Slowly, Shelton smiles, a devious grin appearing on his pretty face before it registers that he’s possibly gotten two women pregnant at the same time. The smile quickly fades. “This cannot be happening.”
As if sleeping with a med student and getting her pregnant while still married to me isn’t scandalous enough, the idea of having two women pregnant by him sounds worse.
Shelton tips his head, and his eyes narrow. “You’re lying.” His voice grows tighter as his fingers curl against the edge of his convertible.
My mouth falls open. “Why would I lie about being pregnant?”
“Scandals are what you live for, and you want to hurt me.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“You’re saying this to get back at me. I don’t want to be a father, and I’m upset about Brittney’s pregnancy. You’re trying to scare me off, but it’s not going to happen.” He presses off his car and steps up to me, crowding my space. He lifts one arm and secures his hand near my shoulder over the open bed of Bull’s pick up. “There’s no way you are pregnant, sweetheart.” He hisses the term Bull used, but I will not let him taint it for me. “You’re too old.”
“You son of a bitch,” I snap, pressing at him, pushing him to move away from me. While Shelton isn’t as solid as Bull, he’s still strong, and he hardly flinches at the pressure I put on his chest. Using the truck as leverage, he tugs himself forward, pinning me with his body to the side of the large vehicle. His face dips for my neck, and he mutters near my ear.
“We were always good together like this. Your fiery spirit mixing with my big dick.”
I gag over the dirty words that would have turned me on at one time. My hands press harder at him, struggling with his nearness but not feeling truly threatened by him.
“Well, your big dick dipped into someone else, and it’s not coming anywhere near me again.”
Shelton shifts as if grinding against me will remind me of how good we once were. He should have remembered all those times before he decided to dally with the dollop under his instruction. My hands push harder at his pecs, and the strangest thought occurs to me. It doesn’t feel right touching him. His isn’t the firm chest I want to run my hands over. His aren’t the arms that I want to hold me. And his big dick isn’t that big.
I’ve had bigger, better, and someone with more heart behind his worth.
“Get away from me, Shelton,” I demand, pushing at him once more.
Thankfully, he puts distance between us, but he doesn’t release his hold on the truck. “Are you really pregnant? Is it mine?”
Holding a figurative stake for his heart, I do what years of entertainment news has taught me to do.
I lie. Maybe. “Nah. It’s his.”
Shelton pushes off the truck, no longer stumbling but placing more space between us.
“You really know how to wound a guy,” he snarks, and my eyes widen. “Are you listening to yourself?” I bark as the question mixes with a laugh of disbelief.
“And here I was ready to take you back,” he says as if I should be grateful for the offering.
“It should be me taking you back, Shelton, not the other way around. I’m not the unfaithful one, and I don’t want you back.”
“Because of him,” Shelton states, his voice tensing again.
“Because of you, Shelton. It’s over. We’re over.” As soon as I make the statement, I realize we had been over long before his infidelity. We weren’t connecting like we once had. We weren’t those young, hungry people, eager to please each other while high-strung on our careers. We’d separated emotionally long before we physically had. If we had noticed sooner, if we had seen what was happening before . . . Well, I can’t predict the past. We didn’t recognize what was happening to us, and it led to this.
“I hope you’re happy.” His tone lacks any sincerity and comes out as pure sarcastic malice. He points at me as he says, “You did this to us. There’s no turning back.”
“No, Shelton,” I say, saddened by the truth. We both had a part in our demise, so I won’t take full responsibility. Shelton is clearly insane if he can’t see his role in our failed marriage.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” The divorce papers have already been served to him, but he’s just trying to have the final word. His threat hits me only moments after he’s back in his car and stirring up gravel as he exits Bull’s drive.
My concern isn’t for me. I don’t want anything from him other than the baby I’m carrying, which might be his, and he’ll be in the fight of his life if he tries to take Sprout from me. Then again, Sprout could be Bull’s, and Shelton would never be the wiser for it.
12
Unpacking
Scarlett
When I enter the house, Bull isn’t present. Assuming he went out the back door, I don’t think he could have gone too far as his truck is still out front. For a moment, I soak up the guilt of lying to Shelton. I’m not really a devious person, and lying to him doesn’t settle well with me. I really do need to know the truth, if for no other reason than my own sanity. I’d feel better if the baby isn’t Shelton’s.
However, there’s another concern on my mind. I don’t like the possibility that all Bull wants from me relates to the baby. The thought hints at why I didn’t press kisses to Bull’s knuckles or try to reassure him of my status with Shelton before exiting his truck. Bull is definitely concerned about me ending my marriage, but what’s upsetting to me is we aren’t discussing the start of a relationship between us. Where do I fit in his life? Is it really just parent partners with benefits? What do I really want from him? I’ve always been an independent woman. Can I rely on him?
I’m not asking you to marry me, Scarlett.
The sting of his words rings like a gong in my head. I was the one who panicked for a minute, interrupting him because I was worried he was going to ask me to marry him. But I’m a living contradiction. I want to be with Bull, only I want it to be for us, not just the baby.
With that thought in mind, a knock comes on the front door.
“Scarlett Russell?” the deliveryman inquires once I open it. I glance around him to see the moving service van in the driveway, and my heart skips a beat. “We have a few boxes for you.”
I smile as he hands over the electronic signature pad.
“We can bring them inside the door for you.”
“Wonderful,” I say, smiling back at him. What are the odds that my things would arrive on the day of Shelton’s visit? I didn’t have many belongings remaining at the apartment, but I do own more clothes, some books, a couple of awards, and a few personal effects. I loved my desk and a comfy chair in my home office, but I was willing to part with both items. I don’t want any reminders of my old life, especially as I’m undecided if I’m returning to it. Once I moved to Bull’s as a more permanent residence, I called my former cleaning service and asked Vonda to pack up my things. She’d easily recognize what was mine, but I also submitted a list of items just to be clear. After scheduling a pickup date, I paid the moving service in advance and prepped Vonda to pack on a day Shelton was out of town.