Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2) - Jana Aston Page 0,1
to know.
I don't want anything from him, not a thing. I can and will do this without him—but it's only fair he knows. Even if he is a first-class jerk and possible idiot. Even if it's totally unfair that he knocked me up. I take responsibility for breaking my dick diet, but the condom malfunction is on him.
So I'll tell him, because it's the courteous thing to do, like recycling. God, I can't stand people who don't recycle. Especially when the bin is right there, you know? You know those people? It's the worst kind of selfishness, to toss something into a landfill for eternity when you could simply toss it into the recycle bin located right next to the trash and it'll be repurposed into printer paper or a pair of millennial-approved sneakers. Also, recycling is crazy sexy, don't you think? I just read a book where the hero tossed an empty water bottle into a recycle bin and I almost came.
True story.
Anyway, the point is, I recycle—and when someone knocks me up, I tell him. Even though he fucked up his job with the condom. It's just like a man to fuck up the job with long-term consequences while excelling at the one providing instant gratification, isn't it?
Ugh.
I'm not mad, not really. It takes two to tango and all that. I should have brought my own condoms. Or picked a guy smart enough to use them properly. Did it break? Was it old? Google tells me condoms are ninety-eight percent effective in theory, but that in practice horny men are idiots and on average about fifteen out of one hundred people using nothing but condoms will get pregnant.
Yay me.
Okay, I'm a little mad. I'm peeing on sticks and asking how much caffeine is in a chai tea latte. Meanwhile he's living his life and drinking all the caffeine he wants.
It doesn't change the fact that someday this baby is going to ask about their father and I'll need to have answers. Not how was I conceived answers, Lord help me, but who's my daddy answers. I can provide my son or daughter at least that much since I've already fucked up their two-parent, white-picket-fence childhood. It's my responsibility, this baby, but someday, if and when this child wants to meet their father, I'll need to facilitate that meeting.
In order to facilitate that someday meeting I'll need to be able to get in touch with him. I know, you'd think that would be the easy part, reaching him. You'd think the hard part would be spitting out the words, 'Hey, remember me? I'm pregnant.' I'm not saying that part will be easy, but it'll be easier than reaching him has been.
It turns out my one-night stand is the heir to an American chain of department stores founded on family values and low prices. I've got a secret for you. There's nothing 'family values' about Kyle Kingston. By which I mean he's a dirty bastard. Deliciously dirty. I suppose that's why they keep him off the promotional materials for KINGS. Their ads are nothing but families and retired couples smiling at each other over the low prices of canned green beans and paper towels. I suppose an advertising campaign featuring Kyle with a value pack of condoms isn't the market they're after.
The problem is, guys like that don't have a Facebook account. Or Twitter. No Instagram or Pinterest or even a personal website. There's no way to reach a guy like that.
Must be convenient for ditching the casual hook-ups.
Just like he ditched me.
Asshole.
Do you have any idea how aggravating it is to be unable to reach someone? It's the twenty-first century. I know who he is, where he works and the city he lives in, yet I can't reach him. It's infuriating. It's ten times worse than when a friend accidentally puts their phone on silent and you're forced to wait hours for them to realize and notice your text messages.
I tried calling the corporate office—that got me nowhere. Which should come as a shock to no one, but you can't just call a major corporation and ask to speak to the guy in charge. Hell, you can't even call a small company and ask to speak to, well, anyone. I thought about using the 'contact us' box on the store website because none of the other categories applied to me. No, I don't have a problem with an order. No, I don't have a question about a warranty. And