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“And you said Lucky and Ava are your best friends?”
She tensed. “Yes.”
“And Brayleigh’s father?” I asked tightly. “Is he in the picture?”
She looked down, and my anger surged forward. “Uh, Lucky is her father.”
“Lucky, as in your best friend, Lucky?”
“Yes. It was only one night. An experiment,” she explained hurriedly, and I wondered at her anxiety around this issue. My guard flew up. “It’s really not like that between us, but we got Brayleigh out of it, and I’m thankful for that.” She raised her chin defiantly.
I breathed through my misplaced anger. “He’s a good dad?”
“Yes. And a good friend. The best.” Her voice held a note of warning I’d do well to heed.
Our conversation became stilted after that. Probably due to my refusal to share anything personal about myself.
I needed time to process what I’d learned.
About her.
About my reaction to her.
Hope finished her meal and, yawning, excused herself.
I sat for another fifteen minutes then drained the rest of my drink. Her laughter rang in my head. Her smile. Her pretty eyes. The bow of her mouth. The obvious love she had for her child.
And her friends.
There was no denying the facts. She’d gotten to me.
I frowned and drummed my fingers on the table.
It must have been the phone call.
It peeled back my skin, and Hope slipped under it.
Based on my reaction to her, I wouldn’t be able to work her out of my system in my usual manner.
She’d have to work her own way out.
Because I couldn’t keep her.
A woman like that?
She’d take everything I had.
And there just wasn’t that much of me to begin with.
Otherwise
Hope
Hot and cold.
On the plane.
Last night at the bar.
