His Pretend Baby: 50 Loving States, Oregon (Ruthless Bosses Book 1) by Theodora Taylor

His Pretend Baby: 50 Loving States, Oregon (Ruthless Bosses Book 1) by Theodora Taylor

Author:Theodora Taylor [Taylor, Theodora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rom Tell That
Published: 2016-02-07T05:00:00+00:00


9

“So what happened during that Calculus test in seventh grade?” I ask Go as we sit on stools at the black granite and mahogany wood counter in his kitchen, eating from two separate half-pint containers of Cloud City Ice Cream. He’s thrown on a pair of briefs for the midnight snack, but I’m completely naked.

“I got a 95,” he answers, dipping the spoon into the Raw Honey Vanilla ice cream, which he’s already told me not to ask for a taste of, because he doesn’t share.

I laugh. “A 95? No way! How devastating!”

“You laugh, but I was devastated. I’d never scored that low on a test before. It really shook me and introduced me to the concept of being wrong.”

“It didn’t occur to you that you could be wrong until you were in the seventh grade?” I say, throwing him a teasing smile. “You must have been a real pleasure for your parents to raise.”

He answers with an annoyed but slightly amused look across the counter. “I already told you I wasn’t.”

“And now I really believe you. No wonder you decided to marry some girl you barely know to make it up to them,” I say, dipping my spoon back in the ice cream.

But when I raise my eyes to meet his, he’s no longer smiling, not even slightly.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he answers, getting off the stool and tossing his spoon into the sink. “We should go to bed. We both have to get up for work tomorrow. Me much earlier than you.”

“Go…” I start to say, but then switch to “Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” when he snatches the spoon out of my hand.

“It’s bedtime.”

“Is that a double entendre for more hot sex?” I ask as he puts the lid on both of the white cartons.

“No, I don’t have the patience for double-entendres,” he answers. “The plan is to go to sleep. Just sleep.”

And I’m once again reminded, as I watch him drop both our ice cream pints into the fridge’s sub-zero freezer component, that no matter how cool Go’s tattoo’s are, he is not.

“But I’m not tired yet,” I whine. “Plus, you’re upset. Why are you upset? Talk to me.”

“I’m not…” He stops. Seems to think about it, and then revises: “I don’t like when you do that.”

“Do what?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Pretend like I’m only doing this for my parents. Like I’m a saint, sacrificing everything. You were upstairs, too, Nyla.”

His eyes flash as he looks across the kitchen counter at me. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you. I’m no saint.”

I consider his words carefully. “Are you trying to say you like me?”

A tense second ticks by, then Go says, “I’m trying to say I think it’s obvious I like you. That I’m not just doing this for my parents.”

I look up at him, head tilted, and make a decision of my own…

“Okay,” I tell him with my heart beating in my throat. “I like you, too. And I’m not just doing this for your parents.



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