Is she upset over that dick?
“Sit.” I ignore the dirty look she gives me and usher her to the table where I pull out a chair. After she sits, I grab the one next to her.
We stare at each other over the head of the baby.
“Wanna tell me why you’re carting a child around our house in the middle of a party? I won’t mention how inappropriate it is to bring it here.”
“It?It?” She blinks. “Has anyone told you lately that you’re an ass? For your information, your excellence, I didn’tbringthe baby here.”
Someone chuckles, and I turn and give my roommate Johnny Johnson a dirty look.
That’s really his name. Johnny Johnson. But he likes to go by Johnson because he says it makes women think he has a big dick.
Gabby reaches into her pocket, pulls out a crumpled note, and slams it on the table. “This is for you.” She glances around the kitchen. “Or for one of your miscreant roommates.”
I glance at the paper. “You wrote this?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, I found it in that basket over there.” She points to the corner where a small wicker basket sits. “Along with the baby.”
The baby snuggles closer to the beautiful French aristocrat who’s barking orders at me in my house. I almost smile. Gabby’s a lot bossier than she used to be. I kinda like this take-charge vibe she has going on.
She taps her finger on the paper, and I realize I’m staring at her like a dumbass.
I clear my throat and focus on the note. The paper is smudged but still legible.
This is Poppy, you’re daugter.
What the fuck? It doesn’t matter how many times I read it because it doesn’t make any sense.
I glance around the room. I read the words again. “Whose letter is this?”
For once, everyone’s quiet. My eyes return to the slip of paper I’m gripping.
“Seriously, who’s this for?” Because the only thing jumping out at me right now is the fact there is no name at the top.
Olly shrugs. “Doesn’t say.”
I read the words again.
This is Poppy, you’re daugter. Sory I can’t take care of her anymor. I tried. I really did. She loves her blankie. I’ll call you when I get their.
Whose daughter? Get where? What the fuck is this person talking about?
“Whoever wrote this can’t spell,” Olly mumbles. “Either that or she was blitzed.”
I flip over the paper, but it’s blank. “Where’s the rest of the note?” There has to be more.
Olly shrugs. “That’s it. Just the baby, her blanket, her beanie, and the letter.” He roots around in the basket. “Wait. There’s a bottle and a couple of diapers.”
Gabby snuggles the baby closer. “So there’s no formula?”
Olly just stares at her.
“So we can feed her more once the bottle runs out.” Gabby runs a hand over the tuft of blonde hair at the top of Poppy’s head.
“No, that’s it. Just the one bottle.” He hands it to her.
She offers it to the baby, who sniffles before she starts to drink.
