It’s not going to be long before they have Heavy himself coming to see what the issue is, so I turn back to Chelcie and work hard to get the right words together.
“Fuck!” Her eyes widen at the brutal force I spat that word out with. “Sunshine, I’m sorry. I wish I could remember what I did to make you look at me like that.” I move closer, pulling her into my body so that I can feel her against my skin again. “I’m fucking sorry.”
She looks at me, her expression screaming disappointment. “You might be sorry now, Asher, but how do I know that the next time you’re drinking you aren’t just going to do it again? I’m not at a place in my life where I can afford to not know which version of Asher Cooper I’m dealing with.”
I go to open my mouth and reply, but she quickly stops me. Her lips press against mine with the softest kiss. I take a deep breath in and hold it, feeling her against me, smelling her desire, but knowing that, if I try to do anything, I’m just going to prove to her that all I want is to be between her thighs.
“You can’t treat me like one of your groupies, Ash. That hurt. But hearing you basically call me the chubby girl that you would do if you had to . . . Well, that sliced me deep and I just can’t open that back up right now.”
She kisses me again before pulling herself out of my shocked arms and disappearing through the door. Meanwhile, I just stand there wondering what to do next.
CHAPTER 9
Chelcie
Monday morning came way too quickly. I’ve been in a pissed-off, somewhat depressed fog since my run-in with Asher. I spent the weekend in bed vegging on every single thing I could find that could fall into the junk food category. Ice cream, candy, peanuts, pickles . . . Okay, maybe pickles aren’t junk food, but you tell that to my little bean.
I’ve been lucky so far. I’m just about to hit the halfway mark of my pregnancy and my bump is finally starting to look more like I have a baby in there and not ten courses of Chinese takeout. Every time I look in the mirror and see the evidence of the life growing within my body, I’m overcome with a love I’ve never known was possible. That is of course quickly followed by a crying hormonal fit for a good hour.
Between the crying and the weird depression jags, odd food cravings, and unbelievable sex drive—minus the sex—I feel like my body has a mind of its own. I go from elation to fear in two-point-five seconds. And at the heels of all of that is guilt. Guilt because I still haven’t talked to Asher.
At first, I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t know him. Then, after I got to know him and realized my attraction to him, I was more scared to tell him than anything. What if he thinks I was just another one of Coop’s whores? Or what if he thinks I did this on purpose? Irrational—that’s all it was. Because when you strip all the bullshit away, he deserves to know and I am a huge bitch for not telling him.
So that’s why I woke up this morning I made a promise to myself. I have exactly three weeks to tell him. In three weeks, I finally get to find out if I’m having a boy or girl, and I feel like Asher needs to be a part of that. He needs to know so that he has time to decide if he even wants to be part of that.
God, I hope he does.
Of course, today isn’t going to be that day. I promised Dee that I would try one more date before I gave up on it for a while. The last idiot I attempted to go out on a date with showed up with a car so full of trash that I couldn’t even make out where he was sitting. I wasn’t even sure how he was able to drive that damn thing. There was trash for days—clothes, bedding . . . Hell, I think he had food stuck to his windshield. Of course, that should have been the first clue that I needed to run. He got out, walked around the car, and gave me a huge hug. The only thing I noticed was the overwhelming stench.
So . . . I proceeded to vomit all over his feet. His socks—with holes—and-sandals-wearing feet.
And the worst part was that he didn’t even seem to mind. He smiled, half of his teeth missing, and tried to kiss me!
Needless to say, I all but ran back to my car and hauled ass out of the parking lot. I had to pull over twice to strip the clothes from my body and frantically brush ants off of me.
And then I shamelessly ran back through the lobby of my apartment, past a blushing Joe, and straight to my place—where I took the hottest shower I could safely have while trying to talk myself out of a bleach scrub.
So this afternoon is it. If this date is another date from hell, I’m done.
I wisely told Dee that this date was going to be a lunch date; that way, if it turned out to be another disaster, I wouldn’t have to have my whole night ruined. I talked to date number three, Phillip, on the phone last night. He seemed pleasant enough. Very polite and soft-spoken. He didn’t refer to himself with any weird nicknames, and most importantly, he knew that I was pregnant and didn’t seem to have a single issue with it.