Page 26 of The Jackpot Screwer
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “But I’d like to and then I’ll bring you back tomorrow for your car.
I considered carefully what he was suggesting. Dinner with his family and then time alone while we went to pick up my cat. I guessed it wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t think he would take it as a green light for us to get back together. When I looked up to his handsome face, with the high cheekbones and straight nose, I realized even if he did it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I’d never stopped loving Carter; I was just being protective of the little baby we’d made together. And that was something I had to hope he felt the same way about.
My ass was killing me and there was more sweat pouring from me than if I’d been working out; I was not a happy bunny.
“How long is she gonna be?” I hissed to Bronte who was busy reading some baby magazine. “This chair is not made to be sat on for an hour, and do they not know how to use their AC?”
Grabbing a pamphlet from the small table in front of us, I began to fan myself with it. That earned a stare from Bronte.
“That’s meant to be read,” she hissed, grabbing it from me and throwing it back onto the table.
I glanced down to see it was about protecting your nipples when breastfeeding.
“I have teat ointment at the clinic,” I offered, nodding at the literature.
“For what?” Bronte’s head shot up from her reading.
“Sore teats.” Picking up the pamphlet again, I waved it in front of her, taking the opportunity to duck my face into the breeze. “So, it figures you could use it on your nipples too.”
“You want me to smother my nipples in the same ointment that all the farmers and ranchers in the area cover their animal’s titties in?”
I shrugged. “Teats, nipples, they’re all the same.”
Bronte took a deep breath and shook her head. “I actually despair of you, I really do.”
Shit, I couldn’t do anything right as far as she was concerned, so decided to sit quietly until it was our turn. I watched the clock on the wall and found myself counting the seconds in my head.
“Is there any chance you could be quiet.” A heavily pregnant woman with a bad dye job and swollen ankles kicked at my foot. “You’re really annoying. We can see what the time is, and that the doctor is running late. You don’t need to tell us.”
I turned to her and frowned. “I wasn’t doing or saying anything.”
“I can hear you counting, and if I can’t hear you counting, I can hear you breathing.” The woman’s nostrils flared as she reached up to snap her bra strap which had fallen down.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t realize I was counting aloud. Was I counting aloud, Lollipop?’
Bronte narrowed her eyes on the woman. “Does it matter if he was? He can’t help being a mouth breather, he has adenoid problems.”
Puzzled, I opened my mouth to ask her what she was talking about, but Bronte gave me a glare that warned me to keep quiet.
“You might,” she said quietly. “And therefore, she shouldn’t be so rude. But stop counting the seconds. She’s right, it’s annoying.”
Pouting like a toddler, I flopped back into the uncomfortable seat and crossed my arms over my chest. The temptation to poke my tongue out at the pregnant woman was strong, but I valued my balls. I was getting used to the idea of being a dad and wanted the opportunity to father more kids in the future.
After another eleven minutes and twenty seconds – yep, I counted – the door from the consultation room opened and I was surprised to see Marie O’Reilly followed by her dad, Declan. As he moved to the desk, taking out his wallet, my eyes went straight to Marie’s stomach to see a definite bump.
“It wasn’t me,” I yelled as I jumped to my feet and almost knocked my chair over. “I’ve never touched her.”
Declan swung around and as soon as he spotted me, his face went red with rage. He’d once thought I was fooling around with Marie and had made it very clear it wasn’t something that he was happy with.
“I swear, Declan,” I said directly looking in his eyes. “No matter what you think, I have never touched Marie, or even breathed on her. I swear.”
“Oh my God.” Bronte groaned beside me and pulled on my jacket. “Carter, sit down. He knows it isn’t yours.”
I looked down at her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I swear, Lollipop. I haven’t, I would never.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and I saw her lips move.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
