend. “I told Sloane I loved her earlier tonight.”

“So? How the hell does that equate to…” He dug his cell from his pocket and swiped to open, reading the text I’d sent him an hour ago. “‘I fucked up. I royally fucked up.’ Does that mean you don’t love her? Did it come out during sex? I’ve done that before. Some orgasms affect our brain, man.”

I sucked back the rest of my whiskey. “No, we were on the dance floor at a wedding, and I love her. I love her more than anything I’ve ever loved.”

“More than that ratty purple bear you carried around until you were like seven and I know you still have somewhere, even though you deny it?”

I sighed. “Way more than Mr. Bongo.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I fell in love.”

“So? It’s not a deadly virus. It won’t kill you.”

“It almost did last time.”

“When were you ever in love?”

“I loved my high school girlfriend and my mother—both of whom died. And then there’s Whitney.”

“You never loved Whitney.”

“I loved our baby.”

Andrew smiled sadly. “I know you did, man. But this is different.”

“No, it’s not.” I met his eyes. “Sloane’s pregnant.”

My friend’s shoulders slumped. “Oh fuck.”

The bartender walked over. I ordered a refill, and Andrew ordered a vodka seltzer. Neither of us said a word until we had our drinks and were a few sips in.

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