Page 82 of Sexting the Coach
And finally, I tell her the worst part. All the pregnancy tests, Mabel and Hattie talking to me about it. That conversation withWeston, in which he told me that he didn’t want kids. That there was a reason why he and Leda had never had them together.
“So, you’re planning to have kids?” Weston asking me the question, his eyes so deep and serious. For some reason, the sound of it from his mouth sends a thrill through me.
I laugh, shrugging, trying to play off just how much I want kids. How much I think being a mother will enrich my life. It’s always something I’ve known I wanted—I’m organized and careful, patient and kind. “I mean, yeah, eventually.”
“Just seems like you enjoy working with them.” Even as he says it, it’s like there’s something else there, beneath the surface that he’s not saying.
“I think I’d make a good mom,” I say it before I can draw it back into my mouth, and I flush at how silly it sounds out loud. But the look Weston gives me doesn’t make it feel silly at all. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I might categorize that look asenvy. I tilt my head and ask, “Why didn’t you and Leda have kids?”
Weston answers automatically, like he doesn’t even have to think about it. “Didn’t want them.”
If he didn’t want kids with a movie star, with someone beautiful and capable and basically perfect, why in the world would I think he would want that kind of future with me?
“Oh, honey,” Mom says, glancing down at my stomach as she stashes her makeup back in its bag. “Are you in love with him?”
“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it. I wish I wasn’t in love with him. Maybe then, this wouldn’t be so painful. “I am.”
“First,” Mom says, stepping close to me and taking my face in her hands, purposefully so she doesn’t smudge my fresh makeup. “You need to tell him. Men can be disappointing, but you have to give him the chance to come through.”
“But I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want.”
“Of all people, you should know that one conversation—or one text—doesn’t communicate everything you’d like to say.” Mom pauses, pulling her hands back and brushing her hair over her shoulders. “I’m glad you and your brother are talking again. I wish you’d never kept how you were feeling from us. And it would be a mistake to do that with this man.”
“But you said it yourself.” A pair of ladies step into the bathroom, looking surprised to see us, and Mom ushers me toward the door. I drop my voice. “He’s too old for me. You assumed he was a phase.”
“What do I matter?” Mom quirks an eyebrow at me, turns, tilting her head. “If you’re in love with him, then that means you go and get him. I never meant to raise you to run away so much, Elsie Montgomery.”
With that, she sweeps out of the bathroom, leaving me feeling confused and strangely light. On top of all that is a slow-building kind of electricity, fizzing through my veins.
Drew is right. Mom is right.
I can’t just run away from Weston. I have to talk to him about this, tell him about the baby.
Tell him that I’m in love with him.
I’m only hoping that it’s not too late.
Chapter 36
Weston
“Now, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”
I look up from staring into my whiskey and a jolt runs through me when I see who it is standing to the left of my bar stool, a single eyebrow raised.
“Clark,” I stammer, turning, somehow still feeling like a star-struck schoolboy. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Clark laughs, shaking his head and taking a seat on the barstool next to me. “Call me Harrison. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Why do I suddenly turn into a bumbling idiot the moment I see him?
“I’m gonna cut the crap,” Harrison says, thanking the bartender for his drink and glancing at me before taking a sip. “I know about you and Montgomery.”
Yeah, I want to say—so does everyone. That video has thoroughly and completely made the rounds now. All I’m waiting for is Leda to comment on it, and the press are going to swarm back on me like flies to a pile of shit.
“Right,” I say instead, because I’m not sure what else to say. A beat goes by, and the two of us listen to the dull beat of a hip hop song thrumming through the speakers.
“I’m going to guess that whole thing has to do with you not being at the ceremony,” Harrison wagers, tipping his head toward me.
