Page 11 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

Get fucked, Jake

? I bet you think about me - Taylor Swift, Chris Stapleton

Olivia

Between batches of cupcakes and bouts of nausea, I’ve spent the last six hours running back and forth from the kitchen to the bathroom. Around the fourth trip back from the porcelain throne, Grammy grabs me by the wrist and spins me to face her.

“How far along are you, Livie?” She eyes me up and down, her lips turning into a sympathetic frown.

My shoulders slump. “Eight weeks. How did you know?”

“This ain’t my first rodeo.” Before she can say anything more, the beep of the oven timer interrupts our conversation. “Hold that thought.”

She heads to the double oven and plucks a fresh pumpkin pie from the bottom rack. My mouth waters as my stomach churns, and I roll my eyes at the conflicting desires .

“That’s right around the time you came home,” she says. “Is it Jake’s?”

I shake my head, my chest tightening. I thought I’d been careful, but I’ve had a lot of time to reflect while my head’s been in the toilet, and I’ve since realized I didn’t take my pill the morning I left Jake and Amber in my bed.

I missed it again the following day in the hotel, too.

This is my fault. Wilder is never going to forgive me.

“Oh, my sweet girl. It’ll be okay. Have you told the father? I’m assuming you know who it is.” She winks and swats me with the back of a pink oven mitt.

Again, I shake my head. “Not yet.” I wish I could make light of it, laugh and joke right along with Grammy, but I can’t see the humor in it yet.

Her expression sobers, her head tipping to one side. “Is it the Hayes boy?” She rounds the stainless steel kitchen island, her hand lifting to my cheek.

This time, a tear does escape, and she catches it with her thumb.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“He’s a good man, Livie. He’ll do right by you and that baby. Give him a chance.”

I want to. God, do I want to, but I don’t know Wilder any more than I thought I knew Jake. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I'm holding my own track record against me. I’m not exactly the best judge of character.

“Thanks, Grammy. Can we keep this between us for now? I need to talk to Wilder first. Dad is going to lose his shit when he finds out I’m having a Hayes baby.”

She scoffs. “Your daddy is a grown man. He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe. You know he has a history with Russell.”

“I do know, but you’re his baby girl. You come first before any stupid grudge.”

“Grammy. Promise you won’t say anything.” I don’t mean to come off like I don’t trust my grandmother, but everybody knows Rosie Sullivan has loose lips.

“I promise.” She briefly rests her forehead against mine, then spins me away.

“Now, get your cute little butt upstairs and rest,” she says, shooing me toward the door to the apartment.

When I hesitate, she adds, “Go on. I’ll handle the last batch of cupcakes while you figure out what you’re gonna wear to tell that boy you’re having his baby. ”

“Grammy!”

“What? You’re a pretty girl, and he’s obviously attracted to you. Don’t think I didn’t see the way he looked at you like he wanted to eat you up, Cupcake .”

I scoff. Nothing gets past Rosie Sullivan.

“Use what ya got, Livie girl. He can’t be mad if he’s well and truly distracted.” She singsongs the last word, sauntering over to the oven with a little extra pep in her step. She’s enjoying this way too much for my liking.

Shaking my head, I bound up the stairs and sink onto the outdated floral sofa in the middle of the living room.

My eyes fall shut as I lean my head back against the cushion.

The peaceful moment is broken when my phone chimes in the pocket of my apron.

I pick it up, finding an unknown number on the screen with a two-word text message that lets me know exactly who it is.

Unknown: Hey Cupcake.

Wilder freaking Hayes. Grammy is officially on my shit list.

I set my phone on the coffee table and place a hand just under my belly button where a baby is growing— my baby. I’ve always wanted a family, and I love kids, but I thought I’d be doing this under very different circumstances. Thirty, single, and jobless was never part of the plan.

At some point, I drift off to sleep and wake up in an awkward position, with a stiff neck and sore shoulders.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table, and when I flip it over, there’s an unknown number calling.

Butterflies erupt in my chest at the prospect of hearing Wilder’s voice, but the excitement evaporates when the one that comes across the line is familiar in a different way.

I wish I could attribute the urge to vomit to the pregnancy, but it’s Jake who does it this time.

“Hey, Bunny.” Correction. It’s Jake and that stupid nickname.

“What do you want, Jake?” I ask, my tone clipped.

There’s an audible sigh, and I can already picture him gritting his teeth. I’ve gained an entirely different perspective of our relationship since coming home, and it’s clear to me now that things were far from the picture-perfect romance I envisioned for myself.

“Come home. We need to talk.”

Exhibit A: his words are a demand, not a request.

“I’m done talking, Jake. And beyond that, I’m done listening. There’s nothing you could possibly say to fix what you broke. I’ve moved on. You should, too.” The barb is intentional.

His voice pitches higher. “What does that mean, Livie? Are you already fucking someone else?”

“HA! That’s rich coming from you,” I say, my voice dripping with indignation.

“Come on, Liv. You can’t just throw away three years over something so petty.”

“It’s not petty. You literally fucked my best friend in our bed on my birthday. Go fuck yourself, or Amber if she’s still willing to put up with your bullshit.”

“You really think Amber gave a shit about you? She was only ever your friend because she wanted to get to me. Now look at you. Thirty and single with nothing to show for your life. You’ll be crawling back into my bed before you know it.”

“You have the confidence of a much more attractive man, and the ugliest thing about you isn’t even your face. Get fucked.”

Without another word, I tap to end the call and slide off the couch onto the floor, resting my head in my palms.

When my phone rings again a few minutes later, I don’t bother checking the display.

“I thought I told you to get fucked. You really think I want to get back together with a man who couldn't be bothered to make me come? I’ve had far better than you, Jake. I’m talking three orgasms in one night, pussy eaten like a man starved, and hung like a fucking horse. Tell Amber to enjoy my leftovers.”

“Um. Liv?”

I grimace. It’s not Jake on the other end of the line, but the very man I’ve been avoiding.

“Oh my God. Wilder? I’m so sorry. I thought you were Jake.”

“Clearly. You really think I’m hung like a horse?”

I can almost see that genuine smile behind his thick beard, and how his brown eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Ummm…” Mortified. I’m positively mortified . My feet carry me to the kitchen before I can register the movement. I stop at the fridge to pull out some of the chilled chocolate chip cookie dough I set aside yesterday. What can I say? I’m a stress baker.

When I don’t respond he says, “I can't decide if I should be annoyed at being compared to that cockweasel or pissed because he’s clearly harassing you.”

“That’s sweet. I think.” Standing back against the countertop with my legs crossed at the ankles, I tuck the phone between my shoulder and jaw, then pinch some of the dough between my thumb and forefinger.

The sweetness hits my tongue seconds before I realize I can’t eat raw cookie dough anymore. I spit it into the sink.

“Are you okay?” Wilder asks, concern evident in his voice.

“Yep. I’m good,” I reply, putting the device on speaker so I can hold my hair back and dip my head under the faucet to wash out my mouth.

“Liv? I can call back if you’re busy.”

I frantically wipe my mouth before responding. “No. No, it's fine.”

Thank God this isn’t a video call.

“Should we start again?” he asks with a distinct air of amusement in his voice. “Hi, Olivia. This is Wilder Hayes. The triple orgasm starving man with the horse cock.”

Oh my God.

“Hi, Wilder Hayes. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I plant my elbow on the counter and rest my head in my hand, hoping I might disappear.

He chuckles, ignoring the easy layup I just handed him. “I was actually hoping I could convince you to make some cupcakes for my daughter’s birthday. She’s turning three next month. My mom’s been plying her with sweets from Rosie’s ever since we moved back. She’s obsessed with your cupcakes.”

Oh. This is a business call, not a social one. He just wants me for my cupcakes, and unfortunately for me, that’s not a euphemism.

My stomach sinks.

Not wanting him to catch on to my obvious disappointment, I take a moment to center myself, pull out an order pad from the junk drawer, and ask my standard questions. “Do you have anything specific in mind? A party theme or anything you want me to go off of?”

“Not really. Fuck, I’m so bad at this kind of thing. This is something her mom would’ve been good at. ”

The offhand remark about his late wife has me sucking in a sharp breath, and when I respond, my voice is sympathetic. “You’re doing the best you can. The fact that you even thought to order cupcakes is a great start. Does she have any favorite colors, cartoon characters, or things she loves to do?”

“I mean, she’s almost three, so she loves to wreak havoc and make messes.” He chuckles. “She’s a girly girl who loves bows, pink, and glitter, but she’s also a farm girl who loves mud and horses. I’m not sure you could even capture that in a cupcake.”

“Are you doubting my abilities, Big Guy?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I happen to know you are very capable.”

The innuendo isn’t lost on me, but I carry on like he didn’t dampen my panties when he deepened his voice. “Next question. How many people are you feeding?”

“Um…” He hesitates, and I’m speaking up before I can think better of it.

“Do you need help planning the party? I know you don’t know me that well, but —”

Wilder cuts me off mid-sentence. “Liv. Cut the shit. I know what you taste like and what you sound like when you come. I think, at the very least, we can consider each other friends by now, don’t you?”

Considering I’m pregnant with his baby, I’d say we’re a little past friendly.

My cheeks heat at the reminder of what happened between us. Another bout of nausea hits, and I’m choking back the urge to vomit.

I clear my throat. “That’s fair.”

“I’d love your help, if you’re offering. No pressure. I’m sure I could ask my mama, but I don’t want to add another thing to her already full plate. ”

“I pretty much make my own schedule. I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.” Or a mouth or… anything, really.

“If you meet me at the ranch tomorrow, we can work on the party planning, and I can take you for that ride I promised.”

“Seriously?” The word is little more than an excited squeal, and Wilder’s laughter reverberates on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, Cupcake. How does one o’clock sound?”

“It’s a date. Wait. No. I just meant…”

He laughs again, and the sound goes straight to my greedy pussy. “See you tomorrow, Livie.”