Page 3 of Girl Going Nowhere

The question pulls me away from the ritzy country club decorated in white, silver, and purple decorations. It’s nothing short of beautiful. Floral arrangements are strategically placed at the end of every aisle of seats, a lavender carpet rolled out leading up to the dais, and soft classical music is playing from a small group of men with string instruments off to the side.

Emily Tilly always wanted a small, intimate wedding, and she pulled it off in a stunning way I knew only my best friend could.

My eyes go over to the equally stunning man who asked me the question. It’s safe to say he’s older than me from his defined features, but not enough to deter my attention. He’s attractive. Not in the devastating way that Patrick Dempsey is, but attractive, nonetheless. Masculine. Sure of himself, based on the lopsided smirk he gives me as my eyes do a lazy perusal down the length of his body.

He’s tall. Muscular. His clothes are fitted properly to his body, which tells me he probably has money and a tailor on speed dial. Broad shoulders. Sexy stubble covering a square jaw. Dark brown eyes that match the color of his hair lock with mine when I finally stop openly checking him out.

It’s only fair, considering he’s doing the same to me. The green silk dress my mother bought me lands mid-thigh on my legs, and the bodice hugs my curves to show off the hourglass figure I’ve been graced with. It doesn’t show much cleavage, though his eyes roam over my chest appreciatively anyway, before his attention lands on my face. I’m nothing special to look at—somewhere around average—with my long chestnut locks wavy from the wet braid I fell asleep in last night and big hazel eyes that tend to be on the grayish side more often than not.

“Bride,” I finally answer, shifting my weight on the heels that give me an extra couple of inches.

“Shame,” he says, grinning. His chin dips toward the groom’s side. “I’m here for the groom. Hector”—Emily’s soon-to-be-husband—“used to be my lawyer. Did me a lot of good.”

“Hector is a good man. I wouldn’t let him marry my best friend otherwise,” I reply. He’s ten years older than Emily and way more mature than any guy she dated before. It was admirable that he was never afraid to love her from the start.

We stand smiling at each other, both with a mutual up-to-no-good glint in our eyes that promises how the night will end, regardless of where we’re sitting during the ceremony.

And it does.

One short drive to his hotel room later and it’s nothing but mouths on mouths and skin on skin. Hands roam. Clothes are stripped. Noises are made. It’s a rush of kisses, touches and urgency as a condom is rolled on.

I’d be lying if I said it isn’t the best sex of my life. There’s no doubt the man is experienced and as confident in the bedroom as he is everywhere else. That Colgate smile flashing up at me from between my legs is devilish at best, like he knows I’ve never had it this good before. He knows exactly what will set me off and for how long, and how to draw out one orgasm after another until I’m boneless and gasping for air.

But three months later, and over a hundred dollars worth of tests and doctor’s appointments that have drained my bank account, I realize just how much that one night with a virtual stranger has truly cost me.

When I finally gather the courage to get his name and show at to the address Emily gave me with a sad look on her face, I realize exactly why my best friend looked the way she did after asking around about my one-night stand.

Jonathon Dover, thirty-eight. Famous right fielder for the Philadelphia Phillies.

Married for nine years with two kids.

When he opens the door and gapes between me and the ultrasound photos in my hand, I can tell he’s made his decision then and there.

And because I’m young, pregnant, andscared, I take the payout he gives me to keep quiet, sign the paperwork his suited-up team sends me toremainsilent, and never see the major league baseball player again.

At least, not in person.

CHAPTER THREE

Blake

Everything happens fora reason. And sometimes that reason is simply that you’re horny and single, and you make a bad decision that you have to pay the consequences for later.

But there hasn’t beenonesecond in my life where I’ve looked at my fair-skinned, doe-eyed little girl with regret. Because, in a lot of ways, I think Maia Nicole saved me before I even realized I needed to be saved.

Even though I never wanted to be a twenty-one-year-old mother—or a college dropout—the brown-eyed girl who kept me up for the first eight months made me reevaluate my life for the better.

I neverlovedcollege, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the small state school I attended. And while I didn’t mind the English degree I was studying, I had no idea what to do with it. I never wanted to be a teacher or a writer, but the subject was the only thing I truly enjoyed. I went to school lost, hoping to find something that fit me.

Deciding to leave and take the money Maia’s father gave me to drop out, pay off my debt, and get us into a safe apartment with everything we needed was the smartest thing I could think to do.

For me.

For her.

Forus.

Before Maia, I’d been careless with my life. Going out. Partying. Barhopping. I was reckless with my choices.

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