He barely spared my stomach a second’s glance before meeting my gaze again. “What about it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Okay.”
I heaved a breath. This was taking too long. I wanted to sit down and eat snacks and find some crappy, terribly cheesy movie on the tiny motel TV and fall asleep under the paper-thin sheets.
Okay, that wasn’treallywhat I wanted to do, but it would probably beat doing whateverthiswas with Beckham.
“Maybe you’ve never gotten a girl pregnant before?—”
“I haven’t,” he clarified quickly.
“—but there’s a baby growing inside me,” I went on. “A human.” I leaned forward a bit, accentuating the word. “Achild.”
Beckham looked bored out of his mind, as if this wasn’t news to him. “And…?”
“And? Eventually, he’s going to come out.”
His body froze as his eyes did that weird softening thing again. “It’s a boy?”
I blinked. Blinked again. On its own accord, my hand found my belly. “Yeah. It’s a boy.”
His dark lashes fluttered and his Adam’s apple bobbed like he was clearing away any emotion that had crept in. Then, like that little exchange never happened, he started walking toward me.
“Beck,” I warned.
“Park.”
I ignored the way the old nickname had my stomach flipping. “I’mpregnant.” I very clearly overemphasizedthe word.
He stopped right beside me, and I turned to come face-to-face with him. “Where’s the father?”
My jaw fell to the floor. “What is this, twenty questions?”
He shrugged. “You seem to think I don’t know anything, so I’m asking. Where’s the father?”
I shook my head. He was being unbelievable. I should’ve known the good ol’ Beckham Bronson would come out to play at some point.
And why did I almost like it?
Beckham made a dramatic show of looking left and right before settling his captivating eyes back on me. Something looked lost in them, though. They felt a little hollow. A little sad.
“He’s clearly not here with you for your father’s funeral.”
“My father was never a big part of my life, anyway.”
He leveled me with a look, not giving in to my attempt at dodging his interrogation. If I didn’t answer him, he’d never let it go.
“We’re not together.” I nearly smacked my forehead. I’d already told him I was single.Of course, we weren’t together.
“He still got you pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s this baby’s father. Not in my eyes.”
His gaze darted back and forth as he studied me, likely searching for any speck of anger or sadness at the admission. When he seemed to find none, he gestured with the luggage toward thedoor. “Let’s go.”
“Beckham—”
