Chapter 8
Eight
Leo
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Luna demands.
I blink, stop poking at my plate of uneaten pasta and glance across the table to Luna. “What’s that?”
“Your girlfriend,” she says, her eyes narrowing slightly. “She couldn’t make it tonight?”
The truth is I didn’t even ask Shannon if she wanted to come.
This is not her speed, not our speed together.
And she’s not my damned girlfriend.
But we’re fucking exclusively, catching an occasional meal together (usually followed by fucking), and she mentioned her birthday, so now I’m throwing her a dinner party.
So, I mean…it’s girlfriend-esque, so I get that the guys—and girls—think that.
It’s just…not that.
“Shannon is busy.”
Luna’s eyes hold mine, and it’s as though she’s able to pluck those thoughts from my mind.
Or maybe I’m just imagining her disappointment.
“Faye,” she says, turning away from me in a clear dismissal, “do you remember if Harper said she was coming tonight?”
I go stiff, pulse suddenly speeding through my veins.
Fuck, I forgot the women hang out.
Forgot they have Girls’ Nights and Book Clubs and sit and drink and cackle and probably do shit like share their deepest, darkest secrets…like the fact that I slept with one of them, was an asshole, and now got one of their own pregnant.
I flick my gaze around the table, trying to gauge the guys.
Do they look ready to commit murder—e.g. do they know what I did?
Not really.
They’re just eating their food and shooting the shit.
Same as the girls are now that I’ve answered Luna’s sharp question.
“Are we ever going to read one of your books for Book Club?” Bri asks Faye as she butters a piece of crusty sourdough bread.
Faye’s cheeks go bright red. “Um, yeah, that’s a no.”
“Why not?” Kailey asks.
“Yeah, Red,” Gray murmurs, slinging his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close so he could press a kiss to her temple. “Why not?”
She shakes her head violently. “My books exist in their own world, one that doesn’t overlap with my real life.”
“Why?” Bri deadpans. “Because you write about titties?”
The girls all freeze.
Then start cackling.
Mostly because the word titties has Smitty demanding to know precisely what they’re talking about and when they don’t dish, just continue laughing and sharing knowing looks, he starts pouting.
Kailey snuggles close to his side, murmurs something in his ear that has him grinning.
“For the record, I’m not done pouting,” he tells the girls. “But I’m letting it go for now.”
“Big of you,” Sawyer says dryly.
“It is.” Smitty’s eyes narrow. “Isn’t it, Ricky?”
Christ, that fucking nickname.
I fork up a bite of pasta, ignore him.
Thankfully, he allows himself to be ignored.
Probably because Sawyer says, “Did you know it would take a wombat four to six days to digest the meal we’re eating?”
Smitty pushes his still-full plate away. “You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense as to why you’re scared of them. They’re fucking adorable.”
“They have claws”—he makes a rawr motion with his hands—“and beady little eyes”—he shudders—“those are reason enough. What about you? Do I need to bring up the fact that you’re allergic to commitment?”
“Do I need to bring up cube-shaped poop again?” Sawyer threatens.
Smitty shudders.
“How about we eat instead of discussing titties and poop and a fear of commitment?” Kailey suggests.
“Tell me why you’re so smart, little bird,” Smitty says, jumping on the distraction. “Because I definitely need some dessert after this.”
Sawyer opens his mouth, but I tune him out as Luna leans close to Faye, her voice dropping in a way that has me listening closely. “Do you really think that Harper is going to be okay at her appointment by herself?”
My heart sinks.
Is she—?
But before I can ask…or even consider what exactly I’m suddenly desperate to ask Luna keeps talking, her words so quiet I have to strain to hear. “I know she said she’s fine and Dr. Harlow is amazing, but deciding to keep the baby is huge—”
My breath hisses out of me, the relief pouring through me so intense I can barely think, let alone listen.
By the time I tune back in, it’s to hear Kailey say, “We have to respect her wishes.”
“Yes,” Faye agrees, her gaze flicking to mine before she leans closer to the girls and whispers, “Her appointment is at ten tomorrow. We’ll give her until noon to check in. If she doesn’t, we send reinforcements.”
Luna nods approvingly. “I like this plan.”
“Yes,” Kailey says.
They glance at Bri, who’s sitting on the other side of Aiden.
“I’m in,” she says.
“I would ask what you’re all plotting—” Smitty says.
“But we wouldn’t tell you anyway, honey,” Kailey says, neatly cutting him off. “The good thing is”—she snags the dessert menu the waiter brought by earlier—“it’s time for more food.”
Smitty scowls.
But only for a moment.
Then Luna is talking about crème br?lée and Bri is asking Faye to help her with a new recipe she wants to try out.
Sawyer is griping about his new neighbors who moved in next door—and seem determined to fight, but only in the middle of the night.
Gray is mooning over Faye as she and Bri plan.
Aiden is being his usual chill self, chiming in at all the right times of Sawyer’s story, though it’s clear that most of his focus is on Luna and her pregnant belly that seems to be growing by the second.
Fuck.
That’s going to be Harper soon enough.
Something about the reality of that hits hard and I set aside the menu.
“You good, man?” Ryan asks as I toss some cash on the table.
“Yeah, just need to hit it.”
His eyes tell me he doesn’t quite buy that, but thankfully, he doesn’t call me on my bullshit, just says a quiet goodbye and lets me slip away.
I exit the restaurant to Smitty’s booming voice and Sawyer threatening wombat talk again, but soon enough the quiet closes in, sitting heavy on my chest as I drive home, as I park and walk inside, as I collapse on the couch and turn on the TV, staring unseeing at the screen as I fight the urge to go back outside, get in my car, and drive to Harper’s place.
Demand she let me go to the appointment with her.
It’s as I’m snagging my keys to do exactly that when my phone buzzes.
Shannon: Hey, I’m free. Want me to come over?
That would be the smart move.
The safe one.
So, I start to type a reply.
Then stop.
Toss my phone aside. Chuck my keys beside it.
I turn back to the TV, flip through the channels until I find an old hockey game, and sit in the dark with it streaming as I deliberately don’t think about why I’m not inviting Shannon over for another fuck fest.
Same as I deliberately don’t think about Harper.
But that even with all that deliberateness, I still end up grabbing my phone and spending most of the night going down an internet rabbit hole, learning all I can about pregnancy.
Morning sickness.
What vitamins Harper should take.
Symptoms to watch out for.
All the things she might need (and yeah, I place an online order for all of them).
Eventually, I stumble onto a subreddit that tells me repeatedly not to panic.
Except…there seems to be a fuck-ton of things to panic about.
Including how much I want this when I’m not even sure I should be in the baby’s life.
Groaning, I toss my phone aside again, flop back on the couch, and mutter to myself, “What the fuck are you doing, Leo?”
Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer.
So, I just snag my phone again…
And go back to scrolling.