Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

So whatever she was about to say is going to be sincere, and I need to hear what those words are.

I crave it.

“I was going to say I didn’t realize I’d be so emotional today. I love my brother—I look up to him. What is it about weddings that make people…”

“Want what they don’t have yet?”

“Yes.”

“Is this what you want?”

True’s dark eyes—I can’t tell if they’re brown or just a deep shade of something else—bore into me. She’s blinking those long, sooty lashes I’m convinced are the real thing.

“Some days I do, some days I don’t.”

“My sister Sophia was like that when she first started her career—she’s an attorney. When she passed the bar and got her first offer, she convinced herself she didn’t want a husband or a family because she wanted a career.”

True hangs on my every word.

“So when she met Mark, her now husband, she didn’t make it easy on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“She pushed him away. Made sure he knew her first priority was her job, that she wasn’t sure she wanted kids.”

“And?”

“And…” I hold my breath for theatrical effect. “Now they have four.”

“Four! Does she still work?”

“She made partner while she was pregnant with Daniel, her second.” I gesture for the bartender to bring us both another round. “One nanny, one cleaning lady, one husband who stays home. Regina is in high school, so someone has to make sure she’s staying out of trouble.”

True processes this. “Honestly, this isn’t exactly the lecture I was expecting when I said I was a little sad my brother is getting married, but thanks for those words of wisdom just the same.” She giggles.

“Oh.”

“Espinoza, man, you coming, or do you want us to let you sit here all day?”

“Huh?”

A voice jars me from my daydream, and I glance around at an empty room, our third base coach, Rick, standing next to the door with his finger on the light switch.

“Dude. We’re trying to shut ’er down. Let’s go.” He motions for me to get my ass up out of the desk chair.

I missed the entire lecture, but more importantly?

I missed the opportunity to convince Buzz to give me his sister’s number.

Not that he would have.

Still, it’s always worth a try, and I’m an athlete, not a quitter.

Five

True

“Okay. When Tripp walks in the door, he’s going to have dinner, and I’ll help him set it out while you change into like, sweatpants or something and take a shower or whatever, and I’ll see what kind of mood he’s in.”

I nod as Molly instructs me, my brother due to arrive home in less than an hour.

Our visit to the doctor lasted an hour, which turned into grabbing an afternoon snack at a bakery, which turned into popping into the mall to look at maternity clothes…

Can’t lie, Molly is a blast.

It’s easy to forget she’s a teenager, not even old enough to drive a car.

Speaking of which. “I know this is random, but when do you get your license?”

“Mmm, I have my temp, but behind-the-wheel hours are taking forever to accumulate because my parents are so busy and don’t trust me to drive with anyone but them. I mean, maybe your brother, but…”

“Have you asked Tripp to take you?” I can imagine how that would go, my brother white-knuckling the oh-shit bar on the passenger side of his truck, holding on for dear life.

Although, I have a strange feeling Molly will be a natural behind the wheel, and she’ll take it seriously, and be great at it.

I would take her to practice, but I’m pregnant—and, well, precious cargo and all that.

I think back to the stunned sensation of that positive pregnancy test, how horrified I was. The contrast to how I feel about it now is night and day.

And now my new best friend is a teenager with nothing but a temporary license to drive.

“What if he’s in a bad mood?” I ask, worrying my bottom lip.

“Oh, he will be.” Molly laughs, unclipping Chewy’s leash and hanging it on the hook behind the laundry room door. “The trick is not to really talk to him for a bit. Let him get settled.”

“Why are you both staring at me?” Tripp has sushi sticking out of his mouth, green wasabi stuck to the chopsticks he’s expertly clutching between two fingers.

“Are we?” I cannot believe he noticed.

“Yes, both of you.” He pokes at another piece of sushi, dipping it into soy sauce, then inhales it in one bite.

I love sushi—or used to, and had him grab cooked tempura, willing to try to eat it without puking. Or gagging.

Molly is busy slurping egg drop soup through her pursed lips, nudging me under the counter. Do it now. This is your perfect opening.

And go.

“Um.”

She sighs loudly, exasperated by my ineptness at spilling the beans, nudging me again.

I clear my throat. “So. I can’t eat raw sushi.”