Page 43 of A Little Secret

Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone, buddy, even if your roommate’s joining you in your little movie marathon.

I know what a guilty man looks like, and Drew? Drew looks like he’s two seconds from crapping his pants.

I pat his back slowly, though it’s more of anokay, let me downmotion than a genuine touch. Once my feet are on solid ground, I step back, my attention sliding from Drew to @mollie69 and back again. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Not at all,” Drew says. “We were all watching a movie as friends.”

As friends.

The only people who waste their breath on a clarification like that are the opposite of friends. Don’t they know the less a person says, the less evidence the other person can collect? Seriously, considering how many murder documentaries I’ve made this man sit through, you’d think a thing or two would sink in by now.

“Exactly!” @mollie69 chirps. “Hi. I’m Mollie, by the way. Drew’s told me so much about you.”

“I’m sure he has. He’s great at filling people in so no one’s left in the dark. Right, Drew?” I smirk up at him and pat his chest, noting the way his heart pounds against his rib cage like a freaking jackhammer.

Yeah, this is a wrench in both our days, that’s for sure.

“So, what are you doing here?” Drew asks. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m so happy to see you, and I love a good surprise, but how’d you get here? When did you get here? God, I’m so happy to?—”

I lift my finger, cutting him off. “Mind if we go to your room and chat for a minute?”

Mollie starts to stand, her focus glued to the ground. “I should go.”

“No. Stay. Seriously,” I reply. “Your movie isn’t even over, and the popcorn’s been popped. We’ll be five minutes tops. Then, he’s all yours.”

“Fin,” Drew murmurs. I can hear the desperation in his voice. It only pisses me off more.

My attention slices to his. “Room. Now. I think you owe me that much.”

His head bobs with his Adam’s apple as he follows me into his room. It’s gray and square and absolutely boring. No posters. No artwork. Just a desk. A closed closet. A small window. And a mattress. My lips purse as I take in his perfectly made bed. And to think the bun in my oven was likely conceived in this very room.

Perfect.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click. “She’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, she, uh, she really looks like she’s just a friend, but I’m gonna stick a pin in that for later,” I decide. I feel like I’m about to explode. Like with the tiniest of sparks, I might literally combust. I’m mad. Confused. Nauseated. What do I do now? What do I say? Do I try to fix this? Do I knee him in the balls and promise to never see him again? I feel like I’m fraying at the seams. Like, with the tiniest of pulls, I’ll unravel completely. I’m stronger than this. I know I am. But I’m also pregnant, which makes this the stickiest of situations, and I honestly don’t know what to do.

“Fin, I’m serious,” Drew murmurs. “There is nothing?—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

He steps toward me, his arms stretched out like he honestly thinks I’ll let him touch me. When I give him a warning look, he stops in his tracks and runs his hand over his head before squeezing the back of his neck. “I’m serious, Fin. We were all sitting on the couch together so no one had to crane their neck to watch the movie. It was completely innocent.”

“I don’t give a shit about Mollie,” I mutter, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I battle my fight orflight instincts for the first time in my life. I’ve never been a flighty girl. That’s Dylan’s job. I’m agrab-it-by-the-reins-and-hold-on-tightkind of girl. So, what the hell is wrong with me?

“Then what is it?” he prods. “What’s wrong?”

“I came to tell you…” My tongue quadruples in size, refusing to work properly, let alone air out all my dirty laundry for the one guy who deserves to hear it.

“Baby, tell me,” he begs.

Baby.

I cover my laugh with my hand.

His brows pull. “What is it?”

“It’s just…you said baby, and, uh, well, surprise.” I laugh a little harder while fighting back tears. “I'm pregnant.”

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