Pregnant with another man’s babyheld unspoken onto the end of his sentence, but for some reason, he had taken to hiding his feelings about my pregnancy.
“Exactly.” I ran my hands down my jeans that barely buttoned.
“That’s okay. Sometimes things don’t go as planned, but we shift.”
I didn’t miss the way he averted his eyes when he said it, how all traces of his smile fell and I was left looking at a shell of the Beckham I’d seen moments ago.
My pregnancy brain wracked my memory until I remembered why he was in here. “That ride you mentioned?”
His gaze met mine again, a spark of hope in those hazel depths.
“I’d love that.”
Beckham’s phone chimed with at least five texts on the drive over, and after the fifth, he silenced it. I’d chosen to ignore them, my mind instantly going to the worst-case scenario. That it was his girlfriend.
But why was that the worst case? We weren’t a thing. We wouldn’t be a thing. And yet, the air still felt charged around him. Like one spark and we’d go up in flames.
He parked in the lot and I got out, waiting for him by the hood.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurted when he came to a stop beside me, hands in his Carhartt jacket’s pockets.
He looked like I’d hit him with a bat. “What?”
I gestured to the phone tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Was that your girlfriend texting you?”
His mouth twitched. “Jealous, Park?”
I could see the hint of amusement on his face.
This was just what I needed—a reason for him to tease me.
“No. I’m only curious so I know not to—” I snapped my mouth shut.
His growing smile was downright devious. “Know not to what?”
My hands did some weird, extremely awkward movement through the air before I stuffed them in my coat. “Nothing.”
He pressed his lips together like he was holding in a laugh, and I scowled.
“Stop that.”
“You want to know if I have a girlfriend.”
I let out a growl of frustration—yes, a growl, because Beckham made me lose all sense of humanity. “Yes! I want to know. Happy?”
“Very.”
I waited for his answer, rolling a piece of lint between my fingers as I did. But then he turned and continued toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?”
He grabbed the handle, pulling it open, and faced me. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Haven’t in ten years.”
Well, if the cold hadn’t sucked the air from my lungs, that sure would have.
“Oh.”
God, why was I always speechless around him? One answer and the past was slamming into me over and over again, a blaring red sign screaming,Warning! Your pregnancy hormones already have you acting crazy, and now you’re hanging out with the one guy that makes youliterallycrazy. Beware!
