No.
Dante:
Leave it to me.
Dante:
Speaking of babies, Orlando has one.
Me:
What?
Orlando has a baby?That can’t be real. I hit the call button on Dante’s number. “What do you mean Orlando has a baby?”
Connor turns to look at me, his brow raised in question.
“Exactly that. He knocked some chick up last year. She came back to school and now—bam—Orlando is a daddy,” Dante says.
“Poor kid.” I sigh into the phone. “Gotta go.” I hang up and send Orlando a message.
Me: WHAT???
Me: ORLANDO, WHAT???
Me: YOU HAVE A KID???
Me: I need a pic… NOW, Orlando.
A picture of a baby comes through a few seconds later.
Orlando: He looks just like me. Fucking adorable.
I snort. Of course he would think the kid is adorable because of him.
“Orlando has a kid,” I tell Connor, turning the screen to show him the image. “Look.”
“The rock star has a kid? What’s he gonna do with it?” Connor asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, rock stars and kids don’t really go hand in hand,” he says.
“That kid is a Valentino. We don’t turn our backs on our own. Besides, Orlando is a lot more responsible than you think,” I say, my tone defensive because no one says shit about my family. Not even Connor.
“He got some chick knocked up. I’d hardly call that responsible,” Patty chimes in.
Ignoring him, I pocket my phone. “Are we going to stand here all day or actually get on with it?”
“Let’s go.” Connor takes hold of my palm.
“Wait!” I tug it free and walk over to Patty, under the guise of greeting him. “I didn’t say hello.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “If I find out you’re fucking Connor over, I will have fun playing Frankenstein. I’ve always wondered what it would look like to remove someone’s dick and stitch it onto their forehead. I mean, the term dickhead had to come from somewhere, right?”
I step back and return to Connor’s side.
“Ready?” I ask, but Connor isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at Patty, who appears several shades paler now. “Feeling okay? Need adoctor?”
“I’m fine,” Patty says, walking towards the car in front of us.