Page 2 of The Jackpot Screwer
“Yeah, well now he’s going to give me shit about it.”
“But I am your cutie pie.”
I rolled my eyes as my sister pushed up on her toes and kissed the life out of my best friend.
“Please, just go,” I called to them. “Leave me to my damn misery.”
Laughing and tangled in each other, they stumbled to Hunter’s truck. When it finally rumbled away down the quiet street where the Bronte and her family lived, I turned back to the door. It felt impenetrable, like the drawbridge of some damn castle I couldn’t scale up to reach the damsel.
However, I was never one to quit. Fisting my hand, I banged on it again.
“Bronte. Open up or I swear I’ll stay here all night. Maybe I’ll even start singing.”
We Maples were not the best of singers, and Bronte had often likened mine to the sound of a mule with a head cold.
“I mean it,” I cried. “I can sing the whole Blur back catalog if you want me to.”
British Indie bands were our thing and Bronte particularly liked Blur. I knew it would hurt her feelings if I ruined her favorite tune.
“I could murder Tender right here, right now, if you want me to.”
Within seconds the door swung open and Bronte stood in front of me looking as damn beautiful as ever, with her blue and purple hair hanging in beach-waved tendrils around her face and over her amazing bigger-than-usual tits.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed as she rubbed at her nose with a handkerchief and then swiped away a stray tear.
I took a step closer and held my hand out to her. “Lollipop baby, please tell me what I’ve done wrong. How can I fix it, if you don’t tell me?”
“You can’t fix it,” she yelled, stamping her foot. “Nothing can fix it. Things will never be the same again.”
I took a deep breath and tried not to show my frustration. We’d only been together a few months, but I’d known Bronte all her life. That meant I knew exactly when to let her know she pissed me off and when not to – the when was usually when she was horny because I knew my being all macho and angry got me some extra action in the bedroom. The when not, well that was times like now when she was obviously upset about something, even if I had no idea what it was, or why the fuck I was suddenly a pickle stealer.
I took a breath to beat down any sharpness in my tone and took her hand in mine. “Please, Lollipop, tell me what’s wrong.”
She took a deep breath and watched me carefully, her chin quivering as she contemplated whether I was worthy of an explanation.
“Well?” I coaxed.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. “You impregnated me, you stupid idiot. You and your super swimmers made a baby.”
The last thing I remember was the image of Bronte going all fuzzy and me shouting out, “It’s a lie.” .
Carter sipped the sweet tea and eyed me warily, like it was all my fault.
Okay, I was fifty percent culpable, but he’d been the one to put his dick inside of me. And okay, so I’d asked him to, but how was I to know that the one time we forgot to use a condom he’d manage to hit the jackpot.
“Well.” I sighed crossing my arms over my already sensitive boobs. “It’s pretty obvious that you’re not happy about the situation. I mean, unless of course you’re having sympathetic fainting spells. Just wait until the labor pains.”
The impregnator’s face blanched and he took another huge gulp of tea.
“Nothing to say?” I snapped. “Okay, well I guess we’re done here.”
“No,” Carter cried and put his cup down. “I have plenty to say. Like, how?”
“Well, I don’t know if you remember,” I replied with a bite. “But you put your penis inside my vagina and wiggled about a bit and then collapsed on top of me and began snoring in my ear.”
“That was not how it went,” Carter cried. “And you know it.”
He was right, I did know it. It was so much better than that, but I’d be damned if I’d let him know. After all, he’d given me a baby which I wasn’t ready for.
