Despite being grounded in reason much of the time, my heart thuds like its continuing function depends upon his answer. “You didn’t like her at all?” I question, heart in my throat. Not even to me in this instance, but to stupid Jenna. We didn’t go anywhere, I just used her to fuck with you.” “‘Went out with’ might be an overstatement. “Anyway, you’re the one who actually went out with someone else,” I begin, lightly enough, considering how hard my heart pounds as those words tumble out of my mouth. Since he has given me an opening to ask a question I’ve been tempted to ask, I set aside my wariness of the answer and take the plunge. “Sex doesn’t always lead to dates, either. “No kidding,” he says, as if I made him wait an eternity.
A date doesn’t necessarily lead to sex with me.” I told you I went out with someone else, and I’m not you. Shrugging unrepentantly, he says, “Shouldn’t have told me you were fucking someone else.” “I know, I just thought it was funny hearing my own rumor echoed back to me.” I’m gonna reiterate one more time that I am not pregnant.”
We’re more or less old enough for that now.” They don’t handle unwanted teen moms with hitmen, a checkbook is their weapon of choice. Did she tell your dad? Should I be on the lookout for a hitman now?” “My mom asked me this morning if you were pregnant.
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