Her eyes rolled with her head, her shoulders slumping forward in a dramatic display of frustration. “Seriously? If you think I’m gonna fall for that, you have another thing coming. Of course she’s changed. She’s not a little kid anymore.”
I didn’t have to hear her say it to know what she was getting at—she believed I wasn’t capable of making smart decisions around pretty women. Even more, she likely figured living with one would be a terrible idea. I couldn’t argue, but at this point, I didn’t have much of an option, either.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. I highly doubt I’ll find her attractive.”
“Does she have Facebook? Instagram? Any kind of social media we can find her on and see what she looks like now?”
I blinked at her, wondering how we could get along as well as we did when there were times it felt like several generations existed between us. “What is this? Twenty questions? You know I don’t use any of that shit.”
“College really messed you up, didn’t it?” She laughed to herself while pulling out her phone. “If anyone spoke to you before making the decision to go for their doctorate, they’d never go beyond their master’s degree.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen, I didn’t know you before you started college, so I can’t say whether or not you’ve always been this way. But from the things you’ve told me, I imagine you entered freshman year as a normal eighteen-year-old and came out of graduate school as a seventy-year-old.” She waved off my confusion with a quick flick of her wrist, turning her attention to the device in her hand. “You only have social media because of your practice, and you have me manage it. Name one guy in his thirties—aside from you—who doesn’t have at least one social media account.”
“I can name a lot. It’s just not a wise way to spend my time.” Actually, I couldn’t name any. However, that had nothing to do with being the only one my age who didn’t feel the need to share my every thought and meal with the world. It had to do with my lack of friends—my circle was small, and I liked it that way.
Acquaintances were plentiful. Close friends were a select few.
“Okay, so what’s her name?”
I leaned back in my chair, making it recline with my weight, and hesitantly gave her the information she sought. “Kelsey. I’m assuming her last name is Peterson, because that’s what her sister’s last name was back in high school, but to be honest, I don’t have the slightest clue if they even have the same dad. So there’s a possibility that—”
“Found her.” Damn, she was good. That was the reason I’d given all social media duties to her instead of trying to stumble through it myself. “Wow . . . she’s not at all what you described.”
I was about to ask what she meant by that when she turned the screen around and stopped my world from spinning with one picture. One face. I didn’t need to see the other photos on her profile, because I had every inch of her body etched into my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see her clearly—naked, wrists tied to her headboard, cheeks pink with ecstasy.
Fuck. Me.
“Just keep to yourself when you’re both home. I’m sure it won’t be hard to resist your best friend’s cousin, especially if you say she’s a man-hater. Don’t sleep with her, and you’ll be fine.”
“Too late.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but I was in such shock I couldn’t help it.
Noel lowered her phone and leaned forward, concern lining her brow. “What do you mean, it’s too late? I thought you haven’t seen her in years.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, hoping it would clear away the disaster that had become my reality. Unfortunately, when I opened them again, I realized I wasn’t lucky enough for it to have been a dream.
My luck had to be the worst that had ever existed.
“Do you remember me telling you about that girl from a couple weeks ago? The one I met at the club and took home?”
“The one who thought you were a stripper?” Realization flashed across her face, dropping her mouth into an elongated O. “Seriously, Aaron? That was her? How the hell did you not know that?”
My defensiveness peaked until I sat forward with my palms flat on my desk. “How would I have? I couldn’t have possibly guessed she’d go from awkward to fucking hot as hell in thirteen years. It’s not like Jason keeps family portraits in his living room for me to see when I go over there. And he sure as hell doesn’t keep her photo in his wallet.”
She glanced at the screen in her hand and sighed. “Well, what are you gonna do?”
“What can I do?” Just then, a thought came to me. “Shit, Noel. I have to see her next weekend at the wedding. She’s the maid of honor. I have to walk down the aisle with her.”
“I think I’m missing something here. Didn’t you say it was a bachelorette party? Which would mean your friend’s fiancée would’ve been there, right?”
“She told me her friend couldn’t make it to her own party because . . .” Grey clouds settled over me at the same time the sky parted, truth shining down like the rays of the summer sun. All the scattered pieces finally piled together. I looked up at Noel, eyes wide. “Tatum’s pregnant. That means . . .”
“Oh my God.” She gasped and covered her lips with her fingers. “Is it not your friend’s baby?”
I truly had no idea why she’d jump to that conclusion. “What? No.”
“Oh. Well, I figured with all the other bombshells you’ve dropped, that was the most logical. Why else wouldn’t you know about your best friend having a baby?”
I stopped to think about it. “Maybe he doesn’t know. Or . . . maybe he just hasn’t told anyone. Although, if that were the case, I don’t see why the girls would’ve known about it. It doesn’t matter, Noel. Whatever the reason, I highly doubt it’s because it’s not his baby.”
She rolled her eyes and waved me off, clearly ready to move on with this conversation—while I was ready for it to be over. “Okay . . . so back to what you’re going to do. You can’t move in with her. Seeing her at the wedding will be bad enough.”
The wedding. Shit. Her words slammed into my chest. She was right. The thought of seeing her, Kelsey, day in and day out, knowing how she tasted, how good she felt . . . it was the worst idea ever.
Panic gripped the back of my neck. “I think you should let me stay with you for a few months.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You want to move into my one-bedroom apartment with me and my husband? And sleep where? The couch?”
“You won’t even realize I’m there.”
“Right.” Her grin stretched so far it made her eyes squint. “No.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to sleep here. But that means I’ll be adding more to your morning routine. You may have to start coming in earlier to get it all done. I can’t afford for a patient to find a pube in the sink from where I cleaned myself.”
“You’re disgusting,” she teased. “I’m sure you’ll find a solution over the weekend. If not, at least you won’t have to worry about this girl wanting anything to do with you. Aside from what you said about her having a chip on her shoulder when it comes to men, I doubt she’ll want anything from you after the first time you ask her to clean up your pubic hair.”
“You never know. I rocked her world two weeks ago, so there’s a good chance she’ll be able to look past my flaws.”
“If you say so . . .” She stood and headed for the door.
“Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I say that?”
She stopped at the door, held on to the frame, and arched one brow. “When you say what? That you rocked her world? Because we hear it every time you get laid.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Granted, most of the time, I said that because it sounded better than the truth—that I didn’t get laid at all. It was like the real-life version of crying wolf.
I wondered how that folktale would work out for me. From what I recalled of the story, the boy had bee
n eaten by the wolf because no one believed him. No one believed me when I said I had satisfied a woman more than anyone ever had before me. So then what would my equivalent be to being eaten by a wild animal?
Considering my luck, something awful.
Chapter 6
Kelsey
“What is so important that you made me run all the way over here?” Tatum waltzed in as if she’d never left, speaking as soon as the door was open and then flinging it closed behind her.
There were times I had to remind myself that we no longer lived together, but then there were other moments when her absence could be felt deep in my marrow. Such as evenings, when I had to cook my own meals—having a chef as a roommate had spoiled me rotten—or when I needed my best friend’s advice and had to go farther than her bedroom to get it. Other things reminded me of her absence, too, like not having to empty the dryer of her clothes before putting mine in.
Although, over the last month or so, she’d been here frequently as we planned her wedding. It was nice having her around again. It’d be a lie if I said I hadn’t contemplated ways to get between her and my cousin just so she’d come back.
“Don’t act like you have such a busy life.” I slouched in my seat at the kitchen table in a vain effort to look less unsettled. “You write recipes—ones you make up. Just leave a stack of note cards next to the toilet and jot down ideas while you’re crapping. It’s called multitasking. Then you won’t be so irritable when your best friend calls you over in the middle of a crisis.”
She plopped onto the chair next to me, completely unimpressed with my dramatic performance. “You’re right, Kels. I don’t have anything else going on other than writing cookbooks. I don’t have a wedding in four days, a rehearsal dinner in three, or a pregnancy I’m trying to keep everyone from finding out about. It’s a full-time job keeping your aunt from sniffing it out. Oh, and don’t forget all the cleaning I have to do at the house on a daily basis.”
I slapped my palm on the tabletop and lowered my forehead as laughter rolled through me. “You? Clean? Don’t lie, Tater; this is me you’re talking to.”
“I’m not lying. I clean. Every day before Jay comes home from work, I rush around the house and put everything away so he doesn’t realize what a slob I am and call off the wedding.”
I reached for her hand, leveling with her. “I hate to break it to you, Tater, but he’s fully aware you’re a slob. Maybe you should learn to pick up after yourself to begin with rather than wait until the last minute and do it all at once. And when will you learn that lying doesn’t get you anywhere?” I pointed to her stomach, indicating the baby she hadn’t told anyone other than me about.
“It’s not lying when one simply omits the information from conversation. If anyone asks, I’ll tell the truth. I just don’t see the point in volunteering that information.”
Tatum had her reasons for holding on to this secret, and I couldn’t fault her for them. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to believe they were only marrying because of the baby.
As soon as Jason had a ring on her finger, the planning had begun. And to everyone’s surprise, a date had been set for exactly seven weeks later. She knew people would assume the rush to get married was due to her pregnancy, which wasn’t the case, so she’d decided to keep a lid on it until after the ceremony. I understood her worry, which was why I’d gone along with it, going so far as to tell her friends that she’d bailed on her own bachelorette party because she had diarrhea and couldn’t get off the toilet.
She wasn’t happy about that when she found out.
I sighed with added effort. “Fine . . . it’s a half lie, then.”
“I prefer to call it a half truth. But that’s probably because I’m the optimistic one.”
“For someone who’s so busy, you sure do waste a lot of time yapping about how wonderful you are. If you add a little humility to that optimism, you might find yourself with extra time on your hands . . . time that could be better spent learning how to iron.” I’d never met another person who chose their outfits based on what was the least wrinkled.
Tatum dropped her head back and let out an exaggerated huff. And just when I thought she’d toss back some off-the-wall retort, she pulled herself to her feet and moved to the kitchen. Without saying anything, she opened the oven and peeked in; then she closed it before scouring the counters with confusion narrowing her gaze.
“What are you doing?” Please say you’re going to make me something to eat.
Turning her bewildered expression to me, she said, “You wanted me to look at something, so I thought that meant you ruined breakfast.”
“I’ll have you know that since you’ve been gone, I have yet to burn or ruin anything before sunset. My breakfast record is perfect.”
“I take it this means you don’t eat before nightfall?” She wore her smile across her entire face—red lips curled deep, dark eyes bright with humor, and cheeks tinged pink.
“I don’t think I like this new, pregnant version of you. You’re rude.” I didn’t have to bother smiling for her to recognize my humor. She knew me—probably better than anyone. I stood from my seat and pointed at the closed door to my left. “I need you to look at something in there.”
“Does it have eight legs?”
The mere thought of a spider in my bedroom made me gag, my skin crawling as if those foul insects covered me. “Hell no. I wouldn’t waste my time having you come all the way over here for that. It would’ve gotten away before you showed up.”
“There’s no need to act like such a badass around me, Kels.” Damn her for knowing me so well. “I’ve lived with you, don’t forget. I specifically recall having to rip your phone out of your hands to keep you from calling the fire department over a daddy longlegs in your shower.”
“Oh, you must’ve misunderstood. I didn’t say I would’ve handled one of those demonic creatures myself. I just wouldn’t have called you for help. It’d be far quicker to light a match and burn the place down.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Her lashes fluttered with an easy breath of humor escaping her smiling lips. “What is it you want me to look at?”
“Just come see.”
She stopped me with a hand against my shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t need to state this, but I’m going to anyway. If it’s on an area that’s typically covered by panties . . . you’ll need to call a doctor for that. I love you, but—”
“It’s not on me. It’s in my bathroom.”
I opened my bedroom door and walked in, not giving Tatum a chance to make another comment about seeing my secret garden. She followed me into the bathroom, where I pointed to a wad of toilet paper that sat on the edge of the sink. Long seconds dragged on as she stared at it, then at me, silently questioning me with wary eyes.
“Just look at it and tell me what it is, please.”
Again, Tatum glanced between it and me, then said, “If you’re asking whether it’s Charmin or Quilted Northern, I don’t have the slightest clue.”
“Did baby brain already kick in? No. It’s inside the toilet paper.”
Tatum reluctantly took a step forward and pinched the edges of the material the way one would pick up a dirty sock. But once she realized there was something inside—well, something different than she expected—she grabbed it.
Then dropped it.
Into the toilet.
“What’d you do that for?” I screeched, staring at the white stick floating facedown in the water.
“You could’ve warned me what it was, Kelsey. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself holding something you’ve peed on.”
“Whatever. Did you see what it said before you tried to flush it?”
“No. I didn’t get that far.” We both leaned forward to take a look at the piece of plastic floating in the bowl. “I’m not reaching in there.”
Nudging her, I said, “It’s clean. I promise.”
“Then you get it.”
“If I
get it, I might see what it says.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“If it was, then why would I ask you to come do it for me? I took it, like, three hours ago, and this is the closest I’ve come to it. I need you to do this for me. Please? Just reach in there and pull it out.”
With her arms crossed over her chest, Tatum stared at me like I was a recipe she was trying to figure out. “What made you take it to begin with? I mean . . . why do you think you might be pregnant?”
“For starters, I’m three days late.”
“You’ve been late before.”
“By no more than a day. Which was because I marked the wrong date on the calendar—user error. This is different. I know for a fact I was supposed to start my period on Saturday, because it was exactly one week before your wedding. I remember being excited that I wouldn’t have to worry about hiding a tampon in my bouquet . . . and I wouldn’t have to worry about Aunt Flo interfering with getting some nuptial nookie.”
“It’s only Tuesday, Kels. Don’t you think it’s a little too early to be peeing on a stick?”
I pressed a hand against my chest and winced. “And my boobs hurt. Bad.”
“Sore breasts could mean you’re about to start your period.”
If she didn’t put her hand in my toilet and read the results on my pee stick, then I’d have to help her—I was the reigning bobbing-for-apples champion three years in a row when I was younger. “Yeah? Does an impending menses also make you throw up at the smell of coffee? What about make you daydream about strawberry fields and saltshakers?”
“I’m not entirely sure about that last one, but considering we’re talking about you here . . . anything’s possible. Is there a chance you ate something extremely out of date? I’ve always told you that those frozen meals aren’t healthy.”
“Are you not listening to the words that are coming out of my mouth? I have been craving strawberries with salt on them. Not just a hankering . . . but full-on murderous kind of craving.”
The Secret Baby Page 6