you jerk.
Oh, yeah. Did I mention that? Cade got me pregnant.
CHAPTER 2
Alcohol is a villainous substance. If you never let alcohol past your lips, you’re a much smarter woman that I am. Actually, I don’t do too badly with beer. I rarely drink red wine because it gives me a migraine. I never go near vodka after the international incident with the ambassador from Russia. But tequila does me in every time.
Yes, I’m going to blame the tequila. Hear that, unborn baby poised to give me stretch marks and destroy my metabolism? Yes, you’re a tequila baby. I’m going to call you Tequila and dust you with salt when I see you.
It all started back in kindergarten when Cade Reed pummeled me with a dodge ball during recess, knocking me onto the ground and destroying my favorite dress with grass stains and mud.
All right, sure I’m going far back in time. Normally people don’t hold grudges from when they were in kindergarten. But it really was a nice dress.
Okay, I’m not telling you the whole truth. It has nothing to do with the dress. Yes, he pummeled me with the ball, but this is Cade I’m talking about, the superhero of seduction, and he already had his superpowers way back then.
As I sat in the mud, with my cheek beginning to swell, dazed and confused and in a lot of pain, Cade leaned over me and offered me his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Of course I wasn’t okay. I had a bruise for three weeks, and I lost two teeth prematurely, which I swallowed and didn’t get a dime from the tooth fairy. But all of that was put aside when I was face to face with Cade. I was hooked.
I had Cade fever.
Just like the swiftness of a measles epidemic that sweeps through Disneyland, I was infected right there and then. My attraction to Cade burrowed into my body, altering my DNA forever. I was doomed.
Ever since that moment, I’ve fought this attraction to Cade. I mean, how could I give in, when Cade was only interested in me to play beer pong, watch Marvel movies, or to torture me? Sure, he’s a great pal when he’s short-sheeting my bed, but I’m not going to be just another sock on his doorknob, another Jessica Hemmings, going goo-goo-eyed over his perfect bone structure and mutant good looks.
Not to mention, Cade has never given me the slightest bit of interest in the romantic way. Not a peep of passion. Not an iota of intimacy.
Not until the evil tequila.
It was fifty-one days ago. Cade and I had just put the newspaper to bed. Dan Smothers owns the paper, and he’s the editor in chief, but Cade and I have been single-handedly running it for the past couple of years. I have to admit that working hand in hand with Cade has been a lot of fun. It’s sort of like working in a frat house, but with a cleaner bathroom.
So, there we were at the office fifty-one days ago. It was around midnight, and because it was during the week, the bars in town were already closed. Cade wanted to celebrate the end of a stressful day. He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle.
It was the evil tequila.
“Come on, Millie,” he urged. “You know you want it.”
It had been a very hot day, and he was wearing a muscle tee and cargo shorts. It was like porn from Sears. “I don’t drink tequila.”
“You’re not going to let me drink alone, are you? Come on. I need a drink.”
His goo-goo eyes twinkled at me, and just like Superman’s laser beam vision, they shot right down to my uterus. I was made powerless. The next thing I knew I was handing over my coffee mug, and he was pouring tequila in it. “Listen to that,” he said.
“What? I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. Silence. Peace. Ain’t it wonderful?”
He handed me the cup of tequila, and our fingers touched. He kept his fingers on mine, and I didn’t pull back.
Whoa.
Holy Moses.
Hot diggity.
It was electric. Immediate. Impossible to resist.
My mouth went dry, as if all the liquid in my body was pooling down below, like it was
Oh, yeah. Did I mention that? Cade got me pregnant.
CHAPTER 2
Alcohol is a villainous substance. If you never let alcohol past your lips, you’re a much smarter woman that I am. Actually, I don’t do too badly with beer. I rarely drink red wine because it gives me a migraine. I never go near vodka after the international incident with the ambassador from Russia. But tequila does me in every time.
Yes, I’m going to blame the tequila. Hear that, unborn baby poised to give me stretch marks and destroy my metabolism? Yes, you’re a tequila baby. I’m going to call you Tequila and dust you with salt when I see you.
It all started back in kindergarten when Cade Reed pummeled me with a dodge ball during recess, knocking me onto the ground and destroying my favorite dress with grass stains and mud.
All right, sure I’m going far back in time. Normally people don’t hold grudges from when they were in kindergarten. But it really was a nice dress.
Okay, I’m not telling you the whole truth. It has nothing to do with the dress. Yes, he pummeled me with the ball, but this is Cade I’m talking about, the superhero of seduction, and he already had his superpowers way back then.
As I sat in the mud, with my cheek beginning to swell, dazed and confused and in a lot of pain, Cade leaned over me and offered me his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Of course I wasn’t okay. I had a bruise for three weeks, and I lost two teeth prematurely, which I swallowed and didn’t get a dime from the tooth fairy. But all of that was put aside when I was face to face with Cade. I was hooked.
I had Cade fever.
Just like the swiftness of a measles epidemic that sweeps through Disneyland, I was infected right there and then. My attraction to Cade burrowed into my body, altering my DNA forever. I was doomed.
Ever since that moment, I’ve fought this attraction to Cade. I mean, how could I give in, when Cade was only interested in me to play beer pong, watch Marvel movies, or to torture me? Sure, he’s a great pal when he’s short-sheeting my bed, but I’m not going to be just another sock on his doorknob, another Jessica Hemmings, going goo-goo-eyed over his perfect bone structure and mutant good looks.
Not to mention, Cade has never given me the slightest bit of interest in the romantic way. Not a peep of passion. Not an iota of intimacy.
Not until the evil tequila.
It was fifty-one days ago. Cade and I had just put the newspaper to bed. Dan Smothers owns the paper, and he’s the editor in chief, but Cade and I have been single-handedly running it for the past couple of years. I have to admit that working hand in hand with Cade has been a lot of fun. It’s sort of like working in a frat house, but with a cleaner bathroom.
So, there we were at the office fifty-one days ago. It was around midnight, and because it was during the week, the bars in town were already closed. Cade wanted to celebrate the end of a stressful day. He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle.
It was the evil tequila.
“Come on, Millie,” he urged. “You know you want it.”
It had been a very hot day, and he was wearing a muscle tee and cargo shorts. It was like porn from Sears. “I don’t drink tequila.”
“You’re not going to let me drink alone, are you? Come on. I need a drink.”
His goo-goo eyes twinkled at me, and just like Superman’s laser beam vision, they shot right down to my uterus. I was made powerless. The next thing I knew I was handing over my coffee mug, and he was pouring tequila in it. “Listen to that,” he said.
“What? I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. Silence. Peace. Ain’t it wonderful?”
He handed me the cup of tequila, and our fingers touched. He kept his fingers on mine, and I didn’t pull back.
Whoa.
Holy Moses.
Hot diggity.
It was electric. Immediate. Impossible to resist.
My mouth went dry, as if all the liquid in my body was pooling down below, like it was
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