Page 90 of Jilted

I offered my hand to help her up, then pulled her against me once she was standing and wiggled my brows. “Unless you’d rather do something else…”

She frowned. “It’s hard to be in the mood when you’re fat.”

“You’re not fat. You’re five months pregnant.” I squeezed her ass. “And I think you’re sexy this way.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just go to the mall.”

Whatever.We hadn’t had sex or even fooled around in at least a month, but she was going through a lot with hormone and body changes—changes I didn’t have to go through, so I didn’t complain. Though her excuse that she felt fat or ugly felt flimsy when she liked herself enough to buy a new wardrobe and makeup every week. But maybe I was just cranky from studying and listening to the player announcements for the England rugby team—announcements that would no longer include my name for next season.

Two hours later, my mood wasn’t much better as I carried a half-dozen department store bags through the mall, trailing behind Whitney. At least her spirits seemed higher. We stopped in the food court, and I got us each a big pretzel. I suggested she brush off the salt since her ankles were swollen, but that didn’t go over well. When Whit and I had first gotten together, everything was easy. We’d seemed to agree on most things. We had sex all the time and didn’t argue. She almost always had a smile on her face. But that had changed over the last few months, and I was beginning to wonder if it was the pregnancy or if we didn’t get to know each other well enough and hadn’t made it past the honeymoon phase in our relationship until now.

Whitney finished her pretzel and crumpled up the wax paper it had been served on. “Let’s go to Sephora and then Baby Gap.”

We’d just gone to the makeup store a week ago, and I couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn makeup. Yet I bit my tongue again and stood. “Sure.”

The line at the cash register was a mile long, so I got in it while she finished shopping. On our way out, I noticed a guy standing in front of the store, directly across the way. He looked familiar, and it seemed like he was watching us. I’d noticed him earlier, too, when we were at the food court. But I chalked it up to a guy checking out Whitney. Pregnant or not, she turned heads. I lifted my chin, gesturing across the way.

“Do you know that guy?”

She looked over, but the guy had already started walking. “No. But let’s go.”

“I thought you wanted to go to Baby Gap?”

“My feet are too swollen.”

I wasn’t about to complain. I hated the damn mall. Though in hindsight, maybe hernotwanting to finish maxing out my card at the mall again should’ve been a hint that something was off.

“Will you rub my feet before you go?”

I needed to get home and study, but ten minutes more wouldn’tkill me. Whitney’s studio apartment wasn’t much bigger than my dorm room, and it was packed with crap, piles everywhere. I took a box of shoes and some unopened mail from the couch and patted the seat next to me. Her head drooped as I lifted her feet onto my lap and dug my thumbs into the ball of her right foot.

“Did you talk to your parents about dinner next week yet?” I asked.

She sighed. “My dad’s too sick for that.”

“I thought you said he was feeling better?”

“He was for a little while, but he’s not now.”

“Maybe he’ll feel better by next weekend?”

“I doubt it.”

My father was coming into town and wanted to meet Whitney’s family. She’d already met my family twice, and they weren’t the ones who lived locally. I hadn’t met either of her parents or her brother yet. Come to think of it, the only friend I’d met of hers was Ashley, who we’d run into at the mall.

“I’d like to meet them before the baby comes…”

She pushed my hand from her feet. “I can’t help it if he doesn’t feel well. Chemotherapy isn’t easy, you know.”

My brows knitted. “I thought you said he’d finished his treatment.”

“I didn’t say that.”

I was pretty certain she had, because she’d said it the day aftermymother’s last round of chemo. And I remembered commenting about the timing. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” She stood. “Can we not talk about cancer? It’s upsetting for me to think about.”

I’d learned a lot about Whitney these last few months, the most important tidbit being that she had atellwhen she lied. She talked faster than usual and tried to change the subject or walk away as quickly as possible—exactly like she was doing now. I was just about to call her on it, when she grabbed her stomach.

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