Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“I bet.”

“Are we doing it together, or do you want to be on your own?”

“You would go with me?”

“Of course.” Her expression tells me she thinks the question is loco. Crazy. “It might get loud,” I warn her just as our meals are brought to the table by several servers—all young men, who probably requested the honor so they could talk to me. “You’ve met my sisters. Now pretend they’re older and grayer so you get an idea of what my mother is like.” My steak is set in front of me. “Thank you.”

“I’ll survive, no matter how loud it gets.”

“If you’re sure…”

She sets down the knife she’s been using to cut her chicken and looks up at me. “Do you think I’d abandon you if you wanted me there?”

I mean, she did wait months and months to tell me she was knocked up and avoided all my calls, so it does stand to reason that perhaps she’d want to avoid confronting my family about the same exact thing.

“It’ll be nice. I’m sure it will be fine, too. They’ll be happy.” Once the shock wears off. “What about your family? What are we going to do?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. My mom is going to cry—I’m sure she’ll go through a range of emotions. Like, first she’ll be excited and cry. Then once she realizes I’m not in a relationship, she’ll get upset. But then she’ll be happy again, then she’ll be confused. So it’s going to be a whole production. I’ll for sure need a nap afterwards.” She puts a piece of chicken in her mouth and chews, but I can tell she’s not done talking. “Tripp already knows, and he’s being supportive, but I haven’t told him you’re the dad. So I’m not sure what he’ll say, but I don’t think he’ll care.” She backpedals. “I mean, obviously he’ll care, but it won’t matter that it’s you. He won’t freak out.”

“Unlike Buzz.”

“Exactly. Unlike Buzz, who’s one hundred percent going to spin this around and make it about himself.”

Jeez, I don’t even want to think about how this is going to go.

Luckily, if I’m in the room when she breaks the news, he’ll focus any negative attention on me. I can take the blame. I can take the guilt trip. I can take the ranting and raving we both know is going to follow the announcement.

“Maybe we should send a singing telegram to Buzz’s house instead. Bet he’d love one of those.”

“Oh, he totally would.”

“What if we gave them gifts, like you girls like to do when you’re asking someone to be in your wedding?” Speaking of which. “Should we get married?”

True rolls her eyes and eats more chicken. “Shut up.”

“Okay. Just so we’re on the same page.” But if she wanted to, the door is open, and I’d probably be down to at least give it a shot.

“What does that mean, ‘so we’re on the same page’? Does that mean you don’t want to marry me?”

“It wouldn’t be my first choice since I believe you shouldn’t get married because of kids. I’m saying if you wanted to, I’d consider it.”

True snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m a good catch!”

“So am I.” She’s cutting sections of chicken on her plate into small, bitable pieces. “You just said babies are no reason for two people to get married, now you’re arguing that you’re a good catch and I should marry you.”

Valid point. “I’m offended you don’t want to marry me, that’s all. Not that I want to marry you, but you should want to marry me.”

“You’re starting to sound painfully like my brother. This is the way he argues—so nonsensical it actually makes sense. Knock it off.”

“Well, he and I do spend way too much time together.” I don’t feel like I have to defend myself, but it does make sense that Buzz Wallace and I would pick up some of each other’s habits, good ones and bad, from time spent at the stadium.

During the season, we practically live there.

Or, I do—he’s a married man now and only shows up when the coaching staff dictates the schedule, while I, as the single loner, hang out there more for lack of anything better to do.

“We’re not getting married,” True declares with a smile.

“Not yet anyway.” I smile back, happy the matter is settled. “If it’s a boy, can we name him something cool like Airplane Maximizer or Longshot McGee?”

True stares at me—stares through me, eyes narrowing.

“I’ll take that as a no.” I clear my throat but can’t resist adding, “But some celebrities name their kids shit like Pilot Inspector, and I think it’s dope as shit.”

More staring. “Celebrities who name their kids things like that are begging for attention. Besides, I have no interest in shouting for my kid in the house and calling it Pilot. Or Airplane. You’ve lost your damn mind, and I’m the one with the overactive hormones.”