“Fuck it,” I say out loud in my empty house. It can’t possibly get any worse.
15
HANNAH
I’m staring into the fridge trying to convince myself that a handful of carrots will taste as good as what’s left of my white chocolate chip stash. I’m not even hungry, just looking for a distraction.
I grab the carrots and the white chocolate chips. Not a tasty combination but I can practically see my grandmother smiling at me approvingly.
Before I can start up the stairs, a knock sounds on the door. I hesitate. Maybe I’m hearing things? Who the heck could be here this late? Kids doorbell ditching? Or, I suppose in this scenario, door-knock ditching.
When the quiet thumping happens again, I walk over and stand on my tiptoes to see out the peephole. Whoever designed them should have considered short people. It’s way easier for a tall person to bend down than a short person to grow a few more inches.
Hoping it’s not a serial killer (thanks, Wren, for putting those thoughts in my head) or a solicitor (seems like a terrible time to pitch people on a magazine subscription but is there a good time, really?), I unlock and open the door.
“Travis.” Proximity makes him the most likely person to stop by at this hour unannounced, but he’s honestly the last person I expected. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi.” He lets his gaze rake over me quickly. I don’t know how he does it, checking me out in a way that always feels appreciative instead of sleazy.
I’m not sure that I manage to keep my stare as friendly. He’s in athletic pants again—these ones are red—and a black T-shirt. I’ve seen Travis dressed up a few times and those were great looks, don’t get me wrong (still drooling about the rolled sleeves of his white T-shirt in Vegas), but there’s something about him like this, casual and comfortable (and slightly wrinkly), that makes me want to know the guy underneath all the charm and smiles.
A thought I should probably abandon now that we’re…I can’t even say the word.
“The paperwork is ready,” he says, pulling my gaze up from his forearms. “We can drop by as early as tomorrow to sign everything.”
Relief sweeps through me. “Really?”
He nods, jaw clenching.
“Thank you so much.” It’s a huge weight off my shoulders that he took care of it. My stomach has been in one giant pretzel knot since Vegas. Every time I searched for a lawyer or imagined explaining to the person on the phone why I was calling, it made my stomach twist tighter. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be silly. I can cover my half.” Is going halfsies on an annulment the standard? Like splitting the check at dinner?
He shakes his head and his lips turn down at the corners. “It’s the least I can do, considering this was my fault.”
Was it? I don’t remember enough to know if that’s true, but I can’t think of many scenarios that would place all the blame onhim. Before I can say as much, he adds, “It’s already taken care of anyway.”
I won’t pretend that it isn’t another relief to have it paid for. I’m barely going to be able to pay gym and coaching fees this month. And that was before Wren sent me her last college bill. Our parents left us with enough in savings to cover part of her college. She also has two scholarships, but with increased tuition and housing fees, it still hasn’t been enough the last two semesters.
“Thank you. Money is really tight right now. Between losing the sponsorship money, the increased coaching fees, and my sister dropped another tuition payment on me literally yesterday.” I take a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is if I had to get drunk and married in Vegas, I’m glad it was with you.”
“Me too.” His lips curve up for a second and then resume their frown.
He lingers on my doorstep, not quite making eye contact.
“Well, good night.” I take a step back and grab the doorknob.
His eyes blink into focus and he nods. “Yeah, you too, Hannah.”
I close the door, but before it clicks into place, he throws out one arm to stop me.
“Wait.” His brown eyes spark with some unnamed emotion. “Forget everything I just said.”
“You aren’t going to pay for the annulment?” There goes that vise grip on my stomach again.
“Let’s not get one at all or…” He looks almost tortured. “Go out with me, at the very least.”
