Page 60 of Playboy

“He’s a good kid.” I stand and pick up my plate and Oliver’s, then head to the kitchen. Noah follows with his and all three of our plastic cups. That’s another thing I love about Noah. He doesn’t judge my hatred for doing dishes or my overuse of paper products. With my hectic work schedule, using the dishwasher typically means the dishes sit too long. Sometimes clean, but sometimes dirty, and that is the worst kind of welcome to receive after days on the road.

I close one pizza box and stack it on the other, but Noah bumps me out of the way gently.

“Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m pregnant, not injured.” Despite my argument, I shuffle back to the table and drop into my chair. After ten days of travel, I am exhausted. It’s more mental than physical this time. Probably because of the mental gymnastics I’ve been doing while I try to come to terms with this pregnancy.

I can’t stop stressing over things like whether I’m supposed to call Daniel and make plans to see him. A part of me wants to—maybe a big part of me—but the other part, the girl who knows how this works, keeps coming back around to how unwise it would be to get attached. And it could be so easy to do that. He’s just too sweet. I genuinely enjoy spending time with him. But I don’t really know him, and he most certainly doesn’t know me. He knows the fun, loud Hannah. The person I am out in a crowd or at work, when I’m dealing with the baseball neanderthals. The attitude I have to wear. It’s not a mask, per se, because I truly am that person. But that’s only one facet of my personality.

And he’s truly never seen the rest of me. Not many people have.

“Speaking of that…” Noah says as he shoves the plates into the trash.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the spiel he’s about to give me. The one about how he thinks Daniel should be here?—

“The baby will need his or her own room in a few months, so I have an appointment with a realtor tomorrow.”

I panic. Straight-up panic. Nervousness claws at my chest at the thought of them leaving. Of being alone in this apartment again. Of taking care of a child by myself. I don’t know how to be a mom. My mother didn’t have the kind of warmth Noah shows his son so easily. I thought he’d be here to help, to guide me, to show me how to be a parent.

“The baby can stay in my room.”

Noah drops the pizza boxes onto the counter and strides my way. “I just figured you’d want privacy.” He settles opposite me, his arms folded across his chest. “And the space.”

I shake my head. “I don’t.”

For a long moment, he’s quiet, studying me. Eventually he nods. “Whatever you want. But if you change your mind, just tell me.”

Before I can reply, my phone buzzes on the table between us and Daniel’s name flashes on the screen.

Noah knocks on the table once and stands. “I’ll finish with the kitchen, and then I’m going to get changed.”

As he disappears, I pick up my phone, excitement causing my lips to tip up.

Stop. He’s probably just asking how you feel. Again.

It’s his go-to question. He’s only reaching out because we’re having a baby. If we weren’t, he’d have moved on long ago.

Having adequately talked my excitement down, I unlock the screen and read the text.

Daniel: I fucked up.

My stomach sinks and the multitude of wrongs he could have committed filter through my mind. As each enters, I work through a way to deal with it. Until I’ve come up with a quick plan for them all, I can’t reply.

Daniel: Can I come over? We need to talk.

I blow out a breath. It’s always better to deal with things in person. That way there’s no risk of texts being leaked.

Me: Noah and Oliver are here, but sure.

Daniel: Never mind. We can talk later.

A harsh laugh escapes me.

Me: you can’t drop an avalanche on me and then say never mind. Get your butt over here. We’re playing Jenga—the big blocks—we can talk, and then you can be on my team.

Daniel: If you still want me to stick around after, sure.

My stomach swirls with nerves as I set my phone down on the table.

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