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A prickle crawls across the back of my neck.

I know that expression. It’s the one Grant gets when he’s putting pieces together and thinks he’s found something he can use to get what he wants.

My fingers tighten around my cup.

“How far along are you?”

I frown. “Why?”

Instead of answering, his eyes narrow slightly on my stomach. “C’mon, Goldie. When are you due?”

Every muscle across my shoulders tightens. “Why do you care?”

Grant’s eyes lift to mine. For a second, he just looks at me, and then I see something click into place behind his expression.

“What about that condom?”

My fingers go still around my cup.

Oh, fuck.

Ellie turns her head toward me. “What condom?”

Grant’s mouth tips up slightly, like he’s pleased he finally managed to get a reaction out of me. “That time we fucked a few days before we broke up.”

My stomach drops.

I know exactly what he means.

Four nights before everything went to shit, Grant and I had sex. We were still using condoms because we’d agreed to start trying that weekend, around the day my fertility app said I should ovulate.

He finished, and when he pulled out, we realized the condom had torn.

I remember staring at it for a second before we both started laughing because, at the time, it didn’t seem like the end of the world. We were planning to start trying for a baby in a few days anyway. If anything, we joked that maybe we’d accidentally gotten a head start.

Then Saturday happened.

I caught him with someone else, went to Bottom’s Up, met Sumner, and according to my app, I was ovulating.

After that, I totally forgot about that night. When the pregnancy test turned positive, I didn’t question it.

It could only be Sumner.

Except Grant finished inside me too.

Four days earlier.

And as I stand here now, with him looking at my stomach like he’s already done the same fucking math, that suddenly feels a whole lot less irrelevant than it did five minutes ago.

The cup creaks under my grip before I force my fingers to loosen.

Fuck.

Grant watches my face, and I fucking hate that he can probably see the exact second this stops being ridiculous to me. I just hope he can’t see the way my eyes are starting to sting.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That condom.”

The smell of fried food drifts over from the trucks behind him, and my stomach rolls so hard I almost gag. A couple of minutes ago, I was starving. Now the thought of putting anything in my mouth makes me want to puke.