War sets his napkin down and studies me like he would an opponent. The scrutiny is unnerving. “She had a rough childhood,” he says. “Parents who didn’t want her, who never bother to visit.”
My stomach drops. I kind of assumed that was the case based on some of our conversations, but she hasn’t mentioned any of that directly.
“So maybe she’s a little overeager to have a family of her own,” he adds. “What did you say when she brought up kids that night?”
That’s what’s so wild. I didn’t actually freak out. With anyone else, I’m certain I would have. “I told her that I’d always wished I had them, but that the timing was never right.”
Daniel points his fork at me. “You set yourself up for this, then. She’s just trying to give you what you want. That’s what women do.” He stabs another piece of pancake. “Women that aren’t Hannah, at least. She takes whatever the fuck she wants, and I just give it all to her.”
Noah groans. “Please don’t talk about what women do in bed while discussing my sister.”
“Knock it off,” Daniel taunts. “Your sister and I have been married for almost two decades. You should be used to this by now.”
War turns his stern look on Daniel. When he turns back to me, his expression has only softened a little. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. You asked for this.”
I push back from the table a couple of inches. “How did I ask for an ovulation calendar?”
“You basically told her your clock was ticking. She likes you and she’s trying to show you that she’s listening to you.”
I scowl. “Men don’t have clocks.”
“I’m telling you, you asked for this,” he says.
“And if you want Mav on your team, you’ve gotta make this relationship last,” Daniel reminds me through a mouthful of pancakes.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Not because I have any interest in ending things with Savannah but because the last thing I need is a reminder of that damn bet.
War points at me. “You better fix this.”
Not that I agree with him, but even if I did, what the hell am I supposed to say to her now?
TWENTY-SIX
SAVANNAH
Daddy: What type of wine should I bring?
I stareat the text like it’s come to life, equipped with three heads and dancing before me.
What type of wine should I bring?
He’s still coming? After he rushed out of here before I’d fully woken up this morning, I was sure I’d never hear from him again.
Sure, he stuck around last night. And we had sex. But I figured that was goodbye sex. Like, wow, she’s hot and I don’t know how to reasonably extract myself from this situation, so I’ll fuck her one more time before I disappear.
Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him.
I’ve known him for a matter of weeks, and I sent a fucking ovulation calendar to his phone and basically told him I wanted him to knock me up. What reasonable man would stick around?
When he dipped out, mumbling about meeting his friends for breakfast while I was still blinking the sleep from my eyes, I will admit a wave of sadness hit me. Okay, more like a tsunami. I was gutted. Because the man behaved like a picture-perfect boyfriend last night.
He showed up with supplies because he thought I had my period. He watched rom-coms with me and binged on junk food right alongside me until our stomachs ached. He was willing—happy, even—to have sex with me while I was bleeding. Even if I wasn’t really.
Every single one of those actions told me more about the kind of man Camden Snow is than anything he could have told me on a date. He puts others first. He’s caring and sweet and fun as hell to be with. He’s the kind of person I would want to date for real.
And then I scared him away by telling him I wanted to have his babies.
It makes sense. Hell, it’s what I expected. But still, watching him scurry out, then being left in my silent apartment with nothing but time to come to terms with how I’d chased him away was hard.
