Page 156 of Jace
Conflicted about whether I should wait to do this with Jace or surprise him.
Or… disappoint him.
If my pregnancy test is negative, I know he’ll be sweet about it. He’ll make a tender joke about how we’ll have fun trying again, and he won’t be wrong.
I wouldn’t mind waiting. Even though I’ve known Jace for over a year, our romance has been a sudden whirlwind. Sure, we’ve been best friends, but the lovers part is new. It’s a paradox of passionate familiarity and kinky fun, and I don’t want it to end.
But I’m three days late.
And maybe it’s because Jace is obsessed with sucking my little boobs—it gets us so hot—but they’ve been sore lately.
“Vivian Rhiannon Tate.” I grab the blue box from my bag and point it at one of the mirrors, giving myself a pep talk with my mom in my ears. “If it’s both terrifying and amazing, you should do it.”
It’s what she always says and how I feel about being a mom. Terrified. Amazed. And so damn lucky to share it with Jace.
Ducking into a black marble stall, I close the wooden door and pee on the tip of the white plastic stick.
“What do I do with this…?” I wave it around, talking to myself.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers. “Is someone in here?” It sounds like Lucy, the bartender.
“It’s me,” I shout back, whipping some toilet paper off the roll to wrap the stick in, making sure to hold it flat as the instructions said.
How do I explain this to Lucy? I got a urine-soaked, white plastic stick in a wad of TP; no guesses what it is.
Oh well…
If Lucy’s a woman working for Nadine, my Queen, then she’s my kind of woman.
But when I swing the door open to the stall, it’s not Lucy swiping on eyeliner at one of the vanities. It’s… It’s her twin, Luna. The mixologist from Palm Beach and the winner from the brewery.
“You.” Luna whips around, eyeliner in hand. “Oh my god, it’s you. I was hoping to see you again. What are you doing here?”
“I’m Jace’s.” Oh fuck, way to sound like archaic arm candy. “I mean… I’m Vivian Tate, and I’m here with Jace, who’s upstairs, meeting with Nadine.”
I can’t say I’m his queen; I don’t know what Luna knows.
And I can’t say I’m Jace’s girlfriend. It seems we’ve skipped right past that part to being madly in love and living together, and in about… oh, three minutes… maybe having a baby together.
“So, you’re withJace?” Luna’s brows knit, her voice questioning. Clearly, she knows something about him. “I saw you at the brewery with him, but what about Palm Beach? At that wedding party? You were with a guy; he said he was your husband.”
“Ex-husband.” But I don’t remember Luna seeing me with David.
“Your ex?”
“Yeah, I was there for his sister’s wedding. She and I always got along, while he can rot in hell. We’re divorced.”
Luna shakes her head. “Girl, I just gotta say it.” Though she looks like a retro, blonde bombshell, her eyes are stealth. She doesn’t fuck around. “I believe in girl code, in women watching out for each other, and that ex of yours? He was giving creepy vibes, and trust me, I know them.
“It was the way he was at the bar and talking about you later with his”—she finger-quotes—“bruhs; I wanted to find you. Tosee if you were okay, but security made me leave, and I didn’t know your name. He just kept calling you ‘his wife.’”
My pulse skyrockets. A thousand horrifying guesses running through my mind. I’m so confused.
“What do you mean he was talking about me? I hardly spoke to him that night. I drank too fast, blacked out, and went to bed.”
Luna lowers her pierced nose, a little diamond sparkling in it. “Not on my drinks, you didn’t. I barely put liquor in them, and this is why.” In three steps, she’s touching my arm. “He drugged you; that’s the vibe I got. I’ve got no proof, just a decade of bartending wisdom, but I couldn’t find you and…”
I could cry, but I don’t.
