Knocked Up Read online

  Knocked Up is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2018 by Stacey Lynn

  Excerpt from Fake Wife by Stacey Lynn copyright © 2018 by Stacey Lynn

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9781524797850

  Cover design: Diane Luger

  Cover photograph: nelka7812/Depositphotos

  randomhousebooks.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  By Stacey Lynn

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Fake Wife

  Prologue

  Cara

  Two blue lines.

  Two pink lines.

  One pink plus sign.

  In my hand, blurry vision can do nothing to diminish the digital readout, bold as can be. PREGNANT.

  “These can’t be right.”

  “I’m afraid they are, sweetie.” Jenna’s gentle hand makes large sweeping circles on my back where I’m hunched over the closed toilet seat. In front of me is the proof she’s right.

  Denial, however, is quickly replacing her as my new best friend.

  Pregnant. Knocked up from a one-night stand at the age of twenty-four.

  My parents will be so proud. Shit.

  “Oh my God.” My groan has nothing to do with the morning sickness that hasn’t abated despite it being three o’clock in the afternoon. Morning sickness my ass. More like all day and half the night. Everything makes me want to hurl these days. It shouldn’t be too shocking to be staring at a half-dozen pregnancy tests that confirm what I’ve already been smart enough to figure out.

  No, the groan has everything to do with what in the hell I’m supposed to do now.

  And, you know…my parents.

  Shit shit damn.

  “Want to tell me what happened?” Jenna asks, crouching down next to me. Her hand hasn’t stopped moving and I’m desperate for her to lull me to sleep. Put me into a trance and take me back in time to about six weeks ago. The night she got married. The night she stood at the altar and pledged her forever to her new husband, Dan. The night Dan’s friend from college walked me down the aisle following the happy couple. The night he then whisked me into his arms on the dance floor, licked tequila salt off my wrist, and then took me to his room.

  Fantastic.

  My baby daddy is a professional wooer.

  “I had sex and got pregnant, Jenna. What else is there to explain?”

  “Sassy when you’re knocked up, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up.”

  She nudges her knee into my hip. “You know what I mean. You’re tight-lipped about this. What are you hiding?”

  “Wasn’t tight-lipped a few months ago.”

  She snorts and playfully slaps my back. “Gross. Those aren’t the details I need. This isn’t like you, you know? I can’t help it if your silence is worrying me. Who’s the guy?”

  I’d love to tell her it’s no one she knows. But no, I had to go and get pregnant by the best man at my best friend’s wedding.

  “Ugh.”

  “Come on,” she says, pushing me harder. The force of her jostling makes my stomach roll and I lift the toilet lid.

  “Knock it off. You’re making me sick.”

  “Sorry. Crap. But you’re going to tell me, right?”

  Shit shit damn. Again.

  “No. Don’t you have to get home to your husband?”

  “Procrastination will only make me more rabid, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She runs a washcloth under water and returns, pressing the cool rag to the back of my neck. “That feels so good, Jenna. Thank you so much.”

  “You know I’m here for you, right?”

  I nod into the toilet. Now that my skin is cooling, I don’t feel like puking. “I know. You’re the best.”

  “Don’t forget it, either.” She kisses the top of my head and cleans up all the evidence of my one night of indiscretion.

  And yes, I know it’s Braxton’s because while I’m twenty-four, I’m also very…particular. I’ve had three lovers in my life. That’s it. A whole three. Awesome. I have sex so rarely I wasn’t on the pill. I figured I’d meet a guy, take my time, and when it felt right, then I’d go on it.

  A one-night stand at my best friend’s wedding isn’t only cliché, it’s so far outside my zone of normal operating behavior I wasn’t the least bit prepared. Apparently, neither was Braxton. At least not that fourth time.

  Ugh. Damn, it was good sex, though.

  So is the guy, which makes all of this so much worse.

  I push away from the toilet and splash cold water from the sink onto my cheeks. She’s at the doorway, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “I’ll be okay, Jenna. Thanks for coming today. I needed you.”

  “All right. But I’m here when you need to talk too, you know?”

  “I know.” She slides her purse onto her shoulder and pulls on her teal ballet slippers. I’m about to let her walk out the door, knowing I’ve hurt her by my secrecy, when I stop her.

  “Jenna?”

  She spins around, brows furrowing again at my tone. “What is it?”

  Another wave of nausea hits and I prop my hand on the counter, steadying myself. “I’m…I’m going to need Braxton’s number from you or Dan.”

  She jolts backward and her jaw drops. “What would you—”

  “Six weeks.” I continue before she can finish the ridiculous question. “Count back six weeks to what we were doing.”

  “You didn’t.” Her head shakes frantically. Blond hair flies all over the place as I stun her into silence, which is a feat in itself. “You…what? My…”

  I have to put an end to this blubbering. I walk to her and close my hands over her shoulders. Giving her a little shake, I snap her back into the present. “Yes. Six weeks ago. Your wedding. Braxton and I, well…Braxton and I spent t
he night together. And I didn’t tell you because you were on your honeymoon and then I just wanted to forget it. Okay? There. Yes, Braxton is the dad and I need to call him. But…” I wring my hands together. Good grief, I’m muddling all of this up. “I need some time, Jenna. I need time to figure out what I’m going to do, what I’m going to tell him, okay?”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She quickly closes the space between us and wraps me in her arms. “Of course I will. I’ll do anything you need.”

  Chapter 1

  Cara

  ONE MONTH LATER

  There are certain moments in life a young girl believes are absolute certainties.

  Fairy tales are not only real, they really do come true.

  Unicorns fly through the sky spreading glitter in their wake.

  Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl get married. Girl has a baby.

  I’ve dreamed of and planned my wedding since the first time I saw Cinderella’s blue ball gown.

  My wedding was going to be romantic. It would have white roses all over the place, twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling. I would wear glass slippers and my father would walk me down the aisle, glowing with a mixture of pride and pain as he handed me off to my groom. It was going to be classy, but excessively beautiful and extravagant.

  In my fairy tale, my parents would be ecstatic. My brother would threaten the groom with bodily harm if my soon-to-be-husband ever hurt me. They would laugh it off, hug it out, and then my groom and I would dance the night away before he swept me off into my very own, happily ever after.

  In reality, parents turn their backs on their children.

  Brothers die.

  The happily ever after spent living in a mansion like the one I grew up in turns into a studio apartment in downtown Portland no larger than a shoebox. The disowned princess gets knocked up in a one-night stand and spends the next six weeks puking morning, noon, and night with no relief in sight. My midwife has assured me it will end once I reach the second trimester, but I’m now ten weeks along and more than doubtful.

  I’ve had a month now to get used to the idea of pregnant. To weigh the pros and cons of this fiasco I’ve found myself in. I’ve had time to consider all my options and there is only one that brings peace to my soul, while at the same time scaring me half to death.

  I’m keeping the baby.

  I have to tell the father I’m having his baby.

  It’s no longer just the morning sickness causing me to puke.

  Butterflies have been swarming inside me, rolling and taking flight ever since I made my decision, but the time has come to let him know.

  From everything I know about Braxton firsthand, and from years of Dan occasionally mentioning him, he’s a good guy. A noble guy.

  My first impression of Braxton when I walked up to him at Jenna’s wedding ten weeks ago didn’t include any thoughts of good or noble. Nope. My thoughts dove straight to the gutter, and my knees wanted to hit the floor.

  The weekend with him had been spectacular, better than any time with a man I’d had yet. Tattooed from his knuckles to his throat with a large piece all over his back and down both sides of his ribs, Braxton was nothing like the country club members I’d been around my whole life.

  Tatted and dark and menacing and absolutely delicious.

  Just the memory of Braxton, the way his strong hands tenderly caressed my body, the way he lost control and slammed into me, can heat my body in pleasurable ways. I dream of his groans. I still feel the weight of his body on top of mine. I wake up in the mornings, gasping for breath, reaching for him next to me for another round.

  It’s a disaster. I’m still trying to find my footing in Portland after throwing away my family’s expectations of me and going out on my own. I’m struggling to find my place in the art world, working part-time at Gallio’s Galleria while spending the rest of the time working on my own art either outside at the amphitheater when it’s weather permitting, or alone in my apartment.

  A baby is the last thing I need thrown into the mix.

  It changes all the plans and promises I’ve made.

  I’m still keeping it.

  I only hope Braxton doesn’t despise me for it. We might have just been a one-night stand but we’re connected through Jenna and Dan and while we haven’t seen each other since the wedding, that doesn’t mean our lives won’t continually cross paths in the future.

  I’ve put this off long enough.

  Grabbing the notepad where I scratched down his number and address for his tattoo parlor weeks ago when Jenna gave it to me, I slide into a pair of tan ankle boots and toss my purse over my shoulder.

  It’s time to face the music.

  * * *

  —

  I’m a block away from MadInk, feeling more green due to the sudden movements of the MAX light rail system, on my way to tell the man I barely know I’m having his baby.

  I know a few certain things about Braxton Henley. He’s twenty-eight, owns a tattoo parlor in one of the seediest areas of Portland, and he’s been friends with Dan since college. He moved out of Portland to go to college in Seattle, where he also learned the art of tattooing. He’s only recently returned to Portland to open MadInk.

  Since Dan travels almost weekly for his job, and I’m busy on the weekends with my own art shows, having only recently moved back to Portland myself, it never worked out for the four of us to get together and meet before Jenna’s wedding.

  That’s what I know. He’s busy and drills needles into people’s skin for a living.

  Oh, and he fucks like the Energizer Bunny. Actually, he’s better than the batteries that power my own personal go-to device. The man doesn’t stop and knows his way around a woman’s body like he was born to pleasure them. Or, he’s just had a lot of experience.

  Which makes me want to vomit.

  And did I mention he fosters animals? If he has that big of a heart for animals then he won’t exactly be pissed about the fact he got the maid of honor knocked up, right?

  Right. My hands clasp together and I get a sudden waft of stench coming from the garbage dumpster in the alley I pass.

  Fortunately, MadInk is right ahead and before I can second-guess myself and run back home to call him instead, I lunge forward and grab the door handle.

  I whisk it open and a bell jingles. I gasp, inhaling the crisp, cool air inside, and almost stumble to my knees before righting myself.

  Getting to my feet, I rub my arms and glance around. The waiting area, a small section of metal and black leather chairs, is empty. In the middle of the chairs is a glass table, three-ring binders are spread out in a fan shape, some open to reveal small but intricate and colorful pieces of art. Tattoos, probably.

  In the distance, the faint buzzing of needle guns is barely audible over the heavy metal music.

  “Can I help you?”

  I jump at the voice and the woman who’s entered the lobby area without making a sound. Walking behind a large desk filled with small pieces of glittering jewelry, she snaps her gum with boredom clear on her face. “Need some ink? We’re busy tonight but the head guy can fit you in if it’s a small piece.”

  “No.” God no, is more like it. I have a perverse fear of needles. The sharp stinging pain. And how do people ever truly know they’re sterilized properly?

  “So what can I do you for then?” Her eyes narrow, dip down and then up, trailing my body. “You don’t seem like the clientele we usually get. You lost?”

  I wish. Southtown isn’t far from where I live, but two blocks into Southtown is an entirely different world from the Pearl District.

  “No, I’m not. Is Braxton here?” As soon as I ask the question, my gaze lands on a portrait on the wall. My heart seizes. It’s not just any ocean, it’s his. The way he s
ees it. The way he’s imagined it. Startling blues with bright orange lighting the night as the moon rises, pinks and swishes of purples melding at the horizon. It seems and feels as if the water travels forever. Just like it appears in real life except the painting makes me hurt. Because he wants to see it and hasn’t.

  I don’t know what possessed him to tell me all about it when we were together, but I’ll never forget the story or the ache in his voice as he mentioned his desire to see dolphins splash in bright teal waters.

  I am so going to throw up.

  Clearing my throat, I step toward the girl behind the counter. She’s sitting in a chair, bar height, feet kicked up onto the counter. Her feet, clad in rubber flip-flops despite it being only fifty degrees outside, wiggle to a beat of music. She has multiple facial piercings and ink covers the entirety of her arms until it disappears beneath cutoff sleeves of her tank top.

  “Sweetie, listen, I’m not sure what you need—”

  “I need Braxton,” I blurt. Get a grip, I tell myself. Just say what you came to say and leave. “I don’t have an appointment, but my friend Jenna said he should be here.”

  She scans my body again, a piercing on the outer edge of her upper lip glimmering in the light as she presses her lips together. “So you do need to see the head guy.”

  Her gaze makes me uncomfortable, like she’s inspecting me. “Yes. If he’s not busy.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” Without taking her eyes off me, she reaches for a phone next to her and presses a singular button. “Yeah, B? Got a girl out here needs to talk to you.” Silence, then, “Don’t know. Seems like a Free People model if you ask me, but she’s asking for you.”

  Free People? I’m not certain whether to be offended or flattered. I’m in my last remaining pair of “fat” jeans, barely able to squeeze my quickly growing backside into them and unable to button them at night when pregnancy bloat appears. My flowing tunic top is able to hide the small pudge in my front, and while I might be dressed more hipster-ish, I’m not sure she really cares.