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I glance up. “As good as your imagination, only better.”
Kenna sighs and sits on the ledge of the pool, dipping her lower legs in the clear blue water. “We’re happy for you, Katy. We seriously are because we know how much you want to have a baby.”
Keegan comes on the other side of me, doing the same thing her twin is. “But we’re also worried. He’s a lot of things that a lot of women want and go for. Living with someone you’re having sex with—especially really good sex—does things to people, whether we want it to or not. Plus, he’s your boss and you’re after a fellowship he oversees. We just don’t want to see you get hurt again, or worse, seriously fall in love and then be stuck with him as your kid’s father for all eternity if he’s not on the same page with you.”
“Not gonna happen,” I promise them, only the pang of unease I’ve been fighting feels like it’s multiplying by the second. That won’t be us, I silently double down on my promise. No way.
“Say whatever you like”—Wren smiles down at me—“but he’s been watching you nonstop. Every few seconds he glances this way, knowing exactly where you are, and he lingers until he’s forced to look away.”
I make a dismissive sound in the back of my throat, but that doesn’t stop the impossible-to-resist pull, and I turn to immediately lock eyes with him. My skin tingles, and my heart speeds up.
There are times in our lives when we can look at a situation and know that what we’re doing might not be the smartest play, but we do it anyway. The lies we tell ourselves are either convincing enough that we force ourselves to believe them, or we want it badly enough that we don’t care if what we’re doing is wrong. That’s what I’m doing now.
I don’t love Bennett, and I have no plans to.
But I like him.
And I have to make myself stop that if I want a child with him.
I won’t risk my heart again.
This is too important for that.
Chapter Sixteen
Katy’s been quiet since we left the barbecue five days ago. She was all but silent, skirting my eyes as I took her to Kenna and Keegan’s apartment so she could pack a few suitcases to bring to my place. I didn’t see her much at the barbecue. Her cousins Owen and Vander turned out to be everything Katy said they were, and after I swore yet another blood oath that I wouldn’t hurt Katy and that if I did, they could kill me, things got better between the three of us.
Especially when Owen and I discovered we both have horrible exes and are also both are friends with Jack Kincaid, Wes’s son. He’s actually one of Owen’s best friends and the two of them grew up together, though Jack didn’t mention him to me at all when he told me to get in touch with Wes. Maybe because Owen is a pediatric surgeon and not a trauma surgeon or he simply didn’t come up.
That evening, Katy and I had sex—fun, hot sex, but it was missing some of the heat and spark we had that morning—and then she went to her room down the hall to sleep. That was it. By the time I got up in the morning, she was already gone, and when I got to work, we were doing more of the same dance we had the week before—avoidance.
She’s friendly but distant. There but not.
It’s a pattern that’s continued.
Come home, have sex, go our separate ways, and then avoid each other. Wash, rinse, repeat.
At first, I rationalized that the distance between us was good. Necessary even. Important to maintain the boundaries around what we’re trying to do. But the longer it goes on, the more I can’t stand it. Things between us are deteriorating, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever her friends said to her at the barbecue is what sparked this fissure between us that’s caverning into a deep chasm.
I understand her purpose with this, but isn’t there some sort of middle ground? I thought that’s what we had. I thought that’s what we agreed upon. Hell, I thought we were in a good fucking place with each other.
But this… this is torture. Agony. I see her, touch her, taste her, but I don’t feel her presence the way I did. It only makes me want her more. It’s the same way I felt when I first moved to LA for my fellowship. I’d think about Katy, wonder about her, dream about her. Hell, for a long time, I regretted moving there and questioned what would have happened between us if I had stayed.
Only this time, she’s right here, within my grasp, but she’s also not.
I fucking miss her.
I miss her eyes on mine, her sweet, flirty smile, and the way she laughs and teases me.
We have sex in my bed—never hers—and then she’s gone. The only proof she was ever there is her light, lingering fragrance on my pillows and sheets that I wind up burying my nose in just to keep her there with me a moment longer. I’m losing my mind.
I even went into her bathroom and replaced her bodywash with mine because I know she loves how I smell, and I wanted her to not only be forced to smell me but also smell like me. I meant it as a bit of a joke—at least that’s why I told myself I did it—but she never called me out on it and I know she’s using it, so now it’s another thing floating unspoken between us.
I don’t know what to do, and I have no one to fucking talk to about it. It’s turning me into a grumpy fuck. More of a grumpy fuck than I was when I first moved back to Boston.
We have our appointment with the attorney in an hour, and Katy is in the locker room showering and changing. I’ve already showered and changed, but have been lingering, waiting on her. I know I need to say something to her before we put ink to paper. I need to give her an out. Even if the thought of doing that guts me.
My phone buzzes with a text.
