Page 129 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

My blood runs cold, my phone almost slipping from my sweaty palms as I release a slow breath and reply.

Me: Wouldn’t matter. He knows you were a mistake.

Marty: So, I assume he also knows he’s not the father to your kid, right? Did he tell you I ran into him the other day? Looked awfully cute with my kid in the back of his car.

Me: She’s not your kid.

Marty: Debatable.

Me: Not debatable. It’s a fact. She isn’t yours. We’ve already had this conversation, remember?

Marty: So, you won’t mind if we meet for a paternity test tomorrow?

Me: You’re not the father, Marty.

Marty: Prove it.

Me: No offense, but I don’t feel like wasting my time.

Marty: No. What I think you don’t like is me calling your bluff. Milo might know we used to fuck, but I doubt he knows there’s a chance he’s not her father.

Me: I have a paternity test saying differently.

Marty: If you did, you wouldn’t have bothered to message me in the first place. Stop trying to convince me otherwise.

Me: Why can’t you leave me alone?

Marty: Because I need something from you.

Me: I’m done being your plaything.

Marty: You will be. If you do something for me, first.

Marty: But don’t worry, babe. It’s the last time. See you in a couple weeks.

I stare at the message, my hands trembling with anger. And frustration. And above all, fear. Because I can’t do this. But what choice do I have?

If people knew what I was hiding, they would probably call me a coward or a manipulative bitch for keeping this from Milo. But they don’t get it. They don’t understand how close I am––how close Milo and Penny are––to having our happily ever after. If only one final piece would go missing. If Marty would just stay in the past where he belongs. But he refuses. The only way I can make him go away is to play his game one more time.

One more time and we’re through.

I get to keep Milo.

Penny gets to keep the dad she deserves.

And Milo gets to be the father he was made to be.

Is it so wrong?

“Mads?” Milo calls. His head pops through the bathroom door frame, and my phone clatters to the floor.

“Shit.” As I bend down and pick it up, I try to keep my breathing steady when I stand up and set my cell on the bathroom counter.

“You all right?” he asks, eyeing me carefully.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“You look gorgeous.” He scans me up and down, and his tongue darts out between his lips as if I look good enough to eat.

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