Page 43 of Christmas Cheer

“I’m not ready yet.”

“Look, I don’t know what he did and I don’t want to know because I don’t need to know about my brother’s dick,” Ryan said as behind him, Mark made hand gestures to ask me how long the dipshit’s dick is and winked at me at the quick nod I gave when he got it right. “But you’re pregnant, and he’s the father, and that’s the sort of thing that you two need to figure stuff out together. He was at the Combine last week, but he’s still talking about backing out of the draft. Did you know that?”

“I told him not to. I don’t want him ruining his life, too.”

“You say that like you think this is ruining your life. You’re in your first trimester. You can still get an abortion. Like, time is running out, but you can still do it.”

I put my hand over my belly, still flat then, and Ryan nodded knowingly.

“Not ruining your life. Complicating it. And you should complicate the dipshit’s, too. But if you don’t talk to him, you might ruin it.”

He didn’t mean it in a mean way, I knew that. It was a come-to-Jesus that I should have heeded. But I didn’t. I told myself over and over again that I didn’t need to even call him, I could text him. Not even. I could have simply unblocked him. I get the feeling that it wouldn’t be but a couple days before I’d get something from him.

But I didn’t. And now I’m at my thirteenth week, too late to get an abortion easily in Germany, and I have a permanent burrito belly that seemed like nothing at all at first because it took so long to get to this point, but it’s becoming real in a way I’m not prepared for.

I could take the bus to my obstetrician, but I choose the hour-long walk instead. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, just to prepare myself mentally for my ultrasound. By the time I reach the door to the doctor’s office, I think I’m prepared and open it confidently.

I am not prepared.

Not when standing right there at the reception desk, larger than life, is Evan Allore.

“What are you doing here?” I mouth, the words not quite coming out.

“I came to see our baby, of course.”

His voice makes a tingle race up my spine in unwanted ways, but I’m frozen to the spot as I blink and take him in.

This is not the comfy Evan of Christmas. Not the superstar Evan of the last eight years, either. No longer is his hair blue; no, it’s mostly back to its natural black, only the tips bleached, a now sickly shade of aqua. Still a mohawk, but lowered and more tidily faded. Nearly respectable. His facial hair is no longer a light, scraggly scruff, but an expertly shaped, clean-lined beard that pairs disturbingly well with the glimmer in his eyes, more serious and dangerous than I’ve ever seen.

Or maybe it’s his suit.

Evan’s always cleaned up well. While the rest of his teammates have pissed and moaned and dressed deliberately frumpy with poorly knotted ties and outdated shoes, Evan’s the glamorous one. I imagine most men who come in here in suits look like they just took a half-day from work at the insistence of their wives, but Evan looksimportant.

I suppose he is. Or he will be. He’s days away from a seven-figure contract.

This isn’t my Evan, and I think that’s a good thing. I think it would be harder to keep my distance if he was in a ribbed tank, sweats, and slides.

Still, I ask, “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I’m walking into a negotiation.”

There’s the glimmer of mischief in his eye. His voice is low and mellow. Dark. This is serious Evan. But he can only maintain his irritatingly sensual smirk for another couple seconds before his eyes drift down to my sweater, snug over my belly.

He smiles.Beams.

I want to hug him now. It’s hormones, I’m positive. I hate him. But I’m lonely and, again, hormones. That grin makes me tingle elsewhere.

“Frau Wright?” a nurse calls. Although I chose this obstetrician because she’s American, her staff isn’t great at English, so the nurse waves a little sample cup at me.

I nod and head over to her, understanding the message well enough, following her through the door to the offices as I take the cup.

Evan follows me.

“I’m peeing,” I huff.

“This man wait there,” the nurse says, opening the door to one of the exam rooms.

This man,dipshit that he is, says,“Uno momento,”before grabbing me by the waist and slamming his lips into mine. He even sneaks his hand between us to feel my burrito belly.