Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“You’re welcome.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, dispelling any illusions I have about his lips on mine.

I clear my throat. “Um. So…should we, uh.” Shit, I’m so bad at this. I have never in my life asked a man on a date or to dinner, and it’s killing me to be starting now, like this. “Would you like to do this again?”

“Pizza?”

His tone makes me laugh. “No? Maybe…I don’t know, something nice?”

“True Wallace, are you asking me out on a date?” I swear his eyes are going to bug out of his head, and I can’t decide if he looks shocked or flattered or both.

“More like—somewhere quiet and nice where we can talk.”

“What if…” He shifts on his heels. “I made you dinner this weekend?”

Dinner this weekend.

At his place.

Actually, now that I think about it, that makes more sense. What if I tell him I’m pregnant and he causes a huge scene? What if he flips out and flips a table? Or shouts at me?

Nah, not his style. He’s too calm for that; just look how well he handled his sisters, so patient and kind.

But dinner at his place—though way more intimate than I had in mind—probably would be the best scenario.

I nod. “Okay.”

His brows shoot up. “Are you serious? You’d actually come to my house and let me feed you? This isn’t a prank?”

He’s so cute and hopeful, and I smile, biting down on my bottom lip. “Why on earth would you think I would joke about that?” My head shakes.

“Um, because you’ve been avoiding me for three months?”

Good point.

And we didn’t even get to the point today where we discuss that—my bad behavior, that is. And I have lots to make up for.

“How about I bring dessert?”

Both our cars are brought to the front and he steps down into the street, handing the valet a tip, holding the door so I can shimmy my way in.

I glance up at him while I buckle my seat belt, Mateo leaning down, toward me.

“I’ll text you and we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Great.”

This time he does kiss me—quickly and unexpectedly—before shutting me in, tapping on the roof of my car then stepping away so I can drive off.

He doesn’t waste time waiting to text me, and I’m soaking in the bathtub at my brother’s when he does, feet propped up on the edge of the fiberglass bowl so I don’t overheat.

I dry my hands on the towel before picking my phone up, suds stuck to my knees, boobs, and arms.

Mateo: Was I hallucinating earlier or did you agree to come to my place?

Me: Ha ha, very funny! Are you waiting for me to change my mind?

Mateo: Don’t do that. I already told my mom she needs to make me a pan of her famous enchiladas.

Me: You did not!

Mateo: I’m a mama’s boy, what can I say? Also, my food would kill you—trust me, you don’t want me cooking. This is for the best.

Mateo: Wait, you like Mexican food, right?

Me: Sí. Who doesn’t?

Mateo: ¿Hablas español?

Me: Um…no. Slow down, don’t go getting excited.

Mateo: Okay. I’ll just go back to being excited about our party.

Me: LOL is that what you’re calling it?

Mateo: If I call it a date, you’ll freak out and cancel on me.

Me: I already committed—and are you forgetting that I am the one who asked you out??

Mateo: You didn’t give me enough time. I was about to.

Me: You were?

Mateo: Sure. Maybe not while we were standing outside, but I would have called or something.

Me: Why not while we were standing outside?

Mateo: Um, because it was freaking cold!

Me: Yeah, there was that…I’m in the bathtub now to get rid of these chills.

Mateo: Oh to be a bubble in that tub.

Me: A bubble in that tub? Bwahahaha that’s a new one.

Mateo: You know, like a fly on the wall?

Me: I get it, I get it. Very cute.

Mateo: Ah, so you admit it—you think I’m cute.

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. He knows I find him attractive—I slept with him, didn’t I?

The proof is sneaking up past the water line, my tummy now showing, now busting at the elastic of my yoga pants, now screaming for attention, way harder to hide.

I put the phone on the bathtub ledge for a few moments, running my hands over my belly. Poke the tip of a finger into my belly button, which is still an innie, thank God.

It really is incredible, this new body of mine, though honestly, I wish my boobs would get bigger—definitely the universe’s way of punishing me for not telling the baby’s father he’s going to be a baby’s daddy.

Ugh!

I reach for the towel again, drying my hands.

Me: Stop fishing for compliments.

Mateo: I’m thirsty, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

Me: Like plenty of women don’t boost your ego on a daily basis. I’ve seen your social media and read the comments.