Fold

"I want to be with you. It's as simple, and as complicated as that.” ― Charles Bukowski

The highway I'm traveling down seems to go on forever, despite the sun shining and clear roads ahead of me.

I check the time on my watch since I got off to a later start than I wanted to this morning—thanks to some marijuana, alcohol, and letting Ms. Panfile hustle me into a game of strip poker after I took all her money playing heads up.

Waking up next to a naked sixty-two-year-old housekeeper spooning me isn't an experience I'd care to repeat.

Which means I need to get my shit together.

As if on cue, I glance at my phone and grit my teeth.

I've never been the kind of guy who had to wait for a girl to call and I can't say I like it.

I ignore the weird feeling gnawing in my gut when I realize Becca hasn't called either. Not that I want her to, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect her to grovel after she got the results.

Then again, she probably knows there's a better chance of being struck by lightning twice than getting me to take her back after what she did.

I turn the radio up, hoping the distraction will knock out all the bleak thoughts threatening to break free and help me focus on repairing things with Kit instead.

I have no idea what to say when I see her. I suppose I should start with the reason I gave Asher last night, but then I'm afraid she'll see right through me and know how much it kills me that the baby isn't mine.

I also don't want to give her any reason to think I'm hung up on Becca. Or that I'm only trying to be her friend so I can use her to make Becca jealous...because then our friendship will be over before it begins.

But if I don't tell her about the paternity results first, she probably won't give me the time of day in the first place.

Rock meet hard spot.

Determination surges through my body like a live wire and I press down on the gas until I'm flying down the highway.

Even though the cards are stacked against me...I'll place my bet and let the chips fall where they may.