And dropping groceries at Harper’s place counts as plans, right?
Certainly, having beers on my couch and playing Expedition 33 counts too.
Either way, he just says he’ll catch me next time as I finish up my miles on the bike and hit the showers.
Harper’s car isn’t at her kitchen, so I send a delivery—no doorbell ditch this time—to her house then park on the street and watch until she brings it inside.
I don’t know if soup and fresh bread and a bunch of bland food is exciting, but I figure it should be easy on her stomach.
In that time, Shannon’s messaged me a half-dozen times.
Asking if we’re meeting up.
Telling me she’s decided to go out with her friends instead.
Saying she’ll text me in a few days.
Not exactly white picket fences and happily-ever-afters and…
Babies.
No.
I have that with another woman.
“Stop,” I mutter, shoving a hand through my hair and forcing myself to drive back to my place, feeling like shit the entire way. Because I know I’m being an asshole to Shannon too.
I need to end things with her.
But I’m not going to do it right before her birthday, especially after I all but cajoled her into a celebration with the Grizzlies family.
She wanted a fuck fest and to keep it casual.
I was the one who convinced her to spend it with the guys and their women, thinking if I focused on her, I would forget about?—
Harper.
Who’s pregnant.
Who needs the money from the contract.
Who I can’t cancel on either.
Meanwhile the thought of a fuck fest with anyone except for her makes me sick.
And none of this shit even matters.
Because Harper is the one thing I can never allow myself to have.
Thirteen
Harper
I try to hide my yawn but apparently don’t do a very good job.
“You can go, honey,” Faye says. “We’ve got this.”
This being a fundraiser for the shelter that Bri and Luna work at.
