Hard Luck

by Sara Ney

  Better friends.

  I want to get to know you with no expectations.

  We are in this for a lifetime, and I think it would be the best thing for all three of us if we are friends. Maybe you’ll consider letting me in with the possibility of more.

  But first, baby steps—no pun intended.

  I am enclosing the key to the house I’ve rented in Goodyear, the city where we prepare for the season, and it’s yours if you want it. If you don’t, just hand it back to me and I won’t say a word. I won’t push or question you about it.

  I palm the key in my hand; it’s grown warm from my body heat. It’s gold and worn from years of use, and I stare at it before clutching it in my palm.

  In my heart of hearts, I know what I’m going to do; I’m going to go with him or meet him there because he’s right—we should get to know one another on a deeper level. Not just this surface bullshit where we go to dinner a few times and ask the same mundane questions all people ask.

  Plus, we have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do with this baby. Where it’s going to sleep, if I’m going to breastfeed, what strollers we’re going to need.

  Oh my god.

  What hospital will I deliver at?

  I haven’t finished the letter. Flipping it over, I begin the second page.

  My name is Mateo José Espinoza. I was born in Illinois and raised in the suburbs. I’ve never wanted to do anything but play baseball, but if I wasn’t playing ball, I’d probably be an architect, or I’ve always wanted to open a steakhouse, but what professional athlete doesn’t? LOL.

  You already know I have six sisters, and I can honestly say I don’t regret never having a brother. My dad was the rock of our family, and I’ve looked up to him my entire life even though he works so hard he’s barely around.

  I like steak and seafood and my mother’s enchiladas. I love dogs and am afraid of cats, and most small lizards. They creep me the fuck out.

  The last vacation I went on was Cozumel, Mexico, while I was on a cruise with my family; we do one at least once a year when I’m done with the season.

  I’m telling you all this because I want you to get to know me. I come from the type of close-knit family that is going to welcome you with open arms…once the initial shock wears off. LOL.

  I’ve been praying about this and I know this is the course I’m supposed to be set on. Not to sound sappy or religious or loco, but don’t you think we were sent to each other for a reason? I’m sorry you weren’t planning for this, but I’m not sorry I wasn’t wearing a condom, because then where would we be?

  I will do right by you in all the ways that matter.

  I promise, True Wallace, I will not let you down.

  And now I’m crying.

  Tears stream down my face.

  I will not let you down.

  I feel like I’ve let Mateo down already from the weeks and weeks and weeks of hiding from him, guilt eating at me, chipping away at the thrilling feelings I’ve had for him the past week. The last few days of letting him inside my world a little at a time…

  You are a horrible human, True Wallace.

  But he knows now—you told him!

  That doesn’t stop the shame from coming.

  You are going to make it up to him by allowing him to get to know you and be a part of your life.

  “Hey.”

  My brother is standing at the bedroom door, dressed in his pajamas—or what men consider pajamas: track pants and an oversized hoodie. Bare feet.

  “Oh jeez, you scared me.” I damn near jump off the bed. “I thought you would be at Chandler’s tonight.”

  “No. It doesn’t feel right leaving you alone.”

  That is appalling. “Tripp, you cannot put your life on hold because your sister is staying at your house.”

  “My pregnant sister.”

  Does he have to be the master of the obvious every damn chance he gets?

  “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. You don’t have to stay home to protect me—I’m fine.”

  His keen eyes don’t miss a detail. “Were you crying?”

  I can’t lie. “Yes, but they’re happy tears.”

  If I was reading his mind, I would hear him saying, You expectant mothers are so hormonal. Women are foreign to my brother anyway; it’s a miracle he can maintain a healthy relationship. And his relationship with his new girlfriend is healthy, from what I’ve seen. He’s more of a team player than I ever imagined he’d be.

  Our mom would be proud.

  “Are you going to be up much longer?” he asks, sounding very much like a parent himself.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad.” Sheesh, give me a break—is he monitoring my sleep patterns now?

  “I’m not trying to be a nag, but I noticed you haven’t been sleeping.”

  Aww, how cute is he? “Oh my god, you are so worried about me. It’s adorable.”

  “I’m not worried about you, idiot. I can’t sleep unless I know you’re sleeping, and also, my unfaithful asshole of a dog keeps walking back and forth between our two rooms when you’re still awake.”

  Ahh. “It’s a free country—the dog can go where he wants.”

  “Yes, I realize that, True. I’m just saying the noise keeps me awake.”

  But he’s already admitted he’s worried about me, which is nice but not surprising. Story of my life, having big brother looking out for me.

  “Tripp?”

  He stops ranting. “Hmm?”

  “Would you think it was…weird if I went to stay with the baby’s father for a few weeks? So we could figure some stuff out?”

  Tripp wavers. “Stay with him…where?”

  “Stay with him in…” Once I say the word Arizona, he’s going to know. He may not know who Mateo is specifically, but he’s going to know it’s one of Buzz’s friends. Just as he suspected when he first found out I was pregnant.

  Oh screw it. “In Arizona.”

  I swear, every sound ceases as the words sink in, and along with them, implications. Calculations begin in his brain. Timelines, people, men I may have been seen speaking to at the wedding.

  Then again, he was flat on his ass most of the time at Buzz’s wedding, so he wouldn’t have a clue that I was flirting with Mateo Espinoza.

  His eyes narrow dubiously. “What’s in Arizona?”

  “The baby’s father.” Duh.

  “Don’t play word games with me, True.”

  I huff, flopping back in bed against the myriad of pillows I stacked up behind my head before reading Mateo’s letter.

  “You know what’s in Arizona, brother.”

  He gives a stiff nod, acknowledging what I’m not willing to come out and say.

  “I don’t think it’s weird that you would want to go figure your shit out. In fact, I think it’s a great idea.” He pauses. “When would you go?”

  I chew on my bottom lip. “A few weeks, I think.”

  More calculations.

  More timelines.

  More detective work as the gears inside his head spin, more pieces clicking into place for him. Tripp Wallace isn’t stupid—he’ll have this figured out in short order.

  Typical Tripp.

  Granted, he won’t say much—not to my face. But he’ll dig up the details just the same and store them away in his memory bank for a day when he may need them, and not a day before.

  He likes knowing things.

  In a past life, he was probably something noble and annoying, like a barrister or a detective. Or a crime scene investigator.

  He doesn’t say anything else from the door, just studies me until I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Would you say something!” He’s so infuriating! It’s easy to forget I’m the one shacking up in his house and not the other way around. I want to kick him out of “my room” and demand he goes away.

  On the other hand, it’s lovely to have the company even if I feel like a beached whale.

  Shouldn’t have gone with those des
serts…

  Bad True.

  “You’re going to Arizona.” Pause. “Have you told Buzz you’re going to be desert neighbors?”

  “Not yet.” Soon, but not yet. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be able to keep the secret from him—freaking Mateo is so excited he’ll probably announce it on the jumbotron during one of their preseason games.

  Wait…

  Do they have jumbotrons at baseball stadiums, or has baby brain already eaten half the neurons in my head?

  “Don’t you think you should tell him before you leave so he doesn’t find out the hard way and cause a scene?”

  Buzz is that predictable; we both know how he’ll behave.

  “I…I’m going to. You know how he is. I’ve been…holding off.”

  Tripp leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, his massive frame encompassing the entire space.

  “I get it, True. He’s a whacko.” My oldest brother crosses his arms, looking deep in thought. “I think you need an audience when you tell him to take some of the sting off. Out. Sting out?” He’s struggling to find the words. “Maybe civilian witnesses.”

  “Not family?”

  He nods. “Some family, but definitely a mix, so he doesn’t cause a scene. Maybe even a really nice, fancy restaurant?”

  A quiet, fancy restaurant—that’s how some men break up with their girlfriends, in public where a woman is less likely to get hysterical and embarrass them both.

  “Are you insane? He is one hundred percent going to cause a scene!”

  “Yes, I am aware of that, True—I’m just suggesting it to make it less awkward.”

  “There is no such thing as less awkward when it comes to Buzz. The only thing that’s going to make it less horrible is not telling him at all and introducing the baby during its first Christmas.”

  “Or, we could say you’re babysitting.”

  I sputter out a laugh. He really is funny on occasion—not very often, but it does happen.

  Of the three of us, Buzz is the comedian.

  “Listen,” my brother says, “just get it done, ’kay?”

  I nod glumly. “I will.”

  “I know you will.” God, he sounds like such a dad. His hand grips the doorway as he pushes himself away from it. “Well, I’m beat and going to hit the sack. Get some rest, okay? Don’t stay up too much longer.”

  The letter in my hand gets gripped tighter. “I won’t. Thanks for checking in on me.”

  Tripp nods. “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  When he’s gone and the sound of his feet disappears down the hall, I rise to close the door behind him, shutting myself in so I can return to my letter.

  Lie here debating, staring at the spot on the wall I’ve identified as a focal point, seeing nothing and thinking of everything.

  What a mess.

  Seconds tick by, then minutes.

  One half hour.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  I swear if there was a clock in here, I’d hear the second hand moving it’s so quiet in this bedroom.

  Unable to stand it any longer, I text Mateo.

  We barely kissed at the end of our date, but my mind won’t stop thinking about having sex with him again and his offer to bang me when I’m horny and—

  I am a shitty person.

  You can’t use him for sex, True!

  No, you’re not—you like him, plus you’re already pregnant, so what’s the harm?

  He likes you, that’s what the harm is!

  But you like him too! This is going to lead to something good IF YOU LET IT.

  Stop talking to yourself! Ugh!

  Me: Are you up?

  Mateo: Of course I’m up, it’s only 10:30.

  Is it? It feels so much later…

  Mateo: Is everything alright?

  Me: Yes, everything is fine, I just can’t sleep.

  Mateo: Aww, and you wanted me to talk to you until you get tired.

  Not exactly.

  Me: Um. I had something else in mind.

  Mateo: Like what? You want to video-chat or something?

  Me: Uh…you’re getting warmer.

  Mateo: True Wallace, are you asking me to have phone sex with you?

  Wow, he’s really good at this game.

  Me: Warmer still…

  Mateo: Okay so this is where you’re losing me. I guess I’m not sure what you’re asking me.

  Me: Remember that part of our conversation tonight where you said I could tell you when I wanted to have sex and you’d help me?

  Mateo: Duh, obviously. Visions of your pussy are burned into my brain.

  I squirm in bed at his use of the word pussy, ass wiggly on the mattress, free hand raking over the soft fabric of the bedspread. He needs to not use words like that; they’re turning me on.

  Me: How long would it take you to get here?

  Mateo: Here…as in your brother’s house? I’ve never been there—what’s the address?

  I text him the street and wait.

  Mateo: Twenty minutes, tops. Zero traffic.

  Mateo: Why?

  Me: I think you know why.

  Mateo: Ummmmmm…I don’t.

  Me: Haven’t you ever heard of a booty call? I believe your sister mentioned one last week.

  Mateo: OMG could you NOT?

  Me: LOL now you sound like a girl.

  Mateo: Well COME ON, don’t bring her into this.

  Me: Sorry… **clears throat**

  Mateo: Is your brother home? I didn’t think they had an away game this week.

  Me: They don’t—he’s home.

  Mateo: You want me to come have sex with you IN YOUR BROTHER’S HOUSE WHILE HE IS HOME?? Are you TRYING to get me killed?

  Me: First of all, he’s SLEEPING.

  I think.

  Me: Second of all, I am a grown woman.

  Sort of.

  Me: Third of all, you said…

  Mateo: I know what I said, but your brother is terrifying. He’s way bigger than I am.

  That’s not even a little bit true, and it makes me laugh, which gets me more turned on.

  Me: Please, Mateo…please…

  Dang, listen to me beg; pregnant girls do not fuck around.

  Mateo: I mean…

  Me: Pretty please…no one has to know. Won’t it be exciting to have sex and maybe get caught?

  Mateo: That sounds like the opposite of exciting.

  Me: …

  Mateo: What did you say the address is?

  I send it again.

  Mateo: You are going to be the death of me.

  Mateo: Leave the front door unlocked.

  Sixteen

  Mateo

  I turn the lights of my car off before I pull into the driveway—wait, no—park out on the street, curbside. Walk from a neighbor’s house down the sidewalk and up the drive.

  Like a kid sneaking back inside the house after sneaking out.

  Tripp Wallace’s house is dark for the most part, one single light glowing beside the front door, shitty lighting for someone who should have more security if you ask me. Definitely no deterrent against someone casing the place to rob it.

  The door opens before I’ve made it entirely up the driveway, True shrouded in darkness, ushering me through.

  She’s wearing a nightshirt and not much else.

  “Shh.”

  No shit I’m going to be quiet; does she think I’m going to risk having my ass kicked by her brother?

  I can’t believe I’m about to sneak into his house to begin with; I feel like a kid. The adrenaline flowing through my veins right now is the same rush I get before running out onto the baseball field during a game.

  That good.

  Endorphin high.

  Imagine how good I’ll feel when I’m buried deep inside her, or have my head buried between her legs.

  Gorgeous, gorgeous legs…

  Wrapped around me.

  Doubt I’ll have to wait long—True seems to
be in a rush. A rush to get me into the house and up the stairs and into her room. Happily, I lag behind as she guides me along through the dark house, holding out her hand so I don’t trip on the bottom step of the staircase.

  We creep down the hall like two thieves in the night.

  The house is quiet as a tomb except for our heavy breathing and stifled laughter.

  My heart is beating out of my chest.

  “This is kind of fun,” I whisper as we shut ourselves into her room.

  I shuck my jacket, tossing it onto a chair in the corner, then my shoes. Socks.

  How undressed am I supposed to get knowing we plan to have sex? Is it tacky to peel my jeans off? Pull the hoodie up and over my shoulders? Would she think I was being a pervert if I stripped my clothes down to my boxer shorts?

  “Maybe you should just take your pants off.” True is already climbing back onto her bed, covers drawn, folded down like they might be at a hotel.

  “Okay.” It’s nice having zero guesswork involved, and I set about removing my pants and sweatshirt, until I’m standing like a dope in the center of her room wearing nothing but my briefs.

  “Are you going to stand there staring at me? This feels time-sensitive, don’t you think?”

  “Now you’re making me feel like a workhorse with a job.”

  She lies on her back and spreads her legs. “Are you mad about it?”

  Um, no.

  I practically jump on her, leaping into the center of the mattress, burying my face in her tits.

  She laughs, gasping for breath, giving me tiny pats on the back to stop me from goofing around. “He’s going to hear us—you can’t make me laugh. What the heck is wrong with you?”

  I blow a raspberry on her stomach, just below her breasts.

  “I’ve been wanting you to touch me since I got home tonight,” she says, voice raspy.

  That surprises me—True Wallace does not seem like the needy or wanton type. She comes off as more controlled and not the least bit impulsive.

  Her booty call text tonight shocked the shit out of me.

  “You have?”

  “Oh yeah—it’s the baby hormones, but I find you so, so sexy.”

  She’s definitely hopped up on pregnancy hormones; no way would she be saying this otherwise.

  Perhaps this is what it’s like when she’s in an actual relationship once she lets her guard down.