So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(49)

I gnaw on my thumbnail. “You’re sure? Because it’s really okay. I mean—no hard feelings. You go your way, I go mine. We did it before. We can do it again. Hell, we will do it again.”

He pulls my hand from my mouth, kissing the backs of my knuckles.

“No. We won’t do it again. I love you.” He drags me into his embrace. “Arianne was just a blip on life’s radar. I told you before, I put up with her for this long only because of who her dad is. I don’t care about her. She’s nothing but a pain in the ass.”

A loud bang echoes through my chest. I whip around, expecting someone with a pistol. It’s just Arianne, clad in designer jeans, stalking to us in high heeled wedges, ankles wobbling as she traverses the uneven and overgrown yard.

Arianne has an old pot she must’ve picked up from somewhere in the debris field surrounding the trailer. She slams it against the crumpling siding again, her face pinched.

“Buck Wylder, how could you?”

He runs his fingers over the crease between his brows, shaking his head. “Here we go. I’m going to fire the fucking Thugs—they’re useless.”

She lobs the pot at him, missing by a yard. “After all we’ve meant to each other. How can you just throw it all away on some—some prostitute you’ve been paying for—for services?”

“Shit.” My toes curl in my sneakers as I shove my hands in my pockets, heat coming to my cheeks, even though the last thing I should be is ashamed in front of this bitch.

Buck rubs the back of his neck. “Arianne, you don’t know the first damned thing about Lou and me, or our relationship.”

She props her hands on her hips, giving me the once over, her lip curled. “Don’t try to deny it. She just said it. I heard her.”

Buck throws his hands in the air, turning away from her. “Fuck it. So what? It’s none of your fucking business, Arianne. I don’t want you, so it doesn’t matter.”

She tiptoes to him, her hands smoothing up his back.

“Stop.” He shrugs her off, spinning to face her.

“You don’t mean that. Or you won’t.” She turns her eyes on me, crossing her arms, a smug grin replacing the sneer of a moment ago. “I’m pregnant with our baby, Buck. You’re going to be a daddy.”

Buck’s color drains away as he shakes his head. “No. No way. No fucking way.”

My mind spins, I blink as though that might make this whole thing go away. Baby? Their baby? My core goes into a sudden deep freeze. Oh, Lord. Why? Why this?

I shuffle backward, trying to hold my shit together long enough to get the fuck outta here. “You two have a lot to discuss. I’m just going to go.”

Buck purses his lips, shooting Arianne a frustrated look.

When he turns back to me, he says, “Wait. She’s lying. She has to be lying. It’s been weeks. Weeks and weeks. She’d have known before now.”

Arianne steps to him, sliding her hand over his chest. “Oh, I did know, Bucky. I just wanted to tell you in person.”

Her news. She said something before about news. This news.

I turn and run.





I leave Arianne standing behind Lou’s old home. Taking my phone from my pocket, I call my attorney first. He advises me to insist on a paternity test. Well, no shit. I’ve never had sex with Arianne that I didn’t use protection. Never.

Lou’s the only one I’ve ridden bareback. If she were to tell me she was pregnant, I’d have a completely different reaction.

Fuck.

Lou.

How will I ever get her to admit she still loves me with shit like this happening?

My foot hits the bottom step to Delores’s place when my phone rings. I pull it out.

Bob. Great. I shouldn’t get a fucking rock in my gut just because my manager calls, but with the way this day has been going…what now?

“Yeah?”

“Buck. What happened at the hospital, my man?”

The hospital? Oh, yeah. Damn. What a fucking day.

“I took a fall, hit my head. I guess I was confused.”

“Confused? There are pictures of you burning up the internet. Luckily, most of them have blurred out your junk. Most of them.”

“Listen, I don’t have time for this right now. Take care of it. Hire a fucking PR team. Do whatever. I have other things that need my attention right now.”

“So, you slipped? Head injury?”

“Yeah. That’s right. Hey, I’ve gotta go. Fix it.”

“Injury is good. We can claim you were delirious.”

I knock on the front door. “Sure. That works. Whatever.”

Hanging up, I knock again.





TWENTY-ONE





I steel myself, clearing my expression, and I open the door. “What can I do for you, Buck?”