Just the Tip (DTF (Dirty. Tough. Female) Book 4) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Kat Addams

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at http://kataddams.com

  Cover Designer: Lori Jackson, http://LoriJacksonDesign.com

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7331523-7-2

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY KAT ADDAMS

  “Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got. There is no yesterday, no tomorrow, it’s all the same day.”

  —Janis Joplin

  WHILE THIS BOOK IS A COMEDY, IT CONTAINS A SLIGHT HINT OF A STRUGGLE WITH MISCARRIAGE THAT MIGHT BE SENSITIVE TO SOME READERS.

  ONE

  Layla

  I set my bare ass down on the cold porcelain, hiked my leg up, and prayed to the good juju gods before unwrapping the death stick with trembling hands. I hadn’t had my period in two months. The first month that had passed without Aunt Flo showing her jerk face, I hadn’t even noticed. I’d been so busy working my day job at The Pink Taco Truck and attending night classes to finish my art degree that the thought of a missing period never crossed my mind.

  My classes at Forks University—go FU!—weren’t entirely a new thing. I’d started attending college as soon as I graduated from high school. But funds were low back then, and my parents couldn’t afford to help me much. Now that my job at the taco truck had taken off, like a real twenty-six-year-old adult, I’d decided to splurge on a little something for myself—my degree. I only had a year left, and then I could be all artsy-fartsy, just how I envisioned my future self—beret and all.

  I always loved art. Majoring in it had been a no-brainer for me when I first went off to college. When I was a kid, my parents had often found my drawings on the walls or in the bathtub, and I’d once even decorated their toilet with finger paints. They loved to tell that story. Now, my standards had moved up a bit. I dreamed of a little art studio filled with pastels, Play-Doh, and the swish-swish-swish of paintbrushes. I hoped to open one of those places with wine and cheese and other fancy shit. Maybe I could even ask Aiden to cater my eclectic events.

  Aiden …

  My mind focused back on the task at hand. It had been almost a year since I met Aiden, my friend.

  With benefits …

  Shush! I told the voice in my head.

  The last few months, we had been taking salsa lessons together. And by salsa lessons, I mean, we had begun to screw each other senseless. One night, we’d been shooting the shit, as usual, going on and on about hobbies, and the next thing I knew, we’d made plans to take dance lessons together … among other things. We’d created a hobby list, and in our free time, we worked our way down it. Except he and I worked our way down … downtown.

  We’d begun the salsa lessons one night a few months ago as the first check mark off the hobby list. I always loved to dance, and surprisingly, he did too.

  When I’d suggested that we try the new place out that had recently opened, Swing, he’d jumped at the chance. I slipped my frilly dress over my head, threw on my heels, and sashayed my way to the dance studio.

  All it took was one spin around those hardwood floors and a romantic swoonworthy dip from Aiden, and I became hooked. We danced around the studio, switching partners here and there. I noticed the ladies kept gravitating toward him. His sexy smile and Australian accent had women throwing themselves at him often. So far, I’d been immune to his charm. Mostly.

  Aiden and I had begun our friendship by flirting a lot. We worked together on our Shizzle Sauce collaboration, steaming up his kitchen but never starting the fire. He was ever so much the rule follower, never mixing business and pleasure. Aiden’s business was his life.

  So, imagine my surprise when he had offered to take me up on dance lessons that night. I’d been sitting at his bar with my dirty, tough females, who had insisted the conversation shift to nuptials. Two of my best friends were planning a wedding, and while I was happy for them, jealousy simmered right below my surface. I was the friend who wanted the big fairy-tale wedding and ten kids. I wanted to be Martha Stewart and the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe. I wanted all of those mom and wifey things. But I was the last. The unchosen. The old maid. Single and pathetic.

  I flung the foil wrapper in the trash can beside me, stuck my hand between my legs, and willed myself to force a tinkle out onto that pee stick of irony.

  I’m not bitter. My time will come, I lied to myself.

  I gritted my teeth, thinking back on that night. Aiden had probably read my expression. I couldn’t make a poker face. My emotions were etched across my cheeks like a warning sign—hot mess, crybaby, but could cut you in a hot minute. I had balance.

  I sighed, waiting and waiting. My bladder refused to give up the goods. I didn’t want to know if I was knocked up. I had always wanted this moment in my life to be magical. I’d already planned it. I would surprise my husband with a crazy dinner. I would bake buns in the oven, serve eggs, pickles and ice cream, and jelly doughnuts. Not that jelly doughnuts represented anything baby-related. I just loved them and thought a party wasn’t a party without jelly doughnuts. When my Prince Charming hubby finished his meal, I would serve him my positive pee stick, neatly wrapped up in a glittery, pink box. That had been the plan.

  Had. Been.

  I sighed, spreading my legs further, looking at my vag, and murmuring, “Get it over with already.”

  The plastic stick shook in my hand. It wouldn’t necessarily be a terrible thing if I was pregnant. I didn’t have that much longer before I finished school, and Aiden’s helpful personality would make him an excellent father to my child. Even though our friendship had evolved into a friendship with benefits, we still cared for each other. Just not in that swoony way. At least, I hadn’t caught the feels. Yet. But sitting in the bathroom of his restaurant, popping a squat to see if I would have his baby, was hardly the romantic moment I’d hoped for in life. I didn’t even have a box to wrap my stick in afterward … if I was pregnant.

  I squinted my eyes shut and grunted, pushing out a sprinkle that fought against releasing until, finally, my pee flowed. My fingers trembled, barely able to clutch the stick.

  “Just the tip,” he had told me, panting in the backseat of his fancy-pants car that night we became lovers.

  We’d worked ourselves up so much on the dance floor that we cut our lesson short and headed to the parking lot. Before that night, we hadn’t even kissed. But after the first salsa lesson, we had begun a routine of our own. We danced together at the studio, flirting and rubbing each other until we were both horny. Then, we’d tell the instructors adios, run out the door, and cha-cha slide to home base every chance we got.

  I’d stupidly let passion overtake me. I thoug
ht because my period had recently ended, I would be safe from pregnancy. Aiden and I had also given up on dating a few months back. I assumed he was clean, he assumed I was clean, and we assumed he would only stick in just the tip of his dick. At least, that last assumption was wrong.

  We’d dry-humped like teenagers, fiddling the tip around down there until I grabbed his ass and pushed him in—all the way in. A few quick and steamy rabbit pumps and a sloppy pull-out later, and here I was, two months after, peeing on my hand.

  I pulled the pregnancy test out and set it on top of the toilet-paper holder, wiping myself clean.

  “What are you doing in here? Did you eat that ice cream again? How many times do I have to tell you to stop eating that lactose shit? We need all hands on deck!” Betty said, barging in the restroom door.

  I jumped, knocking the test off the ledge, and I watched as it tumbled in slow motion to the floor, under the stall, and out of sight.

  Silence.

  Awkward silence.

  A silence so silence-y, I wanted to hop into the toilet and flush myself down like in that damn movie Betty’s soon-to-be stepdaughter had made me watch when I babysat her last weekend.

  “Layla,” Betty whispered.

  “Layla’s not here,” I answered.

  “Are y’all all right in here? Let me guess. One of y’all forgot tampons again!” Rox said, swinging through the restroom door.

  I heard Nikki groaning behind her.

  “I don’t know what y’all are doing in here, but I really got to pee!” Nikki said.

  I sat still on the other side of the locked stall.

  My heart pulsed in my ears, vibrating through my chest and making me dizzy enough to plop back down on the toilet seat.

  Dizziness? That’s an early sign! I put my head in my hands.

  “Layla,” Betty repeated.

  “I don’t want to know. I already know. I just needed to confirm. I got this. Just let me stay in here and—” I started.

  Betty’s hand gripped my ankle from beneath the door. Her long nails curled around the clasp of my heel. “I’ll drag you out if I have to!” she shouted.

  “Rox, help,” I cried.

  “We will. We all will,” Rox said. Her voice came out thick and low.

  I shook off Betty’s hand and unlocked the door, shuffling to the sink to wash my hands. The pee stick was still lying on the floor with my friends gathered around it. All three of them met my gaze in the mirror.

  “How far along?” Nikki asked.

  “Almost three months,” I sighed.

  “What? You’ve been pregnant for three months, and you’re just now finding out? How does that even happen, Layla?” Betty crossed her arms over her chest.

  Out of all my friends, Betty was the one I feared disappointing the most. Betty had encouraged me to go back to school and finish my degree. She was my biggest supporter—and also my biggest pain in the ass.

  “Y’all know my periods are never regular! Plus, I thought I was gaining the freshman fifteen! Or the senior twenty at least! I’ve been stress eating. How was I supposed to know these bubbles in my guts weren’t just farts? My mind’s been elsewhere!” I threw my hands up, splattering water across the sink and mirror.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s calm down. It’s happened, and we have to make a plan and move forward.” Rox stepped over to me, placing her hand on my back.

  I sniffled.

  “Yes, the plan is, nothing changes. You’re still finishing that degree. And you’re going to tell me who the father is because I’m going to march right over to his ass and make sure he’s involved in this too. What kind of dumbass man messes up like that in this day and age? I know you’re smarter than that! Don’t you carry rubbers on you? Did he talk you out of using them? Just who the hell is this man?” Betty bent over, picking my pee stick up and setting it on the counter.

  “Ladies, is everything all right? I heard a commotion and wanted to make sure you guys were okay,” Aiden’s sultry Aussie accent called from the other side of the door.

  I yelped, reaching out to grip the counter and steady myself.

  “Layla?” Aiden called again, slowly squeaking open the door. “Can I come in?”

  “No!” we answered in unison.

  Nikki slammed the door shut.

  “Sheesh. Okay. I’m keen to help with whatever you need. Just let me know,” he said.

  “What she’s going to need is—” Betty started before Rox jerked her arm and put a palm over her mouth.

  “Betty! Layla has to be the one. She will have to tell the father. Whoever that is.” Rox cleared her throat.

  Betty rolled her eyes. “We know who it is. Why did you lie to us? You said y’all were just friends.”

  “I didn’t lie! We were just friends. Until we weren’t. I mean, we still are. Friends with benefits.” I peered down at the positive pregnancy test, stuck my finger out, and flicked it into a spin.

  “The only benefit he gave you is a tax benefit. Now what? You quitting school again?” Betty stuck her hand out, slapping it on top of the test, stopping it from spinning.

  “Let’s give her a chance. Layla, what are you going to do? What do you want to do?” Nikki said, clutching the crystal around her neck. “We’re your best friends, so we’re all in this together. And I think the father, whoever that might be”—her eyes shot to the restroom door and back at me—“will probably help you too.”

  “He will,” Betty said, scrubbing her hands under the sink. “Oh, he will.”

  “I’m going to go out there and make Shizzle Sauce; that’s what I’m going to do.” I picked up the pregnancy test, rolled it inside a handful of paper towels, and stuffed it in my purse. “And then I’m going to go drop off this food at the food bank, as planned. And then I’m going to take my ass to school tonight,” I continued, washing my hands again before turning toward Betty. “This”—I held my purse out—“doesn’t change anything.”

  I blew out a breath and stomped out the door, swallowing my lie. This was going to change everything.

  I stopped by my parents’ house after class. They had recently bought a home near FU, so they could feel young and alive in the college district. My mother claimed her job as a high school principal had aged her beyond her years. My dad, who ran a landscaping business, also felt the need for a change. I hadn’t been at all surprised when they joined a motorcycle club and sold the house. My parents were always doing things on a whim. Just last year, they’d decided to become ordained ministers, strictly for pets. Yep, that was a thing, and yep, my kitty, Mars, was now married to my neighbor’s cat, Penny.

  I pulled onto the cobblestone drive, noticing the first signs of spring in the daffodils cropping up around their oak tree. We’d had a backyard full of them when I was a child. I always knew it was getting close to time for the Easter Bunny when those daffodils sprang out of the ground. I’d set my basket out on the kitchen table at the first bloom.

  I sighed, exiting the car. How I wished I could go back to those more carefree days.

  I pulled out my phone, calling my mom to let her know I was here but she didn’t answer. She and Dad were probably doing their same old routine. Every night after dinner, my parents had a ritual of having a glass of wine on the back patio. After I’d turned nineteen, they’d often let me join but only pour me half a glass. I loved those times with my parents and vowed to make it a ritual with my future husband.

  Future husband …

  I wrung my hands at the thought of ever marrying now. Who would want a knocked-up chick? Aiden was out of the question. He’d declared himself in the friend zone long ago, and so had I. We had quickly become best friends. Not DTF best friends, but we shared everything with each other. It wasn’t until recently that we’d had sex, and that was only because those damn salsa lessons had had us rubbing up against each other. What were we supposed to do?

  I opened the back gate, winding through the landscaped path toward the patio. I tiptoed over the cobbl
estone, stepping into the garden lights shining on the walkway so I wouldn’t trip and hurt myself—or my baby. I paused mid-step when I heard them. My parents were screwing. Again. I’d heard that ooo-ooooo-eeeee-ahhhhh sound countless times while growing up. Every time I showed up unexpectedly, they were doing it. Anytime they thought I was asleep, they were doing it. I couldn’t figure out if I was proud of them or disgusted by their constant boning.

  “Mom!” I shouted before rounding the corner of the patio. I choked on a bit of bile in the back of my throat and leaned my hand against the brick wall, steadying myself. I didn’t know if the pregnancy was hitting me all of a sudden or if it was my mother’s sex yodels, but I immediately felt sick.

  “Layla?” she called through an awkward silence.

  “Mama, I need you.” I slid down the wall, burying my head in my hands to stop the dizziness that had quickly overtaken me.

  “Layla!” My mom came around the corner, dressed in only a bathrobe.

  My dad ran behind her in his tighty-whities.

  I turned my head and hurled.

  “Shit! It’s okay, honey. It’s okay,” my mom said, pulling my hair back while I ralphed in their rose bush. “Can you get us some water, Stan?”

  She looked to my dad, who nodded before running off, jiggling in his underwear. I moaned, heaving again.

  “Mom, why are you and Dad always doing it? Look at what you’re doing to me!” I cried, rubbing my stomach.

  “What? Are you saying we did this? You think because your dad and I were making sweet love on the back patio, that’s why you got sick? Come on now, dear. That’s a load of crap. It’s not like you haven’t heard us before. You know I can’t keep my hands off that hot stuff. Now, get up. You’re sick. Come lie down,” she said, helping me to my feet.

  “I’m not sick. I’m pregnant,” I blurted, collapsing into her arms.

  “Oh shit,” she said, catching me before I fell again.

  “Oh shit,” my dad muttered, dropping the cup of water on the ground.