Page 77 of The Jackpot Screwer
I turned back to Bronte. “I thought you had enough to deal with. And, if you recall, Lollipop, up until a couple of months ago, you pretty much told me to get lost. Now, if I suddenly asked you to marry me, I reckoned you might just think I was doing it to tie you to me, or even doing it just because you’re cooking my heir in there, not because I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I took her hand and kissed it. “Which I really do. Now, rest assured when I ask you it’ll be our kind of beautiful and will come with an awesome ring that’ll make that damn rock on Ellie’s finger look like a chipping. Okay?”
I sat back, confident that I’d appeased the hormonal craziness that was going on in my true love’s head.
How fucking wrong could one idiot man be.
“I asked for commitment, Carter,” she cried, her eyes almost popping out of her head. “Don’t you think marriage is a tiny way of showing that?”
“Of course, I do,” I protested. “But I just explained why I didn’t want to suggest that particular level of commitment, yet. And I know you wouldn’t want engagement pictures looking fat.” I saw darkness shadow her face like a blanket. “Okay, not fat, but pregnant. You know I’m right. I mean you’d want a sexy little dress, high tower heels, cute bag, big hai—
“Stop.” She held her hand up to silence me. “Before you really say something that may get you a punch in your balls.”
“I don’t know,” Ellie added. “I think he’s said plenty to get him a punch to his tiny little testicles.”
“Excuse me,” I snapped at my sister. “Those testicles you talk of have produced a baby. And it was the one and only time I went bareback, so I’d say more fucking huge than tiny, thank you, Ellie.”
“Someone’s a little touchy,” Ellie muttered.
Hunter nodded. “His balls are quite tiny though, baby. It’s a fucking miracle they produced an offspring to be honest.”
“Hunter, man,” I growled. “You’re getting on my last fucking nerve.”
“Just saying.” He sat back in his seat and pulled Ellie into his side, kissing the side of her head—damn kiss ass.
“The size of your balls aside, Carter,” Bronte continued. “You still haven’t answered the original question.”
About to answer, by basically repeating myself, I was stopped in my tracks when the waiter came over. He sidled up between Bronte and I and gave that damn creepy smile all waiters give when they’re desperate for you to leave them one hell of a tip.
“Everything okay with your meals?” He looked pointedly at Bronte’s abandoned salad.
“It’s all lovely,” Ellie replied and tucked back into her risotto, nudging Hunter to get back to his ribeye.
“Can I get you any more drinks.”
Bronte sighed. “Could I get sparkling water please.”
He nodded and then looked between the rest of us.
“Another bottle of the wine please,” Hunter added.
“Could I get a bourbon and coke.” Bronte’s gaze snapped to mine. “What?”
“Hunter and Ellie paid for that nice wine and you’re drinking hard liquor.”
“I kinda feel like I need it, gotta be honest.”
The waiter walked away, leaving us in silence. Ellie and Hunter continued eating, not lifting their eyes from their plates. Bronte drummed long pink fingernails on the table, her eyes firmly on me.
“Lollipop, you know I love you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, not entirely sure what more I could say to her. “I only see my life with you in it, make no mistake about that.”
“But that won’t be with a wedding band on my finger,” she replied with resignation.
“No,” I disputed. “I don’t mean that, at all.” I leaned closer to her. “Where’s this coming from. You’ve never once said you wanted to get married before the baby came.”
“Doesn’t mean because I haven’t said it that I don’t want it.”
The determined jut of her chin told me no matter what I said, she wasn’t going to listen or understand. It was stubborn Bronte at her best.
“You said you’d hate the wedding that they’re having.”
