Vic Vaughn is Vicious

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s gonna tell us if I’m your father.”

“We need to take a test for that?”

“We do.”

“Because you don’t believe it’s true?”

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m like ninety-nine point nine nine percent positive you’re my kid. But. We still need to take the test to make it official.” Alec texted me this morning and said he had it all set up. They’ll even come to the house. So it’s not even like I have a choice. “But first, we’re gonna go eat breakfast with Gramps. And then we’ll do the test, and then we’ll go get your goldfish.”

“Yes!” Vivi does a fist-pump. “I want SpaghettiOs and toast for breakfast.”

“Yeah. Probably not.” I point her towards the mansion. “But don’t worry. We won’t have egg whites, either.”

CHAPTER TEN - DAISY

Would I like a truck?

He can go shove his truck right up his ass.

I don’t need his truck. I’m not late. I’m early. My final doesn’t even start until ten. I’m just meeting some classmates in the library before the test so we can do last-minute cramming. I mean, does he think I’m just some seat-of-her-pants girl?

I was late getting to his house because Vivi and I stopped off at Beaver’s Market to pick up her little cell phone. I programmed it on the way down Mountain Avenue.

It’s just… insulting. The way he shows up out of nowhere and starts acting like he’s some prince or something.

I almost guffaw out loud as I cross Laurel and head across campus towards the library. Truck.

This makes me so angry, I’m still thinking about it when I go up to the second floor where my study group is and plop my shit down on the table.

“What’s up with you, sister?” Ella is a cheerleader. An honest-to-God cheerleader. I have actually never known a real-life cheerleader until I met Ella in my required PE class two semesters ago because I went to school way out in the country. It was literally one room, we had a grand total of thirty-two kids, and we all came from dairy farms. The dairy cow is to Weld County, Colorado what aspen trees are to Vail. Or something like that.

Ella is a stereotype in many ways. She is cute, she is blonde, she is tiny, she is flexible, and she is perky. She’s not dumb though. And she’s not stuck-up. So I like her. I also answer her. The whole story comes spilling out and all three of my new-adult women friends are captivated by my real-life problems as they gingerly nibble on their muffins or croissants and drink their seven-dollar lattes.

They are all under twenty. They have no clue what my life is like. They live in dorms and their evenings are spent partying or fucking boys. They do not have childcare bills and they do not pay their own tuition.

So I’m like… kinda cool in their eyes. I think they look up to me.

But when I mention the name Vicious Vaughn, they go speechless.

“I know,” I moan. “I know. It was a total lapse in judgment. And I never talked to him again until—”

“Whoa,” Luu says, putting both hands up in a full-stop motion, her brown eyes going wide. She’s the real jock, not Ella. Luu plays… hell, everything. Tennis, soccer, volleyball. She’s Sporty Spice in our little girl group. She was also in that same PE class with me. “Hold the fuck on, Daisy. Are you telling us that you banged Vic Vaughn seven years ago and now he’s your baby daddy?”

All three girls look at each other with mouths open.

I sigh. Again. “Yep. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean—”

“No, no, no,” Rina says. Rina would be… is there a Rocker Spice? I don’t think so. But that’s who Rina would be. I’m like a hundred percent positive that Vic has had his hands on Rina at some point—probably several times, because she’s got at least four visible tattoos. “You do not regret this, Daisy.”

“Oh, hell yes, I do. Vic Vaughn? Come on, ladies.” I tap my head. “Use your brains. He’s not father material.”

“Father material?” Luu says. Then they all laugh. Loud. So loud, other tables of studying students start shooting us dirty looks.

Finally, Ella calms down enough to speak. “Daisy. Come on, girl. You won the jackpot.”

“How do you figure? He took her to an AA meeting to steal donuts, Ella. And have you ever been to their house?”

“Oh, my God.” Luu sighs. “I have tried to get into one of their parties my entire college career. They card people at the hedges.”

“I got past once,” Rina says. She high-fives Ella. “It was amazing.”

I clap my hands between my words. “Attention, young fertile ladies. Eyes up here.” I do the two-finger point to my eyeballs. “Let me give you some motherly advice. And you need to listen carefully. When you start thinking about having children you do not choose a biker tattoo artist who lives in a falling-down mansion and thinks his offer of a truck that looks like it was born back in the nineteen sixties counts as reliable transportation for a mother and child!”