“What the fuck?” I mumble.
Another message pops up right after.
I’m engaged! Getting married in August.
I could see if any of my friends are down to party…
No. Congratulations. He’s a lucky guy. Have a great life.
She messages me back, but I pocket my phone and get on the bus, not bothering to look at it. My mood going to shit really fast.
Chapter
Seven
Callie
* * *
“In and out,” I repeat to myself over and over again as I hurry up to The Dugout.
Thankfully, after Hayes moved in with Leighton, Foster took over his place, and if all goes well, he hasn’t changed the security code to the condo.
Is my way of telling him the coward’s way out? Maybe. Okay, it is, but I mean, Foster Davis isn’t going to want this baby, and since I have no idea if or when I’ll be pregnant again, I really do want the we’re having a baby announcement I’ve always thought was cool.
The guys aren’t due back for at least an hour since they’re returning from Philly.
I punch in the security code, jog up to my floor with my backpack, and enter the code on Hayes’s old apartment door.
Dumbass, he never changed the code. Probably hoping some girl Hayes had been with would surprise him by waking him up with a blow job.
You’re the one who slept with him the devil on my shoulder says.
I walk into the condo, slip off my shoes at the door, and tiptoe into the primary bedroom. I’m shocked to find his bed neatly made and a few extra throw pillows there.
Obviously, a housekeeper must have been here. A man like Foster cannot make his bed every day.
I open my bag and pull out the onesie before laying it flat on the bottom half of the bed. I run my hand over it to make sure there are no wrinkles and I can clearly read what it says. Then I place a set of little booties with it just to make sure he gets the point. Although he’d be an idiot not to.
The pregnancy tests are next. Yep, not just one but all six of them in case he asks if I’m sure, which I would bet good money he will. Even I questioned the accuracy of one. There’s one with two pink lines, another one with a plus symbol, and as if that’s not enough, one that spells out the word pregnant.
Then I scatter little pink and blue sperm confetti all around the items.
I pull my phone out and hold it up above, snapping a picture. Then I head out into the main living area and send it to Leighton, teasing that she’ll know soon enough who the father is. The picture is close up enough that she’d have to recognize the comforter to know whose bedroom this is.
That’s how you’re telling him? Are you waiting for him to come home?
No. I’m leaving it here for him to find.
You’re playing games. Why?
I don’t really have an answer, other than I’m curious if he can figure out who left it here—or more accurately, I’m terrified of watching his face when he finds out. Something to think about another day.
No judging.
I’m not judging, but if that’s your plan, I’d get out of there fast.
Relax. They don’t land for another hour.
