And her shoes….
Charlie glanced down at the Doc Marten’s she’d pulled on. Not exactly feminine, but then again, they were comfortable. Long gone were the days that Charlie thought about fashion over comfort. Kind of sad considering she was only twenty-five.
“Good Lord,” Ava said. “What pregnant woman wears five inch stilettos?”
Charlie’s head whipped around. “What?” Emily was pregnant?
More than a little shocked, Charlie reached for her whiskey. Not so much because she needed a drink, but because she desperately needed something to do with her hands.
A baby. Jeremy Martin was going to have a baby. She glanced over at him again.
Son-of-a-bitch.
A baby.
Charlie hadn’t even known that she wanted a child until he’d told her that he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. He’d said that he didn’t see a kid in their future—not with Connor in the picture. And Charlie and Connor were a package deal.
The dull ache in her chest morphed into full on hurt and Charlie exhaled, blinking away the hot tears that had suddenly formed in the corners of her eyes. What the hell? She was over Jeremy. Truthfully, she’d been over him before they’d even broken up. It was the idea of him, of a family of her own, of a sibling for Connor that made her heart ache.
And if she was going to be brutally honest, it was the idea of having a shoulder to take on some of the weight that had become her life. A shoulder that might loosen the noose around her neck enough for her to not just contemplate, but to pursue some of the dreams she’d left behind the night her father died.
“Oh, damn, Charlotte. I thought you knew,” Ava whispered. “I’m sorry. I heard about it last week and I…well, I figured it was the reason you’ve been so, you know…bitchy.”
“Nope, that was just standard PMS.”
Charlie glanced down at her hands for several seconds and then downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. “Don’t worry about it.”
Ava nudged her. “Let’s go grab a couple bottles of wine and head back to my place. We’ll drink them until there’s nothing left and trash talk Jeremy until there’s no more trash talking to be done.”
Charlie probably should have followed her girlfriend’s advice, but instead she turned to Angus, the bartender, and asked for another whiskey. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her
ear and focused on the tumbler in her hands as she slid from her stool and turned so that her back was to the room.
“Charlie, are you sure you want to stay?” Ava asked softly.
“Yep.”
No way in hell was she leaving on account of Jeremy.
“Just promise me you won’t start anything, okay?”
Irritated, she glanced at her friend. “Like what?”
Ava frowned. “Are you kidding me? The last time you got pissed off at Jeremy the cops were called, remember? You backed your tow-truck into his F-150.”
Oh. Right.
“Let’s just go,” Ava said hopefully.
“No,” Charlie retorted. “I’m not leaving just because Jeremy’s here with his knocked up, still married, inappropriately dressed lady friend.”
“Charlie.”
“Don’t Charlie me, Ava. I’m over him.”
“Shit.”
“They deserve each other.”