This I Promise (Between the Sheets #6)

1. Abby

1

ABBY

“ S hit, shit, shit.” I mumble a string of expletives under my breath as I rush around the bedroom, searching for my missing shoe. I have to stop kicking them off so carelessly when I get home from work—this isn’t the first morning I’ve run late because I was searching for a wayward high heel. I get on my knees, peek under the bed, and finally spot it. Quickly snagging the shoe as I hop on one foot to slip it on and head for the door.

I dash down the short breezeway and out into the dewy air, but come to a dead stop as soon as I reach my car.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Closing my eyes, I curse the sky before rummaging through my purse to find my phone. I hate bothering him, but I know without a doubt he’ll drop everything and come to my rescue.

“Hey, Sunshine.” My best friend answers on the first ring, and my shoulders slump on a relieved sigh.

“Hey, Scraggle. I need a favor.” I don’t know why I’m nervous when I already know he’s going to say yes .

“Abigail Marie Brewer. We’re twenty-five years old. You can stop calling me that now.”

“Never. You’ll always be Scraggle to me.” I laugh and instantly feel better. No matter what’s going on in my life, Evan has a way of putting me at ease.

“So, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be on your way to work by now?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I have a flat tire, and I need a ride. Can you pick me up?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth.

“You should’ve let me change your tires last weekend like I wanted to,” he huffs, but I already hear the jangling of his keys in the background.

“I know. I know. But they’re expensive. I couldn’t let you do that.” Which is exactly why I haven’t bought new ones since I got my car, even though the wires were starting to show.

“We’ve been friends since middle school, Abby. We’re supposed to help each other.”

“Yeah, like with an occasional ride. Not with a new set of tires,” I counter while also knowing he won’t let this go. Evan’s looked out for me since day one, and I’m grateful because God knows I need it, but he shouldn’t have to spend his money on me. He’s done too much for me already over the past twenty years.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. I was heading out to grab breakfast anyway.”

I decide to walk back inside my apartment to wait for him. “Ooh, going to see that pretty redhead at the diner?”

He chuckles. “What can I say? She’s just my type.”

Who isn’t?

The fact is, Evan Roberts is gorgeous. He’s tall with chocolate-brown hair and hazel eyes, long lashes that every girl is jealous of, and a spectacular physique that appears as though it’s sculpted out of marble. Girls used to pretend to be my friend just to get close to him, and everywhere we go, heads turn in his direction.

So saying he’s dated his fair share of women is an understatement, because this man doesn’t discriminate. Every body type, skin tone, hair color… it doesn’t matter to him. Yet he’s never been serious about any of them and doesn’t keep them around for longer than a few months.

I thought maybe it was because of me—and I still think that—but he swears that’s not the case. And he assures me that if any girl had a problem with our friendship, then she’s not the girl for him. I can’t lie and say that’s not nice to hear. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad…

At least he dates, though. Ever since high school, guys seem to be afraid of me and most make sure to steer clear. I don’t know what it is about me that seems to repel the opposite sex, but finding a guy who makes it past a third or fourth date with me is a rarity. That’s about the time when I introduce them to Evan. They always seem to disappear after that. I’ve asked my best friend for his perspective, and he says he doesn’t get it either.

I guess it’s a good thing I met Davis then. We’ve been seeing each other for almost three months now, and our relationship seems promising. He’s fifteen years older than I am, but I’ve never cared about age and it doesn’t seem to bother him either. Evan is a different story, though, and I can’t seem to figure out why.

Thoughts of my boyfriend are lingering in my mind when I receive a text.

Scraggle

Your chauffeur is here.

I head back outside where Evan’s waiting for me at the passenger door of his truck. He helps me climb in before buckling my seat belt. No matter how many times I tell him I can do it myself, he always insists so I don’t bother arguing anymore.

“Thanks for putting off breakfast long enough to give me a ride,” I say as I settle into my seat and angle myself toward him.

He’s dressed in a dark-gray hoodie and well-worn jeans, instead of the slacks and button-down dress shirt he usually wears to the office. Evan glances at me, and my gaze sweeps over his body.

“I’m working from home today.” He shrugs. “My boss is letting us try a hybrid schedule where we only have to go in twice a week. I’m an architectural engineer. I can do my job from anywhere,” he states, as if I don’t already know what he does for a living.

“You’re lucky. I wish I could work from home.”

Evan laughs at my exaggerated pout while driving me to the jewelry store downtown. “Yeah, right. You’d go stir crazy if you were home all the time. You like interacting with people too much for that.”

That’s true, but helping customers pick out expensive baubles wasn’t the career path I had in mind for myself. The pay, however, is good and I enjoy what I do, so I guess I can’t complain.

“You’re right. Besides, I never would’ve met Davis if I worked from home.”

At the mention of my boyfriend’s name, Evan’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. I can’t figure out why my two favorite men don’t seem to like each other, but neither one has put me in the middle of it. At least not yet. That’d be an impossible decision, one I don’t think I could make.

I met Davis a little over two months ago when he came in to buy a necklace for his sister. I’ve never dated a customer before, and I hesitated when he asked me out. But we hit it off right away and he’s been sweeping me off my feet ever since.

“You know, we haven’t been to a game in a while.” Evan changes the subject, something he does often whenever I talk about Davis.

“Maybe we can get tickets to the next home game. I’ll wear my lucky scarf.”

“I can’t believe you still have that. I gave it to you in the seventh grade.” He shakes his head.

“You bought it for me when you and your parents took me to my first Bengals game. They won that day and every time I’ve worn it since. It’s a good luck charm, and the team would suffer if I didn’t wear it.”

The sound of Evan’s hearty laugh fills the cabin of the truck, and I find myself laughing too. This is how it always is with us and why we’ve been friends for so long.

“Fine, wear that old thing. You’ll be the only one with a scarf in late September.” He pulls to a stop at the curb in front of the store. “By the way, Mom wants you to come over for a family dinner soon. She promised to make your favorite.”

Heather is an excellent cook, and my mouth waters at the thought of her fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I’ve spent many evenings at their house over the years, and they never fail to save me a seat at the table.

“We’ll do dinner soon,” I say to Evan as Cici waves at me through the large display window. We were supposed to open the store together this morning, so she’s been on her own for the first forty-five minutes. Knowing her, though, she has our daily checklist nearly complete by now.

I’ll get her one of those fancy pastries she likes at lunch. Maybe that’ll make it up to her.

“I’ll pick you up at the end of your shift. Gimme your keys and I’ll change your tire before you get off,” Evan says.

I side-eye him, but fish the keys out of my purse. “There’s a spare in the trunk. I’ll replace it tomorrow after work. So there better be four old-as-shit tires on my car when I get home, Evan Michael Roberts.” I give his muscular bicep a teasing pinch.

He hops out, then pockets my keys. “Whatever you say, Abby.” He winks at me before walking around to my side and helping me out of the truck. “Have a good day at work. I’ll be back at five thirty.”

I pop onto the tips of my toes and give him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best, Scraggle.”

I scurry into work when I hear him shout after me, “Stop calling me that!”

I laugh as I ignore him.

“Was that Evan?” Cici asks as I join her behind the glass display case.

“Yeah, my tire was flat this morning, so he came and got me.” I stow away my belongings beneath the counter, but when I stand up, I find her staring at me with an odd expression on her face. “What?”

“Nothing, really. It’s none of my business.” Cici pretends to examine her nails while I wait for her to tell me what’s on her mind. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s never been one to keep her thoughts to herself. After a pregnant pause, she throws her hands in the air and rolls her brown eyes. “You are so clueless, girl.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Where’s Mister Wonderful? Why’d you call Evan instead of your dreamy older man?”

I prop my hip against the edge of the case. “Oh, well, Davis goes into the office so early, and he doesn’t take calls during business hours. He likes to remain focused on his job.”

“I see.” Cici frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

“He’s a lawyer, and he’s always in court or in meetings. He’s just dedicated to his clients. He comes over to my apartment most evenings after work,” I explain. “In fact, I’ll see him tonight for dinner at my place.” A wistful smile stretches across my face at the thought of spending the evening wrapped up in my boyfriend’s strong arms.

“You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”

I let out a wistful sigh. “Yeah, I love him.”

“And what does Evan think of that?”

I set down the diamond and white gold bracelet I’ve been cleaning to consider the question. “Why do you ask?”

Cici grins like the Cheshire cat. “Evan doesn’t like him, does he?”

I can’t figure out why she finds this so amusing, as if she’s watching a reality TV show in real time. “He doesn’t… not like him.” I shrug. “They just need to get to know each other better. That’s all.”

“And if they don’t?”

That thought never occurred to me, and it makes my stomach churn. I don’t respond and we both get back to work.

As the day goes on, my thoughts of Evan and Davis make me a worried mess. So much so that I don’t eat much of my lunch because of the nausea—something that’s been happening quite a bit lately. I hope I’m not getting sick.

I’m walking out of the breakroom and stop to check the latest scheduling calendar. That’s when realization crashes over me like a five-gallon bucket of ice water.

My period is three weeks late.