Best Laid Plans

Tubbs

Perrie

Hmm. My sheets feel so good. Did I change detergents? No, no, I'm not at home, I remind myself. When you travel as much as I do your first ten seconds of consciousness are spent reminding yourself what city you're in.

London.

Wait. Wait. Wait, wait. Oh, god. I spent the night at Jade's. After I had sex with her. After I told her I was pregnant. After I busted into that party pretending to be her fiancée.

Why did I do all of those things? Why, why, why?

I think these pregnancy hormones are making me hornier than usual, which is stupid. So stupid. I'm already pregnant, I don't need a boost to my sex drive. You'd think that biology could do you a favor and be like, 'Already pregnant, let's have her lose all interest in sex'. But no, it's the opposite. Unless the favor is making me even more interested in sex so that I can at least enjoy myself while already knocked up.

Oh, biology. You horny bitch.

I wonder how long I can keep my eyes closed pretending I'm still asleep? I can hear some noises from the kitchen, so I think Jade's up. Except I'm sure I just felt movement on the bed, so maybe she made coffee and came back to bed. I'm for sure being stared at right now, I can feel it.

Okay. Get this over with. Open your eyes, get dressed, leave. Maybe have sex with her again before you leave. If she's into it. Like one for the road. But that's it, just one more time. One.

Gah, no. No more sex with Jade. Or anyone else. For a long, long, long time. I'm back on the dick diet no matter what my hormones think.

I open my eyes and find two staring back at me.

Except they're not Jade's.

It's a cat.

I wonder if I'm having some kind of pregnancy-induced psychosis? I mean, it's not as if cats are particularly rare but it just seems really out of place here. I sit up, trying to get my bearings. This is one hell of a nice-sized bedroom. There are windows along two entire walls stretching from nearly floor to ceiling. They're covered now by some kind of light-blocking shade, but they weren't last night so I know that a view of downtown London stretches as far as the eye can see. Nightstands on either side of the bed. A pretentious chaise lounge sits in the corner near the balcony. The bathroom was equally ridiculous, all marble and high-end finishes.

And a cat.

What little I saw of the place last night as I flung my shoes off and picked the first doorway that looked like it led to a bathroom looked much the same. A glossy high-end condo. Hardwood floors that were most certainly not pre-fabricated but more likely milled from some exotic tree and stained on site. View that you get only if you're at least a millionaire. Custom everything.

I think the cat might be low-key obsessed with me because it's still staring at me. It's fat. And orange. Super cute. Just really out of place in this condo. It's like finding a polar bear on a tropical island.

We didn't have any pets growing up. My dad was allergic. At least that's what my mom said. Honestly, I think she just had her hands full with me and my sister. Mostly me, to be fair. Peyton was perfect, I was the handful.

I hope being a handful skips a generation.

Jade walks in with a cup of tea. She's wearing a pair of joggers and a sports bra. Why does she have to have such good abs? Why can't she put on a shirt for crying out loud? And those tattoos. I remember admiring them for the first time ten weeks ago. They make her ten times hotter, and she was already hot. That level hotness should be illegal. The tattoo artist should be sued.