Page 12 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

He pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through his camera roll before landing on the video he wants. He passes it to me to watch and he’s right, it’s a decent amount of space with a small kitchenette, living room, a bedroom area and separate bathroom.

“It’s cute.”

I mean it too. Whoever decorated clearly has good taste. It almost looks like a little cottage with soft blues and whites and the occasional pop of yellow.

“Yeah, his wife likes to decorate.”

“Have you met them already?”

“No.”

I arch a brow. “And they’re letting you live with them?”

He stows his phone back in his pocket. “It’s pretty common for rookies to live with another player.”

“Interesting. I had no idea. Would they be cool with me living there too? I mean, only if you want me to live with you. That was presumptuous of me. I’m sure I could get an apartment nearby.”

“I don’t think they’ll mind, but I’ll be sure to talk to them.”

Before the plane finishes boarding, I text Jeffrey, our butler for lack of a better term, because assistant certainly doesn’t encompass all that man does for our family, that we’re taking off soon and everything is running on time. God knows if I texted my parents they probably wouldn’t even read it.

I called my mom five times about coming this weekend before she ever returned my call.

I don’t think they’re too thrilled about me showing up and they’re not going to be happy when I drop the baby bomb on them.

“How are you doing with all this?” I ask Luke.

“With what?” he asks.

“The baby.” I try not to smile at his adorably confused expression.

“Oh, I’m fine.”

I gape at him. “I told you not even a week ago and you’re okay? It took me weeks to get used to this.”

He shrugs. “It’s happening and I’m along for the ride.”

I don’t know whether to be irritated by his blasé attitude or just glad one of us seems to be handling this calmly.

“You’re giving me a funny look,” he says, concern darkening the blue of his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just … I don’t understand how you’re so calm about this while I was freaking out.”

His lips flatten. “I don’t think it’s fair to say I’m not freaking out—but you’re pregnant, that’s a fact. We’re going to have a baby in a handful of months—also a fact. I guess I’m just trying to take things a day at a time and not worry too much about what the future holds.”

I groan, my shoulders drooping. “That is such a guy thing to say.”

“I feel like I’m fucking this up every time I open my mouth.” He rubs his jaw. “Sorry.”

“You’re not. I’m not mad at you or anything, but it’s just annoying that my brain isn’t being casual about this at all. I’m so freaked out by pregnancy, and labor, and a newborn and all the things that come after.”

I don’t realize my hand is flailing wildly in front of me until he grabs it and settles it in his lap.

“Breathe.” Somehow, I manage to obey the command. “I think it’s normal that you’re worried about all those things.”

“But you’re not,” I counter.

He chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry, give me time and I’m sure I’ll get there.”