What Lovers Do

“Why?” she asks.

“Golfing.”

“With whom? And don’t you dare say you’re in Sedona golfing by yourself.”

“Listen, there are a lot of nice resorts in Sedona. I absolutely could treat myself to a getaway. Massages. Peace and quiet. Golf. Good food. And with Jimmy the squatter at my house, I think I deserve a getaway.”

“You invited Jimmy the squatter to live with you. I’m not buying the ‘poor me’ act. Sorry.”

I roll my eyes. She’s not wrong. But friends don’t punch each other in the gut like that.

“And while I’m not denying that you can’t get away to Sedona by yourself, it doesn’t explain the man’s voice I just heard. And your location doesn’t show you at a resort. It shows you at a house.”

“What if I rented a VRBO?”

I need to bail. The water’s getting too high.

“Did the guy come with the VRBO?”

“Fine! I’m here with Shep. But it’s not what you think.”

“Shep?”

“The guy from the pet store.”

“Dear god, how did you completely fail to heed my warning? I told you to stay away from him and all men. You have a serious problem, Sophie. You’re in Sedona with another guy while you still haven’t evicted the last guy from your house? AND you’re pregnant. What. Are. You. Doing?”

Jules hasn’t met Shep, so she can’t possibly understand Shep World. She doesn’t know that it’s not real.

“Calm down. You’re getting worked up about nothing. We’re golfing. That’s it. Think of him as you or any of my other friends. Female friends. Nothing is going on. Nothing will be going on.”

“Sophie, I love you,” Jules says in the same tone one might use to talk someone down from a ledge, “but you are delusional. I don’t want to tell your family, but you’re being very reckless and irresponsible. Do you see this?”

“Jules, I’m good. It’s golf. That’s it. I have to go, but I promise we’ll talk when I get home.”

“Sophie—”

“Muah! Bye, bae, love you.” I disconnect the call and toss my phone onto my towel before easing my way into the pool and swimming to the edge, resting my arms on it while soaking up the view. This is heaven.

Since nobody knows if heaven is real, I’m inclined to let this fantasy play out. Golfing, friends only, platonic fantasy of course.

“How do you like your fish?”

I turn toward Shep’s voice and his shirtless body with low-riding swim trunks. He has much better abs than my friend, Jules, but I won’t tell her that.

“Cooked. But actually, I’m not a fan of fish.” I am. But it’s on Chloe’s Please Don’t Eat List for me—for her baby.

“Steak?”

I nod. “Well done, please. And can I help you with anything?”

“Nope.” He starts the grill.

I focus on the new view—him—instead of the one behind me. It’s hard to say which is better. One makes me feel at peace. The other makes my head dizzy with inappropriate thoughts.

“No glasses.” He gives me a quick glance. “Can you even see me?”

I grin. “Yes. I have okay vision without them. Twenty-fifty.”

“So I look a little fuzzy, but still sexy, right?”

“I wouldn’t know. We’re friends. I don’t think about you that way. I suppose some women might find you moderately attractive.”

Hot as fuck, if I’m being honest only with myself. Where’s my morning sickness? I didn’t think horny pregnancy hormones started until the second trimester.

“Well …” He deposits a filet of fish on the grill and disappears inside the house for a few seconds before returning with a piece of red meat for me. “Moderately is good, right? I mean … you’re a moderately good golfer, and I’m moderately attractive.”

I don’t take the bait. “Tony and Deb … they were a chatty couple.”

“Midwesterners.” Shep closes the lid to the grill and sits on the edge of the pool, submerging his legs. “Illinois or Indiana. I can’t remember. I just know that they can talk for days. One random topic bleeds into another with no escape. They think ‘nice talking to you’ means ‘please keep talking.’ It’s a train wreck.”

“You do realize … I’m from the Midwest.” I kick off the side of the pool and swim toward him, giving him a fake scowl.

Amusement twitches his lips. “That’s probably why you were good at getting us out of that situation. You knew the only thing that would work was an actual fire in the building or a made-up 9-1-1 emergency.”

I swipe my hand along the surface of the water, sending a spray in his direction. He flinches, turning to the side for a few seconds as if he can dodge the inevitable. This friendship thing is interesting. On the inside, I’m dying to find some friendly excuse to be near him again, for him to touch me again. On the outside, I have to play it cool because cool is what’s called for when you’re in my situation.