Who's the Daddy (Crescent Cove 3)

I wasn’t even sure he could’ve planted one in me, that was how lackluster it had been.

Dare, however, could impregnate me with a damn look. And he also had prior history.

Sweet Jesus, he was a known inseminator!

“Kels, you ok?” Ally stepped in front of me and wagged her fingers in my face. “You look pale. It’s not that stupid flu again, is it?” It was her turn to lose the color in her cheeks. “Oh no, you helped make the fruit babies.”

Those stupid melon balls I’d fashioned into baby heads would haunt me forever. As it was, I no longer even liked cantaloupe. The smell had actually made me kind of sick.

Gee, wonder why, Pregnado.

It was like Sharknado, but worse.

“I’m fine, honestly. I’m not contagious. I don’t think. Though maybe she is.” I glanced at Sage, but luckily, Ally had already been pulled away by one of Sage’s friends who was having a Scotch tape emergency.

I was beginning to wonder if pregnancy wasn’t catching in this town. What were the odds that it could jump so often from one unsuspecting chick to another? Sage’s baby had been unplanned. I was pretty sure Ally’s had been too, though they’d intended to try because Seth wanted another kid or something. All I knew was I’d just peed enough for a buffalo and I had to freaking go again already.

Unless it was stress spraying, something was not right in my uterus.

Dear God, I needed a chair.

A drink.

A do-over.

Only one of those things could I have, and it was only because I gestured for another lady to move. Since I think she thought I had heat stroke, she quickly scuttled away and allowed me to crash into the uncomfortable wicker seat.

“Presents time,” Ally called gaily and I moaned.

Not even quietly either.

Several women glanced my way and I smiled weakly in apology. Someone passed me a non-alcoholic lime chiller and I may have offered to give her my firstborn.

Totally kidding, of course.

Mostly kidding.

God, I couldn’t be pregnant. I had no idea what to do with a baby. I was used to dealing with kids, but my preferred age group was already mobile. Except for the occasional stomach bug, I’d never had to help clean up a sick child. Definitely never toilet-trained or any of that.

But Dare had.

Dare wasn’t a newbie.

Except what if Dare wasn’t the father? Then what?

I shut my eyes as cool lime-flavored liquid slid down my parched throat. No use getting ahead of myself. Maybe those tests would come back negative and I wouldn’t have to think about any of this. Not about child-rearing, or telling Principal Gentry I was unwed and knocked up, or confessing to Dare that he wasn’t the only dude who’d possibly fertilized my lady bouquet.

A girl could dream.

One of the women wandered past with a tray of drinks for those who weren’t imbibing from the punch bowl. I lurched from my chair to grab a pink one, nearly knocking the woman off her heels. The woman stared at me, aghast, and I waved my face with my hand. Heatstroke could be used as an excuse for all sorts of things.

“Alcoholic?” I gasped.

No, I didn’t gasp. Of course not. Asked breathily.

Better.

She shook her head and continued on as I gulped down the sickeningly sweet liquid. She cast a narrow-eyed glance at me when I pitched my empty plastic cup into the garbage can about two feet to her right. Make that two empty cups.