Page 5 of Bred Winner

“What if I get pregnant?”

“Isn’t that the goal?” It might be her goal, but ours will be for her to realize we are a family and can make this work—together.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but what happens when I get pregnant?”

“The same things that would happen regardless of who got you pregnant. We’ll be there for you however you want. As hands-on uncles, as father figures, as full-time loving partners. We’ll make it work.”

“Although—” Oakley puts his finger up, his eyes darting around the room with God only knows what thoughts “—we should put a few ground rules down.”

“Exactly what I’m asking for.” She nods her head.

“Like, no pregnancy tests for ninety days, or until your ninety-five percent sure you are pregnant. That way, we don’t have it hanging over our heads, and we won’t know who knocked you up.”

“We’ll know, eventually.”

“Eventually, yes.” He shrugs. “But I have no family history of genetic conditions that could cause pregnancy difficulties.”

Tristan shakes his head. “Me neither.”

I glance down at my coffee, that is now cold. “My dad died of cancer, but you know that.”

She smiles sadly. “My momma died of cancer as well, but that is not something any of us could avoid. It certainly isn’t a reason not to get pregnant.”

“Does that mean you’re in?”

She bites her lip. “Where would we… you know…”

My heart expands to where I expect it to burst out of my chest. She’s on board, and I feel like all my dreams—our dreams—are about to come true.

3

TRISTAN

It’s Thursday, and I’m nervous—so fucking nervous. This isn’t just about me and Alora having a good time tonight; it’s about me not screwing this up for all of us. Coen and Oakley have been cool for the most part, but I feel the tension rolling off of them.

“What are you doing tonight?” Oakley feigns a casual tone from the kitchen.

I sigh, pulling my t-shirt on over my head. “I’ve told you a hundred times, we’re going to the Put-Put Palace.”

“Maybe we want to class it up a bit?” He pops the top on a seltzer water and turns toward me. “Do the suit and tie and corporate stooge thing she’s always dreamed of? I mean, technically, we are the CEOs of our own business.”

Coen enters the living room from his bedroom, shaking his head. “Leave him alone, Oak. We each have thirty dates to show her the different sides of us and prove to her this can work.”

“Besides, we said we’d keep this light and breezy.” I slip into my cross-trainers and bend down to lace them up. “She loves miniature golf. We’ll have a fun date. It’ll put both of us at ease and then—”

“Holy shite.” Oakley plops down on to the couch next to me. “Playboy is nervous.”

“And you’re not?” I bite back.

He takes a deep drink, draining at least half of the can. Then he belches, which only makes me want to smack the crap out of him. Like he should talk about classing it up?

“Honestly, I expected her to call the whole thing off. Or ghost us. Something.”

I sigh. “Well, she hasn’t. So, I guess I’ll pick her up for our date.”

Coen smacks me on the shoulder. “Just be yourself, man. She knows us, loves us, so be that guy and it’ll be fine.”

Dear God, I hope he’s right.

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