Page 22 of Pregnant By the Playboy
This? It’s perfect.
I just have to convince her.
I’ll prove that I can be everything she thinks I’m not. I can’t blame her for the view she has of me. I’ve cultivated that persona.
But it’s not all I am.
“I’ll come to your appointments,” I say. “Have you had any yet?”
“I’m seeing my doctor next week, but there’s no need for you to come to that.”
“I want to.”
She sighs. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing my health in front of you.”
“Let me drive you there and back, then. Sit in the waiting room.”
“Okay.”
I refrain from pumping my fist in victory.
She won’t marry me, but she’ll let me drive her to an appointment! It’s a start.
“Of course, there’s a chance I might miscarry,” she says. “I haven’t told anyone else about the pregnancy yet, but I plan to tell my mother and a friend. I’d like you to wait until I’ve gotten to twelve weeks before telling your family, though.”
“No problem.”
I leave Marissa’s place several minutes later, after she insists on feeding me cookies. She awkwardly gives me a hug and says she’ll text me the details of the appointment.
I smile as I wait for the elevator. I’m going to be a dad and a husband! Sure, she rejected my proposal, but somehow, I’m going to do it. Marissa...
Oh, shit, I don’t even know her last name.
Well, I will learn Marissa’s last name, and then I’ll hopefully get her to fall in love with me and accept my marriage proposal.
There’s a slight twinge in my chest at the thought.
I have some serious doubts that this is all possible—will she really be able to love me?—but I’m trying to be optimistic.
I hope that optimism isn’t misplaced.
Chapter 9
Marissa
Maybe this was a mistake.
I’m standing in the parking lot at work, bundled up in my winter jacket. It’s freaking cold. I’ve only been outside for a minute, and my teeth are already chattering.
I look at my watch again. Vince is supposed to pick me up in three minutes.
When he offered to drive me, I thought I’d give him a chance to prove he’s a little responsible. Besides, my doctor’s office is near Yonge and Eglinton, and the traffic and parking situation is a nightmare around there, thanks to the LRT construction. It would be nice to let someone else deal with that.
But now I’m convinced he’s going to be late.
I pull my toque lower over my ears and look at my watch again. It’s eleven thirty-eight, and I’m supposed to be taking a long lunch to have this doctor’s appointment. If he’s not here in five minutes, I’m driving myself.
Just then, a black sports car screeches into the parking lot and pulls up in front of me. Vince jumps out of the driver’s seat and runs around to open the passenger’s door.
