Pretty Little Mess
Page 23
“Ellie ‘Piss Girl’ Chase…” He grins. My middle name is Marie, but I’ll let it slide, because holy shit, that’s a ring box. “I think I’ve been in love with you since the moment you stumbled into this very elevator. You make me deliriously happy, but more importantly, you make me want to be a better man, a man who deserves you. You’ve taught me the meaning of love—love for Chinese food.” He chuckles. “Love for bad movies.” His throat bobs up and down and water pools in the corners of his eyes. “Love for life.” Tears stream down my cheeks as I stare down at the Prince of Manhattan. He pops open the box and inside is a stunning rose gold diamond perched in the center of a thin diamond-encrusted band. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “A million times yes.”
Six months after that.
“Maaaaaaaaaxx,” I groan. Rosie trots in first, looking around the bedroom for the source of my discomfort. When she comes up short, she turns her little dog head and raises a brow. “My jeans don’t fit,” I whine by way of explanation.
“Grrr,” she barks low and annoyed, presenting me with her ass as she trots out of the room.
Max watches her leave, then points his thumb in her general direction. “What’s that about?” he asks. His shirt is off, his chest glistening, and his royal blue gym shorts darkened with sweat.
“What’s wrong?”
“My pants won’t zip.” I frown. “I’m a cow.”
“Babe—”
“Mooooo!” I cut him off.
He looks like he wants to join Rosie in the other room but thinks better of it. Sweat drips down his forehead and my body tingles with desire as I recall a few hours prior when the sweat on his brow rolled down onto my chest as he fucked me against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse.
Shaking off the pervy thoughts I focus on the important stuff. “You don’t get it.” I gesture to the place where the button and hole should meet but falls tragically short. “If these don’t fit, my dress won’t. I’m supposed to be meeting Vann for my final fitting in an hour and I. Am. A. Cow.”
Max rolls his eyes. “You’ve been working in fashion too long. You aren’t a cow, but if you’re worried about your dress not fitting, maybe lay off the Chinese takeout until after the wedding.”
Lifting my finger, the middle one, I say, “I haven’t had Super Panda in two months. I’ve been good because I know I need to fit into the custom-made haute couture dress Vann designed, and if I’m being honest, the thought of Chinese food makes my stomach roll.”
“Since when?” Max questions.
“Since I got sick last month.”
“You were sick.” He snaps his fingers and it’s as if a light goes off over his head.
“And the award for most attentive boyfriend goes to…”
“Fiancé,” he corrects. “And no, jackass. You were sick.” He gives me an expectant look, but I don’t know what bread crumbs he’s dropping or where they lead. All I know is I’m due in Hell’s Kitchen in fifty minutes and I need to be ten pounds lighter.
“Can we skip to the part where I’m skinny again? I’ve got a fitting.”
“You’ve gained weight…but you’re as gorgeous as the day we met,” he amends. “You can’t stomach your favorite food in the whole world, and when’s the last time you had a period?”
“I…umm….” I do my best to remember, but I got nothing. “I don’t know. I’ve been stressed. Fashion week is coming up again and planning the wedding. I’ve lost track.”
He levels me with a gaze. “You’re pregnant.”
I clutch my chest and gasp, “Am not, and fuck you for insinuating it.”
“Ellie…baby…Piss Girl. You’re pregnant as fuck.”
“I take the pill like it’s my job. I haven’t forgotten once, because twins run in my family and fuck that.” I shudder at the thought. It’s not that I don’t want kids, it’s just that I don’t want two of those fuckers at the same time.
“But you were sick,” Max insists, and if he tells me I was sick again, I’m going to be forced to throw a shoe at him. A pointy one.
“What is your point?”
“The doctor put you on an antibiotic for two weeks.”
“So?”
“So, antibiotics reduce the effectiveness of the pill and I’m pretty sure I shot enough semen in you to impregnate a cow…no offense.” The thought both excites and nauseates me. Well, maybe the nausea is from the baby, but either way, I can’t even take care of a cell phone, how the hell am I supposed to rear a child. “What if I’m a bad mom?”
Max pulls me into his sweaty arms. “Impossible. If you have enough love in your heart for a man who called you Piss Girl for two months straight, then a baby should be a walk in the park.”
“I am oddly nurturing, huh? And Rosie loves me more than she loves you now.”
“How about I call the concierge and have them send up a pregnancy test, and you call Vann and tell him you’re going to be late?”
“Okay.” I nod.
Twenty minutes later I’ve peed on a stick and am now pacing the length of our bedroom while I wait for Max to read the results. The timer goes off and when he looks down a grin spreads across his face. The only problem is, I can’t tell if it’s a, holy shit, we dodged that bullet grin, or a holy shit, we are having a baby grin. “You’re killing me, Smalls,” I groan. “What’s it say?”
He stalks toward me, splaying his fingers where my button won’t quite button. “You think I’m bad, wait until he gets here.”
Holy shit.
“But we’re getting married in two weeks and there’s an open bar!”
“I don’t think biology or P-Four cares about our open bar.”
“P-Four?” Tears of joy slide down my face. “I’m going to be a mom?”
Max nods. “And I’m going to be a dad.” He lifts me into his arms and on instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist. If we were in a movie, this would be the part where the screen fades to black and the credits roll. “I love you, Piss Girl.”
“I love you, Mr. Anderson.”
The End.
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Dear Reader,
Writing Max and Ellie’s story was probably the most fun I’ve ever had writing a book. They’re cute and funny and so fucking in love with each other, my cheeks hurt just thinking about it. I set out to write a fun book that didn’t take itself too seriously. I wanted readers to be able to lose themselves in this world for a little while and forget about how shitty the real one can be. Hope you enjoyed!
As always,
Unedited and Slightly Inebriated.
Carmel.
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To my Husband: I love you more today than I did when we said I Do. You’re the only one I could imagine living this crazy life with.
QB Tyler: Everyone already knows about our sis-mance. Thank you for helping me stay sane. Thanks for reading every version of this and for believing in my magic even when I don’t. Love you friend.
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Helen, Melissa, Lori, Suzan, Erica, Kelly: BEST BETAS IN THE WORLD. Seriously, your input has molded this idea that lived inside my head into a story. I’m beyond grateful.
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on’t proofread the back matter)
The Army: Ride or dies. Best squad a girl could as for.
Readers: Thank you for loving my boys as much as I do!
Writer of words. Mother of Joy. Wife of Compassion. I like to write stories about real people who go through real struggles and come out the other side stronger. I also like to write smut. Welcome to my brain. It’s a little screwed up, but always well intended.
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