Page 36 of A Little Secret

“Your wish is my command.”

Bringing my foot into his lap, Griffin massages it for the rest of the episode. It’s the first time I’ve felt peace since I missed my period. Honestly, it might even be since before then. Since SeaBird. Since I put a wall between us. And yeah. I thought it was the right thing to do, but now? I peek up at him again. Now, I’m not so sure.

I wakeup to buzzing on my lap. Peeling my eyes open, I find my phone resting on my stomach. Drew’s name flashes across the screen, and I catch Griffin staring at it. I have no idea what time it is, but the light outside the windows is absent, and the “Are you still watching” disclaimer glares at me from the television.

It’s been hours. Hours of binge-watching and napping and?—

“You gonna answer?” Griffin asks.

“Nope.”

His attention shoots to me. “Are you serious?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that if I answer the phone, I’ll feel obligated to tell him?—”

“As you should,” he interjects.

My gaze narrows. “What are you? The honesty police?”

“Something like it,” he counters. “Look, you know I hate the guy, but he deserves to know.”

“And he deserves to find out face-to-face, and since I’m still babysitting the demon frog in my room, it’s not like I can simply jump on a plane and see him. And even if I wasn’t watching the stupid amphibian, I still wouldn’t be able to fly, thanks to my seizure earlier today, so…” I give him a smartass grin as if to say, case in point.

“Fine, we’ll drive.”

My eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?”

“If you can’t tell him over the phone, and you can’t fly because of Frankie, I’ll drive you.”

Sitting up, I pull my feet from his lap and bring my knees to my chest, leaning my shoulder against the couch cushion. “It’s a twenty-two-hour drive.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a long drive?—”

“So?” he repeats. “If I was going to be a dad, I’d want to know.”

I cock my head, surprised by the onslaught of imagery of that. Griffin as a dad. Swaddling a baby. Buying a mini jersey to match his own. The way his nose would wrinkle when he’d change the baby’s diaper or how mussed his hair would be after a sleepless night. He’d be a good dad. He will be a good dad. Not anytime soon—fate likes him more than me—but still. The idea is…nice. Bittersweet, almost. And I don’t know why.

Shaking off the thought, I murmur, “And you’re so sure Drew’s going to have the same sentiment?”

“Are you saying he won’t?”

My lips press into a thin line, and I set my phone next to my hip on the couch cushion.

“You’re nervous to tell him,” he concludes.

“Well, duh.” I laugh. “If a random girl told you she was pregnant, how would you handle it?”

His attention flicks around my face, and I hate how much it makes me feel…seen.

“You’re not a random girl.” My breath hitches. “Not to Drew.”

Drew.

Right.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and quirk my brow. “So because we’ve been dating long term he’ll automatically be ecstatic?”

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