Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
My nostrils flared. I no longer felt sorry for him. In fact, I kind of felt like punching him. “Wow,” I said, blinking. “I’m immature?”
“Yes,” he snapped, although he looked a little less sure of himself.
“I’m immature, and yet it’s you refusing to face the consequences of your mature adult actions.” I mocked his deep voice. “Well, guess what? Sometimes a fuck isn’t just a fuck, Nate. And if you were really the alpha male you pretend to be, you’d take responsibility for this like a grown-ass man and not fall apart like the ridiculous boy I see in front of me. But then again, maybe you’re just like the rest of them—all talk. Shame on me for thinking differently about you.” With that, I shoved the baby into his arms, made sure he was holding onto her, and headed for the door. “Good luck, pal,” I called over my shoulder. “You’re gonna need it.”
I let myself into my apartment and allowed the door to slam noisily behind me. Then I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, wondering if leaving that baby alone with Nate was akin to child abuse, or at the very least, neglect. Was she all right with him? Would he know how to feed her tonight? Change her? Get her to sleep? Would he even try, or would he just take her to the fire station and hand her over because he saw that in a movie once? I bet he wouldn’t even show them the letter. He’d say he found her somewhere. What an asshole.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled and exhaled slowly. I couldn’t help being disappointed in Nate. It would almost be laughable, if there weren’t a child involved. Nate was always scolding me for trusting too easily or believing a guy to be something more than he really was, leading me to believe he held himself to a higher standard, but here it was Nate letting me down. I didn’t even really understand why. He had never made a secret of the fact that he wasn’t husband/father material, but somehow he had seemed like he was made of better stuff. The kind of guy who would step the fuck up. The kind of guy you called in a crisis, because he would be there for you. A gentleman. A hero. A real man.
Maybe I should be glad he’s just like the rest of them. It’s not like he was anything more than a friend to me, anyway.
So why did this feel so shitty?
A knock on my door. I walked toward it slowly. “Yes?” I called out warily. I could hear the baby fussing on the other side.
“I’m sorry. Please open the door, Emme.”
That was fast. “Sorry for what?”
“For what I said.”
“You just want my help with the baby.”
“No! I mean, yes, I do want your help, but I’m really, really sorry. I was angry with myself and I took it out on you.”
Huh. That was actually acceptable, if he meant it. I opened the door a crack.
His expression was contrite. “I’m sorry. I was…in shock.” He stood up taller, thrust his chest out. “But I’m man enough to handle this, dammit. I’m all fucking man.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes.” His posture drooped slightly. “I just…need a little help getting started. Will you come back over?”
I considered it. Part of me was still upset about what he’d said, and I’ve never been particularly quick to forgive (it’s something Maren says I need to work on), but I liked his apology, and considering how often he helped me out, I definitely owed him. “Okay,” I agreed.
He exhaled with relief, his eyes closing. “Thank God.”
Back in his apartment, I picked up the diaper bag from the floor and brought it over to the coffee table. “Look in there for a bottle and her formula.”
“Her formula for what?”
“Infant formula. It’s what you put in her bottle. What she eats. It will be a powder you mix with water.”
He shook his head. “How do you know all this?”
“I used to be a nanny during summers home from college. It was great money, and it was under the table. But it was a lot of work, and you’ve got a lot to learn, so let’s get started. Find the bottle.” I took the baby from his arms. “And she probably needs to be changed.”
All the color—what was left of it, anyway—drained from Nate’s face. “You mean…her diaper needs to be changed?”
“Yes. See if there’s a changing pad or blanket in the bag.”
He gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look but sat on the couch and did as I asked, removing some diapers, a box of wipes, a pacifier new in the case (which he looked at as if he’d never seen such a thing before) and a large can of formula, before rooting around in the bottom of the bag. He pulled out a couple burp cloths, a few pairs of pajamas, and a stuffed bear before finally locating a pink and white striped flannel blanket. “This?”