I’m still waiting for his reply when my mind retrieves itselffrom the gutter, and I pray that he isn’t as good at reading minds as he is at playing hockey.
“I didn’t get you any wine, Bill.” His eyes flick momentarily to the gift bag still set on the floor beside him. “They only had Chardonnay.”
I deadpan and lean forward to catch a glimpse of what’s inside. Matching purple tissue paper blocks my view, and I huff out a frustrated breath.
Why am I acting like a fucking teenager right now?
“You didn’t need to buy me anything.” I meant what I said in my initial message the other day that he didn’t need to stop by, let alone with a gift.
He’s had several birthdays since I last saw him, and I didn’t even send him a card. Although Mom probably scrawled my name on one from them.
“Oh, I didn’t. This?” He motions to the bag. “This is for someone else. I dropped in on your parents on my way over to see her.”
I smirk, my previously bad mood feeling even lighter. Just because I said that he didn’t have to make an effort doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the fact that he has.
“Well, she’s a very lucky girl then,” I retort. “Especially if she likes purple … and lavender bath crystals.”
Emmett smirks at me, and it’s hot as hell.
“How are you doing, Billie?”
His change in tone and subject catches me off guard, and I automatically wrap my arms around my swollen stomach.
Most people can’t tear their eyes away from my huge bump, almost like pregnancy is the sum of who I am. The looks and stares around campus were difficult to ignore, making it even harder to dismiss the notion that, in the eyes of others, Billie the person ceased to exist the second she became an expectant mom.
Emmett, on the other hand, doesn’t take his eyes from my face as he patiently waits on a response.
“I’m doing fine,” Ilie.
Physically, I’m good. The pregnancy is perfectly normal, and I’m still planning to go ahead with a vaginal birth in the local hospital. Mentally? Well, that’s a completely different story and something I’m not ready to talk about. With anyone.
“How are you doing?” I ask the question before he can call me out on my bullshit.
I know Mom and Dad told him all about Tucker because they have always shared everything going on in their lives with Emmett and Maria. Hell, when I got accepted into Austin University, Maria was dropping off a card before I even messaged my school friends.
“I’m doing fine,” he replies, flat tone matching mine.
Walking across to the window seat, where I used to devour my favorite romance novels, I flop into the plump cushions, embracing the comforting feeling as softness wraps around my aching spine.
I need this baby out, stat.
The silence between us feels awkward and heavy, and I question if my recollections of our banter and dynamic were viewed through a rose-tinted lens.
This guy is over a decade older than you, Billie. Of course you were never friends. He’s a good person, simply concerned for his best friend and his irresponsible daughter, who got herself pregnant and screwed up her chances in life, along with her parents’ financial future.
“Sorry about that.” Dad bursts into the room, pocketing his phone. “Another leaking pipe at school for me to fix on Monday morning.” He rolls his eyes. “For now, a bucket will have to do, and let’s just pray we don’t have another rainstorm between now and then.”
Dad looks at me and then at Emmett, just as his friend’s steely-gray eyes leave my face and focus back on Dad.
“Freya is making clam chowder for supper if you want to stay?”
Emmett clears his throat like his mind wasn’t really in theroom, briefly fidgeting with his glasses. “Yeah, why not? I was going to grab a bite when I got home, but Freya’s chowder can’t be beat.”
Unable to stop myself, I tip my chin at the purple bag. “I thought you had a gift to deliver?”
Emmett’s eyes narrow just a fraction at me, not enough for it to be obvious to the onlooker, but I see it, and a bubble of laughter pops out of me.
Not saying a word, he stands from the couch and follows Dad toward the kitchen.
