Shock passed over his face a second before he choked on a laugh. “Sweet Clover, did you just call me ‘buddy’?”
“Maybe,” I said with a giggle. “Just trying to talk you up.”
“I don’t need a wingman,” he said quietly. “I just need a friend like you.”
“You have me.” As a friend, and nothing more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clover
* * *
Poppy stepped inside my house. “Wow, it’s small.”
I shot her a scowl. “You say that every time.”
“I’ve only been here once.”
She’d stopped by another time to give me some presents to hide from her family. According to her, Jensen had accidentally found her stash twice. “I know it’s small, but it’s all I need.”
She didn’t follow up on her dubious look and held up a paper bag that smelled delicious. The Rattler’s logo—a rattlesnake around a beer mug—was on the outside. “Girls’ night.”
Grinning, I led her to the kitchen. “Girls’ night is going to end much earlier than it used to.”
“Us soon-to-be mamas gotta get our beauty sleep.”
My gasp rattled the walls. “Is that your way of telling me you’re pregnant?”
She nodded furiously. “Yes!”
I clutched her arms and we jumped around, screeching and cheering. This was how it was supposed to be. Good news. Joy. Celebrating. I didn’t get this reveal, but I’d give it to her.
“I’m so happy for you,” I cried. “I have so many questions, but let’s eat first.”
When we were seated at the table, and I had a container with steak bites and mashed potatoes opened in front of me, I inhaled a contented breath. “Smells delicious.”
“Haven’t you been eating well?” She dropped her gaze to my belly like it was going to shrink right in front of her as a testament to how much I didn’t cook for myself.
“Yes. Not quite like when I was living with Van, but I cook.” I stuck a fork into a steak bite. “If Van hadn’t come over the other night, I would be so sick of spaghetti leftovers. I miss going out once in a while. I should see if he’s free one night. Maybe New Year’s Eve.” I stuffed the food into my mouth and groaned over the flavor.
Poppy stared at me.
“What?” I asked around my savory mouthful.
“That’s a lot of Van you’re talking about.”
“He’s a friend.”
A brown brow ticked up. “He’s your ex-husband.”
Don’t remind me. “You know what that was about.”
She took a bite of her mashed potatoes, but her gaze didn’t stray from me.
I didn’t know what to say without inciting more questions about him. If I talked too much, Poppy would keep digging until she found the rare gem that was how I felt about him and had kept buried nice and deep.
I continued to gobble my dinner. “How are you feeling?” I asked around a bite.
