Page 27

"Nope. She lied to me about wanting kids. Said she hadn’t wanted them from day one.”

“Holy shit. That’s fucked up.”

I run a hand down my face, suddenly feeling about a thousand years old. Fuck, I don’t know if I’ve ever been this exhausted. And it’s not just from lack of sleep. This is the kind of tired that weighs your bones down.

“Yeah, it is. So, I left. Told her she could keep the house, packed a bag, and here I am."

"Fuck." Colston leans forward and sets his beer on the coffee table, his jaw tight. "That’s psychotic. I always knew she was cold, but I didn't think she was actually evil." He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little shell-shocked.

“Well, turns out we were both wrong about her, I guess.”

He picks up his drink and drains it, then gets up and heads toward the kitchen. “When did you find out? This morning?”

“Yesterday, when I told her about that specialist appointment I got us. She freaked and admitted everything.”

He whistles, comes back with two new beers, and sits down, sliding one across the table toward me. "But you waited until today to leave? You should’ve called me. We could’ve gotten drunk and Saran-wrapped her car or something." He lights up. “Or gone out for seafood and stuffed the curtain rods with shrimp tails.”

The barest hint of a smile twitches at the corner of my mouth, and this right here is why he’s one of my favorite people. I shiver at how disgusting that smell would be, but I don’t hate the idea. With a few more beers in me, it might start sounding smart.

I set my beer down and push it away. Colston’s ideas are almost never good, and clouding my judgment right now isn’t a great idea. Not again.

He eyes me. “So you didn’t leave last night. How’d you get through without shaving her head or something? Was she working?”

I shake my head, swallowing hard. "I went to a dive bar in St. Pete, drank a fuck ton of tequila, and met someone.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Well, well, well. I figured a decrepit guy like you lost the ability to pick up years ago.”

I shove him, and he laughs his ass off as he topples over onto the rock he calls a sofa.

“And when was the last time you hooked up with anyone?” I look around his apartment in an obnoxious way, craning my neck from side to side. “Where’s your girlfriend? Oh, that’s right. You don’t have one.”

He’s still laughing as he sits up, tipping his head back and clutching at his heart. “Cold, bro. You know I’m in a dry spell. You don’t need to call me out.”

Now it’s my turn to give him a skeptical look. Colston Jennings is like sunshine in human form. Women flock to him, but he’s picky. If he’s in a dry spell, it’s by choice, and I’m not about to feel bad for him.

“Ugh, can we get back to talking about you? Who is she? What happened?” He grabs a throw pillow and plops it in his lap, leaning closer. His eyes are focused and fully present in a way that means I’m not getting out of this. “I’m gonna need the whole story. Start at the beginning.”

So I do. I tell him about everything Delia did, about my plan to get shitfaced and pass out on the beach, and about meeting Goldie. I tell him about our night at the bar, and then our night at the hotel, glossing over the details of that particular part of the night.

But I do tell him about the baby thing. Because it still doesn’t feel real and I think I need to say it aloud to process everything that happened last night.

Holy fuck, I can’t believe I did that. And I might have a baby on the way.

When I’m finished, Colston blinks a few times, absorbing the clusterfuck that is the last thirty-six hours of my life. For the first time since I've known him, he doesn't have a single thing to say.

"You’re fucking with me right now, right?" Colston finally manages, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh.

"I wish I was."

He tilts his head, squinting his eyes at me before he flips me off. "First of all, you never invite me to the fun shit, so fuck you for that. And second, this is real? You’re not fucking with me right now?”

I hold up my hands. “Not fucking with you.”

He falls back against the cushions and blows out a breath. “So you might’ve knocked up some chick you don’t know.” His gaze goes far off, and I can see the gears in his head turning. He might look like a brainless pretty boy, but deep down he’s smart as hell.

I leave him to it, focusing on the sports channel he’s got muted on the TV.

But then he shoots upright again. “When will you find out?”