Worth It (Forbidden Men, #6)(27)

But Knox only nodded, no censure or judgment in his gaze. “I take it she’s not a snob like the rest of the Bainbridge clan.” When I sent him a scowl, he shrugged. “What? You still haven’t convinced me to like anyone else in your family, except maybe Aunt...”

“Cynthia,” I provided. “Except she’s not a Bainbridge. She’s my mom’s older sister on the Worthington side.”

“Holy shit,” he squawked, his mouth falling open. “Your mom’s a Worthington? And your dad’s a Bainbridge. Jesus, I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Heat flooded my belly. I didn’t mean to ask, but my mouth formed the words, anyway. “Stand a chance at what?”

He froze, looking caught, before glancing away and muttering, “Measuring up.”

All the air inside me vacated my lungs in a rush. I was so bamboozled by his answer I just gaped at him for a good minute.

But, seriously...what?

Why would he in any way feel the need to measure up to me? He was the super-hot, super-sweet, super-amazing older boy who took my breath away with a mere glance. I was the one who felt all insignificant, inexperienced, and...cheesy.

But there was this flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he checked on Bentley, swallowing so hard the muscles in his throat seemed to trip over a bundle of nerves.

Needing him to know immediately that he had nothing whatsoever to worry about in that department, I cleared my bone-dry throat. “I think the worth of a person comes more from who you are and less from what you are.”

Knox glanced at me. His brown eyes were hooded and dark before he shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, smiling softly. “You’ll do just fine as a child psychologist.”





There was never anything so impossible as trying to pee when someone stepped into the bathroom stall next to yours.

I probably should’ve waited until I got home to do this instead of dashing into the store’s bathroom for immediate answers as soon as I made my purchase. But then I remembered, oh right, going home currently wasn’t an option. Damn.

Biting my lip, I closed my eyes and tipped my face toward the ceiling. Come on. Come on. Niagara Falls. Atlantic Ocean. Rushing streams. Water parks and flooding canals.

Pee already!

The lady next door finished her business and flushed. As the pipes drained, I finally felt a trickle. I rushed to aim the stick under me, hoping I was hitting my target. But this was even more challenging than pissing in a cup at the doctor’s office. Inability to aim pee sucked ass.

Suddenly I resented men even more than I had ten seconds ago.

Lucky bastards.

Lucky cheating bastards who could aim their pee.

Outside my stall, the other woman began to wash her hands. After I finished and flushed, I pulled up my pants and then waited, sitting, refusing to even look down at the test in my hand.

Please be negative, please be negative, I silently begged.

With no idea what I’d do if the result came out with a plus sign on the stick, I hesitantly lowered my face and looked.

“Oh my God,” I wheezed, as the door to the ladies’ room came open again, admitting a new full-bladdered woman. “Oh, thank you, God.”

When I stumbled out of my stall seconds later—possibly looking a might crazy-eyed—the woman was still frozen just inside the doorway, her eyes wide with her purse clutched close.

I blasted her with a smile I couldn’t stop. “Hi! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Then I laughed—one of those maniacal, uncontrollable laughs—because up until now, it’d been a pretty shitty, miserable day for me.

The woman blinked and then darted into a stall, probably to escape the insane woman she was trapped in a public bathroom with.

I shrugged and washed my hands. My legs were still shaking with relief as I exited the store and crawled into my beat-up old junker of a tin can car. But when I started the engine, I just sat there, realizing I had nowhere to go. As of half an hour ago, I was officially homeless.

Well, that sucked.

All the joy and elation I’d felt in the bathroom began to ebb. Then the fresh memory of catching my boyfriend—oh right, ex-boyfriend—screwing one of his coworkers doggie style on my kitchen table half an hour ago obliterated all my happy thoughts completely.

My shoulders slumped, depression crept in, and my chest went tight as my throat dried up like I was about to—

Crap! I was going to cry.

No, I absolutely, unequivocally refused to cry over this.

Oh God, I needed reinforcements before I turned into a freaking watering pot.

I had friends. I should call one of them. But when I dug my phone out of my purse, I realized the battery had died...and my phone charger was still at my former residence where I had lived up until half an hour ago with my ex-boyfriend, and I was only returning there after hell froze over. Twice.

I blew out a long breath, forcing my body to relax.

I could do this. I could handle whatever happened next. My life had been at worse places than this, and I’d survived then. I could surely survive this little hiccup.

Somewhat revitalized by my mini-pep-thought, I put the car into gear and drove to the first house that sprang to mind.

It was located in a nice, peaceful, modest neighborhood. The branches of the trees lining the street swayed lightly in the autumn breeze, making me miss my childhood woods.