Fortuity

Chapter 2

We were at the new house, and we were ready. Really, I made sure we were in the car by the time we needed to be because we live twenty three minutes or so from my Mom.

Well, we were there, we were in the car.

But he reached over, and I'm wearing a very thin, loose top. It's black, but the material is so thin, it's basically not there. I have a pushup bra on, a black on, and ripped shorts. He was driving the Range Rover.

But anyways he reached over to grab my arm, and he ended up touching my chest on accident.

Next thing I knew, we pulled over and were in the backseat.

Now it's an hour and a half later than we're supposed to be here.

Mom is gonna kill us.

"I'm not taking blame for this." I hiss at Tyler.

He snickers, opening the front door.

"It's your fault for wearing that shirt." He says, shutting the front door.

"No it's not." I say. "You need to learn to control yourself."

"I control myself just fine. It's you who needs help." He says.

"No. You're wrong."

"Okay. You're right." He says.

I huff, shaking my head. He snickers, following me into the living room.

"Oh my god, look at you two!" Mom gushes, hugging both of us.

They all start freaking out.

"You were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago." Delaney smirks knowingly.

"It's his fault." I shrug.

"Honestly it's not, but I'm going to tell you guys it is so she doesn't yell at me." Tyler says.

"I'm not going to yell at you."

"Reprimand." He corrects himself.

Everyone is smirking. I throw my hands up in the air.

"He's impossible."

"Car, your shirt is awfully wrinkled."

"Shut up, Delaney." I mutter.

"Don't sit down." She says right before I sit. Tyler is already seated.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I need your help with something." She stands up.

"Okay?"

"Alone." She says. She looks at Tyler. "I'm stealing your wife."

She starts pulling me out of the room, upstairs, into the bathroom.

"What?" I ask.

She hesitates, and then she turns around, throwing up in the toilet.

I pull her hair back.

"Holy shit, Del. What's wrong?"

She pukes until she's dry heaving, and then she flushes the toilet and brushes her teeth, staring at the foam in the sink.

"Car, I've been throwing up every single day for a week and six days."

"Shit. Have you been to the doctor?"

"No." she says. "I haven't gone because I wanted to talk to you first." She says.

"Okay." I rub her back. "What's wrong, hun?"

"Every day, Car. I throw up every day. Every morning, right when I wake up. I hide it from Blake. Bro, my period was supposed to start a month and a half ago."