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"Spin for me," Ellie demands. She’s leaning against the bar, her hair pulled into a sleek, slicked-back braid that makes her cheekbones look sharp as hell.

I spin in a slow circle. I threw on a tight, sheer black mesh dress over a neon pink string bikini. My thick thighs are out, my ass looks amazing, and I’m fully prepared to make Sumner lose his mind tonight. Eight weeks in and I'm still waiting on my bump to show up—right now it just looks like my usual belly—but I swear my boobs have doubled in size. They’re massive, sore, and this bikini top is doing miraculous things to keep them looking perky-ish.

"Flawless," Ellie declares, tapping her nails against her plastic cup. "Hurricane Daddy’s going to pop wood the second he walks onto this roof."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Are we really sticking with Hurricane Daddy? It’s cringe and such a mouthful."

“I bet he is.” Ellie smirks. “Lucky bitch.”

"Just make sure you put that wood to good use," Tatum adds, popping the top off the cocktail shaker. "If he's really the Hurricane Daddy, he better know how to leave you shaking and wet enough to need sandbags."

I groan, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the bar. "First, ew. Sandbags? But the man knows how to use what he’s got, which is exactly why we have rules now. Co-parents only."

"Which is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and don’t even act like you weren’t the one who made that dumbass rule," Ellie says, pausing mid-swipe of her lip gloss to point the wand at me. "We’ve seen how he looks at you. The man is obsessed. He spent his entire day last week putting together that giant storage cabinet for the studio so you wouldn't have to deal with it, and he detailed your SUV just because he noticed it had sand in it. Plus all the flowers and food he brings you all the time. Be real. Why are you really holding out?"

"Do you think I want to?" I shoot back, lifting my head. "I want to drag him into a dark corner and let him do the dirtiest things imaginable to me. I want to leave teeth marks on his skin and ride his face until we both pass out. It’s seriously painful to be in the same room and not touch him."

Tatum pauses, the cocktail shaker resting on the bar. "Again. What's the problem?"

“The problem”—I point to my stomach—“is that he put his baby in here.” I drop my voice even though it's just us. "If we cross that line and things go to shit, I'm stuck co-parenting with an ex I have to see for the next eighteen years. One I might have to watch be with someone else. I can't handle that."

Ellie sighs, and her eyes soften. "Babe, you're the strongest person I know. You walked in on Grant banging someone else in your bed and barely flinched. You tossed his cheating ass to the curb and didn't shed a single tear over it."

"Grant isn't Sumner," I admit, my throat tightening as I finally say my truth out loud. "With Grant... the betrayal stung, but in hindsight? He was never right for me. It was easier than I thought to walk away." I look down at my hands. "But Sumner? Sumner embraces my chaos. Encourages it, even. With Grant, I constantly felt like I had to apologize for being too loud. He always took these passive-aggressive digs at my weight, rolled his eyes at my clothes, and acted like my business was embarrassing.

"Sumner likes those things about me. Even if I’m in sweats and haven’t showered, he looks at me like I’m a five-course meal and he hasn’t eaten in a week. He wants me exactly as I am without asking me to shrink down to fit into his life. If I let Sumner all the way in—if I let myself get used to feeling free and appreciated—and then he leaves me? That wouldn't just hurt or piss me off. It would break me."

Tatum leans across the bar, her blue eyes fierce. "He's not going to leave, G. Look at everything he's doing to prove it to you. You know your worth. Stop punishing him for what the other assholes did or you might miss out on something really great."

“Soulmate shit,” Ellie says, nodding.

From the far end of the bar, Andie raises her beer bottle in agreement. She swapped her garage coveralls for a black leather mini skirt and combat boots, and her ice-blue eyes roll at me over the glass. "What they said. Stop overthinking it."

Scout pops her head up from where she's plugging in the neon sign a few feet away. "Yeah! Let the man blow your goddamn back out!"

Ellie cackles while the other girls cheer, and Andie tips her beer bottle in a mock salute.

I drop my face into my hands, laughing despite myself. "You guys have literally no idea how hard it is to tell him no," I mutter into my palms.

Before they can interrogate me for details, the Bluetooth speaker skips to the next track. The opening beat of Chappell Roan's "HOT TO GO!" blasts across the roof. Scout immediately jumps up and starts doing the cheerleading dance. Ellie joins in, spelling out the letters with her arms while singing at the top of her lungs.

I lean against the bar, letting their voices wash over me. I zone out, watching Tatum work while my brain spins their advice around in circles. It sounds so simple when they say it, but dropping a decade of defense mechanisms isn't exactly easy.

Tatum pours a pale green margarita for Ellie. Then she grabs a second cup with a Tajín rim, fills it with muddled jalapeño and fresh watermelon juice, and tops it off with ginger beer. She slides the mocktail across the bar toward me, her silver septum ring catching the string lights overhead as she smirks. "Drink up, mama."

I take a sip, letting out a soft hum of approval at the spicy kick of the jalapeño. This whole virgin cocktail thing isn’t bad.

Before I can jump into the song with Scout and Ellie, a loud clank comes from the brick stairwell housing. Since the warehouse freight elevator gets locked down after business hours, the internal stairs are the only way up to the roof.

I grip the plastic cup in my hand so hard it crinkles. I have to brace myself every time I see him now. My brain is desperately clinging to the "just friends" boundary I set, but my body is ready to smack that bitch down. I want him so bad it hurts.

I swallow hard just as the heavy metal door gets pulled open, and Sumner steps out, followed by Colston and a guy that somehow makes both of them look small.

I barely register the other two guys because my tunnel vision locks straight onto Sumner, and I drink him in like I just spent the last month in the desert without water. He’s wearing a short-sleeve button-down hanging open over a tight white ribbed tank top, jeans and crisp white sneakers.

They’re fitted just right in a way that shows off his tan and his muscles, and fuck my life.

The second he steps onto the roof, his eyes find me like he’s got a sixth sense for knowing where I am at all times. He ignores the rest of the party. As he walks toward me, his dark gaze drops from my face, follows the flowers and leaves down my arm, then drags over the sheer black mesh of my dress and the neon pink bikini underneath. His attention catches on the ink along my ribs before moving lower, then burns a path right back up to my eyes.