“Hmm?”
“I might be falling for you,” she confesses.
My heart swells in my chest, almost painfully. I know it’s probably the liquor talking, and I wait for her to take it back, but her breathing has already deepened into sleep.
CHAPTER 30
MINJI
I waketo a headache that throbs behind my eyes, the hotel ceiling blurring in and out like a bad signal. Memories flicker: Aaron’s book signing, the buzz of his fans, dinner with his agent. Tabitha kept the Bordeaux flowing, toasting my so-called ‘natural media presence.’ Aaron tried to cut me off, but I waved him away—I’d survived two hours of fan interrogation, hadn’t I earned it? Now my mouth is parched, thick with regret.
Last night returns in jagged flashes: Tabitha’s sly questions about Aaron and me, my own voice slurring something humiliating about ‘having Aaron babies’ after glass number four. God. College Minji, resurrected—the version of me I’ve tried to bury beneath years of case files and composure. The girl who melts in Aaron’s orbit.
I shift and wince; every muscle aches, especially in places I’d almost forgotten could ache. My cheeks burn as I recall Aaron’s whispers, the things he coaxed me to beg for, the way my mind blissfully emptied. I should be mortified. Instead, I’m already plotting how to make it happen again before checkout.
My phone buzzes. I reach over carefully, lifting Aaron’s heavy arm from my waist without waking him.
Demi
Clearly, you’re having the time of your life because one, you haven’t texted me since you’ve landed. And two, I see on Aaron’s IG you’re taking pics with his readers. Who are you, and what happened to my best friend?
Demi
And that smile on your face is giving you are getting dicked down. Please remember to wrap it up! I’m not ready to be an auntie, but then again, I am because I’m not the one pushing out them coochie pirates.
I bolt upright, clutching my phone as my hand trembles. The room tilts, and memories crash over me. Did we use condoms? Not last night. Not the night before. Not once since I landed in San Fran.
“Shit.” I steal a look at Aaron’s sleeping face, serene in the golden morning light, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. My world is unraveling. Divorce attorneys aren’t supposed to make these mistakes; we’re the ones who sweep up the mess.
My period tracker app glows accusingly: a red circle marking peak fertility. Of course. The universe wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve always been the responsible one—the woman with emergency contraception in her cabinet, condoms in her nightstand, a career built on untangling other people’s romantic disasters. Yet here I am, blindsided by a man who believes in forever, when I should know better. I slip from the bed and lock myself in the bathroom. Gripping the counter, I stare at my wild hair, swollen lips, and the mark blooming on my collarbone. The woman in the mirror looks terrified and unmistakably happy.
“Get it together. This is fixable.”
I need to fix this, fast. I’ll hit the pharmacy for emergency contraception, handle it like I always do. I’ll talk to Aaron about protection—if we keep seeing each other. But as cold water shocks my face, a bigger truth surfaces: I want more with him. The thought of a real relationship terrifies me more than the idea of being pregnant.
I hear him stirring in the other room, the soft rustle of sheets as he reaches for where I should be. My time for private panic is running out.
“Everything okay in there?” His voice is still rough with sleep.
No, everything is not okay. I could possibly be pregnant by the time this trip is over. I’m losing control of everything I’ve worked so hard to maintain.
“Everything’s fine. Be right out.”
I steal one last look at myself, draw a shaky breath, and step out. Aaron is propped up in bed, sheets tangled at his waist, his eyes gentle with concern. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, reaching out.
I find myself drifting toward the bed, my body ignoring every warning in my head. The mattress dips as I sit, leaving just enough distance so I don’t tumble straight back into his arms.
“Aaron,” I begin, my throat tight, “we’ve been careless. We haven’t been using protection, and I don’t believe in the pullout and pray method.”
His eyes widen, then narrow with understanding as he scratches the back of his neck. “And I haven’t been pulling out. Fuck. I completely—that was irresponsible of me. Of us.”
Relief washes over me when he says ‘us.’ It’s nothing like William, who always pointed the finger at me. My first pregnancy scare, he blamed me for the broken condom and nearly broke up with me over it. I should have left him long before that. No, no need to cry over spilled milk. What happened in the past stays in the past.
“I’ve never been this careless.”
“Me either.” His hand finds mine, thumb tracing circles on my palm. “I’m clean, if that helps. Regular testing is part of my routine. That didn’t come out right. I just want you to know I’m clean and I don’t sleep around. Since we started sleeping together, it’s only been you.”
