He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying; this thing had train wreck written all over it.”
“No. It doesn’t,” I state petulantly. I know I’m right. I know Stacia is the perfect baby mama. She is the definition of low-key. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s smart, driven, talented, tenacious. I know she doesn’t have any health issues and that she isn’t crazy. Sure, what’s happening with her dad is unfortunate, but she is adamant he’s innocent. Maybe it makes me a fool, but I believe her. “She’s perfect.”
Colton pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly through clenched teeth. “You’re chasing a pipe dream. I get that she’s hot and you apparently fucked her already—without a condom, I might add. But she’s not it, man. You saw how badly she just reacted.”
“Yeah, because she thinks I fucking played her. She thinks I tried knocking her up intentionally without consent. Any woman in their right mind would react badly to that, dumbass.”
“Only dumbass here is you. In what universe is arranging a pregnancy with your roommate and friend a good plan?”
I stare at him blankly. “In all of them. Think about it; she already lives with me—check. She is someone I trust. And I know having her be a part of the rest of my life won’t be a hardship.”
Colton sighs. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. But, she’s probably on her way home to pack her shit and leave. So.” He shrugs. “You might wanna go after her.”
Shit. He’s right. I grab my keys from my desk. “Close up for me,” I call over my shoulder, never giving him a chance to argue.
I probably break about every traffic law on the way home, and by the looks of it, I somehow managed to beat her. How, I don’t know, but I’m not going to complain.
Inside, I park myself on the couch so that when she comes in, I can catch her.
Minutes pass, and she doesn’t show. So, I call her; she sends me straight to voice mail. Fuck—I’m well and truly in the doghouse. Desperate, I text her.
Me: Stacia, it’s not what you think. Where are you?
Twice.
Me: Let’s just talk. Please give me the chance to explain.
But still, she doesn’t answer. And she’s had plenty of time to come home, so my guess is she’s not coming back, at least not today.
Anxiety and guilt churn in my gut as I dial one last time. Still, nothing. I feel like a crazy-ass stalker, but the thought of her being alone and upset, especially because of something I did…it fucking rattles me all the way down to my soul.
Unable to sit and wait, I head back out to my car, dialing Brock on the way. “You done fucked up, man,” he answers, confirming my suspicions as to where Stacia is.
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure it—” There’s a scuffle before a new voice comes through the line.
“Listen here, you little dick weasel.” Abby Jane is in full-on guard dog mode, and while I love that Stacia has such a fiercely loyal friend, I really hate being on the receiving end of her anger. “Stacia doesn’t want to talk to you. She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t even want to hear your name. I mean, really! I thought I knew you—but you’re a no good, heartless prick, and you can fuck. Right. Off. Oh, and in case you were wondering, you’re no longer welcome here.”
She hangs up before I can reply, and when I call back, it goes straight to voice mail. However, a grin fights its way free, because now I know for sure where she is, and there’s nothing—not even a feisty, blue-haired pixie—that’s going to stand in my way.
The entire drive to Brock and AJ’s place, I hype myself up. With every turn, I tell myself she’ll listen. At each stop sign, I convince myself that she has to see things my way. And at the stoplights? There I fool myself into believing that maybe she’s already over it and laughing it up with AJ. Yeah, no, I know that’s a load of shit. I’m not completely delusional.
A stream of doubt begins to trickle down from my subconscious on the elevator ride up. And as I knock on the door, I worry I’m making a mistake.
“Jockstrap, grab your wallet!” The door opens. “The pizza—what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Don’t slam the door!” I yell, wedging my foot between the door and frame.
“I told you—you’re not welcome here.”
“Please.” My shoulders slump. “Just…let me talk to her. If she tells me to leave, I will. I’m begging you, Abby Jane. Please.”
She must hear the truth in my words, because instead of telling me off or stomping on my foot, AJ opens the door, allowing me to enter. “If she doesn’t want to see you or asks you to leave, you’re out of here, got it?” I nod. “Good. Wait here.”