“No. Just… nausea.” I didn’t add the rest—that coffee had turned traitor, that fried food was suddenly a crime against me, that my whole body wanted one man and panicked over it at the same time.
“Any support at home?” she asked gently.
I lied. “Yes.”
But the truth was more complicated. The truth was I had to decide if Quentin Hale was just a man who kissed me good, or the man who could carry this with me. I had to decide if I wanted to hand over not just my body, not just my nights, but this child, this forever, to him. Could I trust him to be a partner? A father? Could I trust myself to let him in that far?
That was the gravity. That was the choice. This wasn’t just love and orgasms and the way his eyes found me across a crowded room. This was my life breaking open, my body about to change in ways I couldn’t take back, my heart on the line in a way that made running no longer an option.
And I’d decided. I wanted this baby. I wanted him. I wanted the family we hadn’t even dared to name yet.
Which is why seeingherat The Green Room hit me like a sucker punch.
Ms. Big Head Coleman. Pencil skirt, smirk sharp enough to cut, acting like curiosity excused her crossing lines she had no business near. Smiling like she had a stake in what was mine.
And that’s what it was now. Mine. My man. My baby’s father.
Her presence didn’t just irritate me. It threatened the very confidence I’d scraped together in that paper gown. It whispered,What if you’re wrong? What if he isn’t as free as you think he is? What if you’re about to raise this baby alone?
Uncle Leon’s palm landed on my shoulder, heavy, certain, pulling me back.
“Don’t cut nobody in my place,” he muttered, eyes still on the game.
“I’m calm,” I lied.
But inside? I was anything but calm. Inside, the decision I’dmade felt fragile as chalk dust on felt—solid until somebody blew on it.
“It’s so funny running into you here.”
That’s what my mouth said. My body said something else—fists tight on my cue case till the leather complained, breath pulled in even strips like I’d sprinted and refused to show it.
Quentin turned toward my voice. First look, surprise behind those black frames. Second, with a flicker of oh hell—not guilt, but that caught-with-his-hand-near-the-cookie-jar awareness. Like he hadn’t even done the dirt yet, but I was already staring him down. If it were anyone else, I might’ve laughed. Not tonight. Not with nausea still ghosting my ribs, not with the wordpregnantringing in my skull like church bells I couldn’t un-hear.
Nia’s smile tipped smug, like she’d been waiting for me.
My jaw clenched. My mouth, though—it curved sweet. “Well. Ms. Coleman. History, right? The Loupe… and the school lot.”
I made surelotlanded sharp. Last time we crossed paths, she’d been circling him like she was tenured in his personal space.
Quentin’s glance cut to me—gratitude and dread wrestling in his eyes. Nia brightened, all innocent.The heaux. “That’s right.”
The air inside me felt live, dangerous. “As you know by now, I’m an electrician,” I said, letting it slide silk over steel. “I notice connections. Especially the ones that don’t belong.”
Her brows lifted a hair. “We were talking work.” She tapped hissleeve again, like she wanted to prove me right. “Nothing serious.”
My pulse spiked. I looked at her hand, then the line of his shirt sleeve like I was inspecting a faulty wire. “Mmhmm.”
Quentin cleared his throat, cautious. “Rayna?—”
I cut him off, my voice sweet as honey. “This is school grounds? I must’ve missed that memo.”
Silence hit. Leon huffed a laugh that tried to be a cough and almost lost his rag. My chest burned, but I smiled.
I leaned a hip to the rail, chalked my cue slow, blue dust blooming like smoke. “Since we’re being studious—pop quiz. When a woman keeps showing up where she’s not invited, what’s the polite way to saygo home?”
Her smile faltered and thinned. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Sure you did,” I said, honey-slick, acid underneath. “But the field trip’s over, Ms. Coleman. Papers won’t grade themselves.”
