When he’s done, I grab the T-shirt that I use specifically for this and plop my hair. I stand back straight, glancing around at the absolute mess we made. The countertops are covered in water, and there’s even some on the floor. I have a feeling most of it was my fault when I was doing it on my own, but still.
“Oops.” I grimace, glancing down at myself. I’m still only wearing a bralette and my high-waisted sleep shorts. “Oh god.” I cross my arms over my chest, wincing at the pain from the pressure on my breasts.
My tits better not hurt like this the whole pregnancy.
Fletcher clears his throat and smiles at me with so much endearment, I want to cry. There’s a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. It’s so sweet.He’sso sweet. He didn’t have to take time out of his day to help me wash my hair, but he did.
Whoever he ends up with will be so lucky to have him. He would be such a great partner. So willing to jump in and help, no matter what.
But why does the thought of him with someone else sting? I shake it off. Why am I thinking about Fletcher like that? Why am I reacting to him like this?
“I’m going to finish this—” I gesture dramatically to my head. “I’ll be back.”
I rush down the hall to my bathroom, starting up my blow dryer to diffuse my hair. When it’s done and actually looks fairly good, I cross over to my room to put on a dry bra and shirt.
I head back into the living room, finding Fletchersitting on the couch. He looks up at me when I enter, and a giddy smile crosses his face.
“I did pretty good,” he says.
“You really did.” I fluff my hair with my hand as I flop down onto the couch. “What are you up to the rest of the day?”
“Nothing.” He pulls my feet into his lap and rubs them.
“That feels amazing,” I moan, my head dropping to the couch cushion.
Fletcher adjusts in his seat, digging his thumb into the arch of my foot. “Can I help you with anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“With the pregnancy. I mean, I hate that I couldn’t be there to support you when you told Jude, but I want to be here for you, every step of the way. I’m here for you.”
I can hear just how much he means it in every word he says.
“Oh,” I whisper, my heart pounding. “I don’t know. I mean, I should get used to doing this on my own. Right?” I chuckle awkwardly.
“You’re not alone, though.”
“I know. But I am, I mean, I’m going to be a single mom.”
His brows knit together, and he slowly nods. “I guess.”
“I won’t say no to your help.” I rest my palm on his forearm, and when my hand connects with his skin, that sensation I had earlier rushes back to life, and it throws me off. I pull my hand away. “But I’m okay. Really.”
Fletcher nods, the conversation dies, and I can’t help but feel some sort of tension in the air.
I don’t know what these feelings are, but I’m not sure I can brush them off as pregnancy hormones.
14
LONG STORY SHORT
FLETCHER
We play in Boston tonight, Seattle on Thursday, then fly home Friday for our home game on Saturday. It’s going to be rough not seeing Lydia until then. I miss her already. I miss her easy laugh and our chats about her current fixation project on my nights off. I haven’t even been gone a day, and she’s all I can think about, this need for more with her. I won’t even get to hang out with her before the game on Saturday since we have a press event at the Mall of America.
I haven’t told anyone Lydia is pregnant—well, outside of having a conversation with my mom—and I’m practically bursting at the seams. I have to get my thoughts out. Right now, there’s a lot going on in my head, which is not ideal before a game.
“What’s the deal, Fletchy baby?” Calvin drops onto the bench next to me.
