Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

To soften the blow, telling my sister Gemma would give me a taste of what was about to come. She was over the moon and wanted all the juicy tidbits about Baby Daddy. Then came a whole speech about how much she was going to spoil her niece/nephew. We talked about the right way to tell Mom and Dad, and agreed it was best over the phone followed by a visit.

My nerves were shot to hell about making that phone call, but I couldn’t hide it forever. Plus I really needed my mom and her parental advice right now.

As predicted, my parents were deeply disappointed, especially because they loved Jason so much and spent an hour telling me that I should have fallen pregnant with him. It wasn’t a ‘rewind and let’s try again’ situation. The damage was done. Mom, of course, was extra disappointed that Haden was younger than me. It was frowned upon in her generation and that lecture took another hour. By the end of the phone call, I was emotionally spent. As soon as we hung up, my mom called me right back and started panicking.

“Are you taking your prenatal vitamins?”

“Make sure you don’t eat blue cheese and cold meats.”

“Don’t sleep on your stomach. You might squash the baby!”

I could have listened all day to her. There was nothing more comforting at that moment than some motherly advice. I told her that I would clear my schedule next month and fly to Virginia to spend a few days with them before I got too big. She seemed more at ease by the end and even gloated about being a grandmother and knitting booties.

With that ticked off my list, I knew I had no choice but to tell Haden.

The perfect opportunity presented itself on Friday night, a week later. I suggested that we work on finalizing some details o

n Fallen Baby and asked the Jerk to come to my apartment. Hoping he didn’t get the wrong idea, I ordered a ton of take-out. The old ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ saying. Not that I wanted to get to his heart, I just wanted to remain alive by the end of the conversation.

He turns up at seven on the dot, dressed in light jeans and a white tee. The Chucks on his feet make me think he won’t be going out clubbing, especially since he is also wearing a baseball cap. I blame the hormones again for noticing how delicious he looks. I haven’t bothered to dress up. I’m wearing a loosely fitted tank top and drawstring shorts. It’s pretty much the only thing that fits right now, plus it is scorching hot outside. Being pregnant in the summer has not made me a happy camper. Thank God for air conditioning.

Walking barefoot back to my sofa, I ask him to take a seat before offering him a drink.

“Nice place you got here. You moving?” he asks, spotting the bare walls and stacked boxes.

“Yeah, soon. This was ours, but we decided to sell. Had a few offers and I think we’re closing soon.”

“Ours?”

“Mine and Jason’s. We bought it two years ago.”

“Right. Have you found a place?”

“I’ve been to inspect a few. Not much in my price range. I wish I could afford to buy this place but a part of me thinks it’ll be good to move on.”

That seems to be the extent of our forced conversation so I grab my laptop and go through my bullet points, all the while finding the courage to start the inevitable. Throughout the conversation, my head is repeating what I’m about to say over and over again until the point that he waits for me to respond and I have no idea what he just asked.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“You seem distracted. I asked if the author planned a sequel.”

“Uh . . . not at this stage.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll bite. Why are you acting weird?”

“Weird? Okay . . .” I take a long breath. “This . . . is very . . . I need to ask you a question.”

He sits back into the sofa. With a composed yet undermining stare, he waits patiently if not eagerly for me to speak. I become a little distracted, imagining myself sitting on top of him, riding his beautiful pierced dick, and then . . . fuck these damn hormones! Focus!

“That night in the alley—”

“You said we weren’t to talk about that,” he is quick to remind me.

“I know I said that but I have to ask you something and I don’t want you reading more into it.”

“What are you going on about, Malone?”

Here goes, my eggs all in one basket—literally.