He never breaks eye contact and neither do his hands break their rhythm on my feet.
“If you’re asking whether or not?—”
“I had time while in that waiting room,” he says, talking over me. “Time to work out exactly how many weeks ago I was in Vegas.” He pauses, then asks. “Where were you eight weeks ago, Alyssia?”
My heartbeat knocks against my ribcage, and I finally realize it does this whenever he says my name.
“Las Vegas.”
“Wrong.”
I jut my head back at his reply. Oh goodness, is he about to deny that this is his baby? Of course he is. What man in his right mind wouldn’t question it? He doesn’t know me from a doorknob.
Heat floods my cheeks in embarrassment before Travis says, “You were in my bed.”
Those words put an end to my thought spiral.
“Excuse me?”
“You were with me eight weeks ago. I remember every single detail of that night. Including the moment the condom broke on our third go-round.”
My mouth falls open, and I don’t know if it’s from the casual way he says all of this or if it has to do with the fact that I do actually believe he remembers it all.
“I also recall that a broken condom didn’t stop either one of us.”
Shit.
He’s right.
I, too, remember how my annoyance at him not being there that morning when I woke up remained with me. So much so, that instead of going directly to find a pharmacy to get a morning after pill, I quickly packed up my room, checkout of my hotel and checked-in early to my new hotel just to get away from him.
That coupled with the activities Kandace and I scheduled, and I stuffed down any and all memory of my night with Travis.
I inhale a deep breath, closing my eyes for a beat before allowing myself to face him.
His stare is unwavering.
“This is my baby, right.” He has an uncanny way of posing sentences that should be questions as mere statements of fact.
As if he doesn’t have any doubt as to what he’s saying. That total confidence and assurance is part of what I found so intoxicating in Vegas.
Right now, it’s overwhelming.
“Look.” I sit up straighter and draw my legs out of his grip and to sit in a crisscross position. “You probably have no reason to believe anything I say. I mean, we both had no intention of allowing what happened in Vegas to go any further. But …”
“Didn’t we?” He cocks his head to the side, his unwavering gaze on me.
I blink, and then blink again at the question. There’s no hint of a smile, smirk, or even a grin on those bow lips. No joking in his voice either.
He’s playing you.
Then I remember what I overheard earlier tonight. Before he rushed me to the hospital. The part about him only having room in his life for a championship.
Which reminds me of what he does for a living.
Travis and I could never be, that’s a given.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I tell him, my voice growing stronger because I know I need to lay down my cards. “Yes, I’m pregnant. And yes, it is your baby. Now …” I hold up my hand when he tries to speak.
