“Like hell it will. That’ll be full of sugar and refined carbs. You need nutrition, a balanced diet of all the good things to help our baby’s growth.”
I glance over as I stop at an intersection to find her mouth opening and closing, but no words come out.
“What time is your first client?”
“Ten, but I need?—”
“I’ll get you there in plenty of time,” I say, quickly changing lanes and taking a left instead of the right that would take us to the salon.
“Everett,” she warns.
“You know, my friends usually call me Rett.” I don’t know why I say that. But I can’t help feeling like I’m being told off every time she full-names me. Only my mom, Parker, and Hailee use it regularly. And it’s only because I’ve annoyed them in some way, something I manage to do without even trying most days.
“You think we’re friends?” I’m not sure if she’s shocked or offended. I’m hoping it’s the former, but honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the latter.
“Uh, yeah. I guess. Does that mean I can change your contact name in my cell?”
“Hell no,” I laugh. “You might confuse me with all your other friends.”
“I don’t think that’ll be an issue,” she mutters as I take a right into a diner. “I don’t have time to have a proper breakfast. I need to get to the salon.”
“They do takeout, don’t worry. Come on,” I say after I’ve parked and killed the engine.
I’m still annoyed by how our morning started. But as I lift her from the cab and the sweet scent of her perfume fills my nose, I realize that I care less now that she’s beside me.
I was pissed when she confessed to lying to me. But the second I saw her with her shoulders hunched and her head low outside of her rundown apartment building, I let most of it go.
She wants me to believe she isn’t like the gold-digging puck bunnies out there, and while I believe she isn’t, catching her in a lie so early on isn’t going to help.
“You know, you really should get a more sensible car that’s not designed for giants.”
“It’s not my fault you’ve got short legs.”
“I’m not even that short,” she argues. “I’m five-six.”
“It’s not six-four, though, is it?”
“No, because it’s normal.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”
She rolls her eyes as I throw my arm around her shoulders and guide her toward the diner.
“Do you remember what you said about my super sperm?”
“I never said anything like that,” she argues, despite the fact we both know she did.
“I’m pretty sure you used that exact term.”
“Doesn’t sound like me.”
“That it defied the odds of lots of protection,” I add smugly.
“Shut up.” She’s trying to chastise me, but her laugh breaks through as she throws her arm out to smack me in the chest.
I catch her fingers with mine and tug her in front of me, forcing her to walk backward for a few steps.
“Ah, come on, Bea. Admit it, you’re impressed by my super sperm.”
