“Thank God you said it because I really didn’t want to have to,” Dillan adds, and my head all but blows the fuck up in an explosion that rivals an atom bomb.
“I’m not pregnant. You’d have to be having sex to be pregnant, and I’ve had sex once in legitimately the past eighteen months.” I think about that for a second, then it’s like I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “Well, more like one night—many, many, many times. Lots of sex. But we used lots of condoms.”
“When?” Dillan stops me.
“When what?” I answer, not sure where she’s going. “Like what time? I don’t know. It was late. Or early really, depending on how you look at it. I’m not sure what time?—”
“Ashton. Focus. When did you have sex? Not what time, sweetie.” She rolls her eyes and switches Kyrie to her other hip. “Was it in the past nine months?”
Lexie snorts. “Pretty sure she’s not nine months pregnant, Dillan. It’s not like she’s showing.”
Oh fuck.
I start counting back in my head.
Valentine’s Day was the second week in February.
I look at the Cinco de Mayo cupcakes in the display case and cringe.
“Oh shit,” Dillan blurts out.
“I can’t do this. I’ve got a class to teach. I cannot be pregnant right now.” I reach for Kyrie, but Dillan angles herself away.
“You’re right. You don’t need to deal with this now. How about you leave the diaper bag and Kyrie with me, and I’ll bring her to you after your class?”
“Dillan, I can’t ask you?—”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Kaleigh’s at the shop today, and I’m just going to be working on inventory. I can do that with this little cutie. Let me have some fun with my newest honorary niece. Please?”
Lexie runs a hand over Kyrie’s head. “And I’ve got your back if you need anything.”
Dillan nods, then looks back at me. “It’s an hour or two tops, Ash. Give yourself a break and go teach the baby ballerinas. We’ll reconvene after, and if you still need to freak the fuck out, we’ll deal with it then.”
“Why does that sound a little evil?” I ask, surprised I’m strangely okay with this. The Dillan keeping Kyrie thing. Not the other thing.
She smiles. “Because I am a little evil. Now go.”
I kiss Kyrie on the top of her sweet lavender-scented head, refusing to cry. I’m just getting the hang of one baby. I absolutelypositively cannot have another one. “Love you, little miss. Be good for Dillan, okay?”
Kyrie smacks my cheeks between her pudgy palms, babbling, and I slide the diaper bag onto Dillan’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
And an hour later, when Lexie and Dillan walk into the studio with a brown paper pharmacy bag in Lexie’s hand and my sister in Dillan’s arms, I have no doubt what’s inside and what I have to do.
Fucking Valentine’s Day.
JAMIE
Friends who insult each other are brutally honest and incredibly loyal.
Basically, the bigger the asshole, the better the friend.
—Text from Hendrix to Jamie
“You want to tell me what the fuck is up your ass?” Maverick bitches once our training session ends and throws a football at my face. “You haven’t cracked a joke or an insult the whole time we’ve been in here, Murph.”
“Come on, man.” I catch the ball and spin it on my finger, ignoring the uneasy feeling I haven’t been able to shake. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.” Forcing a laugh, I toss it back to him and deflect, deflect, deflect. “Seriously though, you’re not actually giving me hell, right? You’re about to go away for what—three weeks, and you finally decided to show up to train? Have fun when camp starts in July and your fat ass can’t stop shit.”
“The hell does that have to do with you being a pissy bitch?”
