Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“So you guys aren’t going to hit the town with your friends?”

He levels me with a stare, a noodle dangling from the corner of his mouth. “What’s with all the questions about my friends? Stop being weird.” His lips are stained red from the sauce. “Speaking of my buddies and guys, have you thought about dating at all? You’ve been single forever.”

Any thoughts I had about starting to date quickly fled the second I found out I was having a baby. What guy in their right mind wants to date a pregnant girl who is having some other man’s baby?

Another depressing thought because I cannot tell him any of what’s weighing on my mind.

I sigh. “Oh, Mr. Married wants to play matchmaker for his baby sister?”

“What did I say about matchmaking? I just asked if you were stuck on being single.”

Stuck on being single—as if I’m doing it on purpose. “I haven’t met anyone.”

Plus, my eggo is preggo.

“Did you want to volunteer any of your friends?”

“Pfft. Hell no.”

“Not a one? Not…oh, I don’t know. Espinoza?”

Buzz stops shoveling in spaghetti long enough to shoot me an agitated glare. “Definitely not him. Over my dead body.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason,” I say, sounding a lot like our mother.

“Yes it is.”

His nonresponse response makes me laugh, but it’s still aggravating that he doesn’t seem to have a single reason Mateo Espinoza would be a terrible match.

Which makes me wonder if he is a great match.

Which makes me wonder if I made a huge mistake thinking he was a player.

“Why, does he sleep around?”

If my brother did sleep around, it was never anything I was aware of. Never heard any whispers about him being a playboy—which you sometimes do. It’s not unheard of for a player to earn a reputation off the field and in the media.

He just chose the wrong girls at the beginning of his career, the ones that were aggressively in his face. I mean, a shy girl isn’t going to stand out in a sea of gold diggers whose lifelong pursuit is to be a trophy wife.

So a few bad girlfriends landed in the mix. A few young women who spoke out to the media about Buzz, who wanted gifts and presents and such.

That didn’t make my brother a man-whore; it made him human.

“How would I know who he’s sticking his dick in?” Buzz blurts out before catching himself for his bad manners. “Sorry. I meant, how would I know if he’s sleeping with a bunch of chicks?”

One of my shoulders goes up in a shrug. “I assumed y’all knew that stuff about each other…which guys sleep around and which ones are loyal.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why are you asking so many questions about Espinoza?”

“I’m not.” Am I? “It was one question.”

“Then why was he the first person who popped into your head when you asked me to play matchmaker?”

“Oh my god, I did not ask you to play matchmaker. You know what? Never mind, forget I said anything.” Please, let it go and never bring it up again.

The meatball on his plate gets cut in half. “It’s not like he hasn’t been sniffing around for information about you. It’s so fucking annoying.”

Oh?

Tell me more.

I lean forward, affecting a casual posture, pushing the soup spoon around the Italian wedding soup I ordered, picking out the noodles and blowing on them.

“Calm down. All he did was ask for your number, and that was weeks ago.”

And now I’m twelve weeks pregnant. At twenty, I can find out if the baby is a boy or a girl, and I still have not told Mateo.

I do not mention to my brother that Mateo managed to find my number via his meddling sisters, or that I am going to have drinks with him, or whatever we decide.

Buzz would be so pissed, more so than he is that I’m living in Tripp’s house while I search for a place—and let’s be honest, I haven’t done shit as far as looking.

One week turned into two and two turned into I don’t know how long I’ve been there but I have to leave before I get huge. Good luck getting me out then, after feeding me and taking care of all my basic human needs.

Last night while I was lying in bed, I finally messaged my close friends, sending them a text with the pregnancy test. Stayed up until all hours of the morning answering their questions, leaving out the part about Mateo—I trust them, but only mostly. I’ve only met Winnie’s boyfriend once, so I can’t be sure he won’t tell someone. And Monica? We know she’s hard up for cash considering she couldn’t pay the rent, and a story about baseball’s golden child impregnating the sister of one of his teammates? That could fetch Monica thousands of dollars.