Page 50 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

The contact lands like a spark.

Ethan doesn’t touch people casually.

Every contact from him has meant something.

A glass of water placed beside me without a word.

A hand over mine at dinner when I didn’t realize I was shaking.

Every time he noticed something I hoped no one would.

And now this.

His hand around my wrist like the truth has weight and he intends to measure it.

Too familiar.

Too close.

My pulse jumps harder under his thumb.

He feels it.

And suddenly this isn’t about a vitamin anymore.

This is about everything I've been hiding.

Not just the pregnancy. The fear that someone might see the whole picture. See how close I came to losing control.

How badly I want this and how terrified I am of what comes next.

The air leaves me in a quiet rush.

His thumb presses against the inside of my wrist. Right over my pulse. Counting. Feeling. Confirming.

Heat crawls up my neck. The fear of exposure coils low in my stomach.

I hate this feeling. Hate how quickly he cuts through the systems I've built. Hate how easily he reads things I don't want seen.

He doesn't step back. Doesn't loosen his grip.

“You’ve been sick in the mornings,” he says. Not a question. A fact. Something he's been carrying around, turning over, waiting to confirm.

His eyes hold mine. Steady. Sharp. Searching.

He studies my face like he's waiting for the last piece to click into place.

I feel it happen. That moment when logic outruns denial. Recognition sliding into certainty.

He already knows. There's no hiding left.

Of all of them, he's the worst one to figure it out first.

Andrew would react.

Liam would joke.

But Ethan—Ethan would understand.