Page 64 of One Timer With A Wingman

I pull into the driveway at her house. I just hope my plan doesn’t backfire. I take a duffel out of the trunk and head to her front door. I ring the bell and wait, knowing she is home. She’s been staying home a lot lately, which also irks me because she is avoiding going out.

She opens the door, her hair tied in a braid, hanging over one shoulder. She’s wearing a large sweatshirt that hangs off her shoulder and a pair of sweatpants. She licks her lips. Lips I remember kissing and sucking on in Punta Cana. “What are you doing here?” she asks, staring at the duffel over my shoulder with what must be confusion.

“Hey,” I greet her. I step inside the house. “I’m moving in.”

“Um, what?” She sounds alarmed now.

“I want to be close to you if you need anything. I don’t want you to be alone. Since you won’t move into the hockey house, I’m moving in here.” I drop the duffel on the floor.

“Aaron, it’s a tiny house. We don’t have a spare room,” she stutters.

“It’s okay. I’ll sleep in your room. I brought a sleeping bag. I can take the floor,” I state.

“This is crazy and completely unnecessary,” she answers.

“I want to take care of you. When you get morning sickness, I want to bring you saltines. At night if you feel sick or get a craving, I want to be there to satisfy it.”

I’m talking about food but her cheeks flush, and I wonder if she is having cravings of the sexual kind.

“That’s super thoughtful of you, but way over-the-top,” she says.

“Show me to your room. My mind is made up. I won’t leave you alone. I get I may be invading your space. There is a perfectly nice room back at the hockey house if you would prefer your own space,” I declare as I walk toward the back of the house. “Is your room this way?”

“Second on the left,” she answers, sounding frustrated.

I get to her room and put my bag down. It’s a tight fit with a small desk, a single bed, and a chest of drawers. There isn’t much floor space.

I begin to open my duffel bag to remove the sleeping bag. “It’s a tight fit, but we can make it work.”

“My roommates will see you sleeping here and tell the whole campus we’re together,” she says, as if it’s a bad thing.

“Come on, that’s not so bad. At some point, we have to start behaving like we know each other.”

“I know. We have the thirteen-week ultrasound this week. Once we see that the baby is growing okay, maybe we can share the news,” she offers, but she doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“Why are you so worried about the baby? Did the doctor say something?” I ask.

“No, but I’ve been reading online that the first thirteen weeks of a pregnancy are the highest risk,” she states.

I walk up to her and place my palm on her belly. She doesn’t seem to mind. “This nugget is a Murray. He or she will be tough.”

“That’s sweet,” she says and starts to tear up. She’s been extra emotional.

“Aw, don’t cry,” I say to her. “Come here.” I wrap my arms around her, and she hugs me back, which is a good sign. She presses her head into my chest, and I like the feeling of having her close to my heart.

“I’m scared. I know I keep saying it, but I’m used to not being able to rely on the people in my life. Both my parents abandoned me on some level. I don’t want to get used to relying on you or our friends. I need to be on my own to stay tough,” she explains, and her words break my heart.

“I can’t understand where you’re coming from. My parents have supported me my whole life. They taught me to be a man of my word. I know you think I’m a manwhore, or whatever. Maybe I was because I didn’t have any attachments or responsibilities, but it’s not who I am. If I say I want to be here for you and the baby, it’s what I want.”

She pulls her head back to look at me. “I want to believe you, but I’ve never experienced that kind of dedication before, we’re young and this wasn’t planned.”

“This wasn’t planned and I’m still freaking out. My mom is over the moon happy, which makes me happy, but there are a lot of things happening and a lot of changes for both of us. We should be there for one another.”

“You’re right, but we need to keep things platonic. Us getting involved could end up with us fighting or having conflict, and our nugget deserves better than that.”

I don’t agree with her about us being together leading to conflict but I understand where she’s coming from, and I don’t want to stress her out more.

“I agree. We should be here to support each other without sex.”

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