Page 75 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

She’s the first woman to sleep in here since Lissa. Damn. I hadn’t even thought of Lissa for weeks. Not until Regan noticed the picture. And not even then did thinking of her bother me.

It probably should have. I’d brought another woman into the apartment and the bed I’d shared with her for years. But… it didn’t.

I know now that I won’t be taking the picture frame out of my drawer, not unless it’s to pack it away or throw it out. I’m over her. She can go on and marry the senator’s son. She can have a dozen kids with him if that’s what she wants. She can even come back here and try to parade her happiness in front of me. It won’t matter. None of it will. Because my heart no longer belongs to her. And as I look at the sleeping woman on my bed, I wonder if it ever really did.

Fuck.

I turn, go to my closet and pull on a pair of sweatpants, then go out to my kitchen, getting something far stronger than wine. I pour several fingers of whiskey into a rocks glass and sit on a barstool. I should tell her. I should tell her I like the wacky way she dresses and the unconventional way she runs her business. I should tell her I like her nonsensical, carefree attitude. I should tell her I like her in my life. In my bed.

The problem is, I like ittoomuch.

Which is why there’s one more thing I should tell her. Run away. Run fast and run hard.

I close my eyes and bring the glass to my lips. It may already be too late. What if we made a baby? Telling her now would cause her stress she doesn’t need. If we haven’t conceived, if she gets her period, I’ll tell her then. Because not telling her would be as good as lying.

I’m not going to lie to her. And I sure as hell am not going to hurt her.

I thought it was just a crush. The same old feelings I had when I was a kid.

I quietly make my way back to the bedroom and look at her, sleeping peacefully, maybe even dreaming about the child we might have made. Her face is practically glowing in the dim light. I have the urge to go to her and kiss her. And that’s exactly why I know everything has changed. This isn’t a crush. I’ve fallen for her.

And I have to tell her.

I will. Odds are, it’ll take months for her to get pregnant. She’ll just go to a sperm bank as planned after this doesn’t work. And I’ll go back to being the idiot who can’t commit to a woman.

I spin, pad back to the kitchen, and pour myself a small second glass, downing it in one gulp. When did this happen? When did she go from being my childhood crush to the woman I want? By my side. In my life. Permanently.

Sadness washes through me as indecision niggles away at me. What if sheispregnant? What then? Do I live a lie, never revealing my true feelings for the mother of my child? Potentially watch her date other men, have other relationships, even marry?

There’s no other choice. I’ve done all the hurting I’m going to do. I’ve destroyed countless women over the past decade. Irefuse to destroyher. And I know if we got together, I’d do exactly that. Only this time would be worse—a child would be at stake. In the middle. An innocent pawn in my deceptive game.

Then I come to my senses and laugh out loud. Because who am I kidding? Regan hasn’t ever given me any indication she wants me. I’ve never seen her look at me with love or adoration. With want or reverence. The only looks I’ve ever gotten from her are the looks of a woman who knows what she wants… a one-night stand… an orgasm… a kid.

In all those scenarios, I’m the one being used. And I’m the first person to admit I deserve it.

I hear a faint noise and go to investigate.

Regan isn’t in my bed anymore. I must have heard the sound of her cleaning up in my bathroom. But the bathroom door is open, and she’s not there either. When I pass by my closet, that’s when I see her. She’s facing away from me, sitting on the settee, staring up at the half-empty shoe racks along the back wall.

I step inside, take some loose bills from on top of the center island, and hand them over her shoulder. “Four hundred and sixty dollars for your thoughts?”

She giggles and pushes my hand away.

“I was thinking how I’ll have to get rid of my closet in the second bedroom.” She waves her arm around. “It’s nothing like this. Mine is full of freestanding clothes racks and a few antique dressers. Maddie strong-armed Tag into building me a shoe rack a few years ago that holds thirty pairs. My actual bedroom closet is miniscule. I’ll have to move most of my clothes to the shop storeroom.” She turns. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s all going to be worth it. I guess seeing this closet just had me mourning mine a little.” She stands, wearing only my sweatshirt that falls just past her hips. “I’ll get over it.”

“You could always move. Get something larger.”

“Ha! Like I can afford that.”

“Regan, you’ll be getting a lot in child support.”

“That’ll be for the baby.”

“No, that’s so the baby gets to grow up in an environment he or she would have if we were married. That means a larger apartment for both of you. There are even a few empty units right here in this building.”

What are you doing? Stop talking. She may not even have your child. What then? You rope her into moving and then she goes bankrupt having to pay for an apartment she can’t afford?

Her mouth opens and closes several times. “You want me to move into your building?”

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