Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“Or, we could say you’re babysitting.”

I sputter out a laugh. He really is funny on occasion—not very often, but it does happen.

Of the three of us, Buzz is the comedian.

“Listen,” my brother says, “just get it done, ’kay?”

I nod glumly. “I will.”

“I know you will.” God, he sounds like such a dad. His hand grips the doorway as he pushes himself away from it. “Well, I’m beat and going to hit the sack. Get some rest, okay? Don’t stay up too much longer.”

The letter in my hand gets gripped tighter. “I won’t. Thanks for checking in on me.”

Tripp nods. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When he’s gone and the sound of his feet disappears down the hall, I rise to close the door behind him, shutting myself in so I can return to my letter.

Lie here debating, staring at the spot on the wall I’ve identified as a focal point, seeing nothing and thinking of everything.

What a mess.

Seconds tick by, then minutes.

One half hour.

Tick.

Tock.

I swear if there was a clock in here, I’d hear the second hand moving it’s so quiet in this bedroom.

Unable to stand it any longer, I text Mateo.

We barely kissed at the end of our date, but my mind won’t stop thinking about having sex with him again and his offer to bang me when I’m horny and—

I am a shitty person.

You can’t use him for sex, True!

No, you’re not—you like him, plus you’re already pregnant, so what’s the harm?

He likes you, that’s what the harm is!

But you like him too! This is going to lead to something good IF YOU LET IT.

Stop talking to yourself! Ugh!

Me: Are you up?

Mateo: Of course I’m up, it’s only 10:30.

Is it? It feels so much later…

Mateo: Is everything alright?

Me: Yes, everything is fine, I just can’t sleep.

Mateo: Aww, and you wanted me to talk to you until you get tired.

Not exactly.

Me: Um. I had something else in mind.

Mateo: Like what? You want to video-chat or something?

Me: Uh…you’re getting warmer.

Mateo: True Wallace, are you asking me to have phone sex with you?

Wow, he’s really good at this game.

Me: Warmer still…

Mateo: Okay so this is where you’re losing me. I guess I’m not sure what you’re asking me.

Me: Remember that part of our conversation tonight where you said I could tell you when I wanted to have sex and you’d help me?

Mateo: Duh, obviously. Visions of your pussy are burned into my brain.

I squirm in bed at his use of the word pussy, ass wiggly on the mattress, free hand raking over the soft fabric of the bedspread. He needs to not use words like that; they’re turning me on.

Me: How long would it take you to get here?

Mateo: Here…as in your brother’s house? I’ve never been there—what’s the address?

I text him the street and wait.

Mateo: Twenty minutes, tops. Zero traffic.

Mateo: Why?

Me: I think you know why.

Mateo: Ummmmmm…I don’t.

Me: Haven’t you ever heard of a booty call? I believe your sister mentioned one last week.

Mateo: OMG could you NOT?

Me: LOL now you sound like a girl.

Mateo: Well COME ON, don’t bring her into this.

Me: Sorry… **clears throat**

Mateo: Is your brother home? I didn’t think they had an away game this week.

Me: They don’t—he’s home.

Mateo: You want me to come have sex with you IN YOUR BROTHER’S HOUSE WHILE HE IS HOME?? Are you TRYING to get me killed?

Me: First of all, he’s SLEEPING.

I think.

Me: Second of all, I am a grown woman.

Sort of.

Me: Third of all, you said…

Mateo: I know what I said, but your brother is terrifying. He’s way bigger than I am.

That’s not even a little bit true, and it makes me laugh, which gets me more turned on.

Me: Please, Mateo…please…

Dang, listen to me beg; pregnant girls do not fuck around.

Mateo: I mean…

Me: Pretty please…no one has to know. Won’t it be exciting to have sex and maybe get caught?

Mateo: That sounds like the opposite of exciting.

Me: …

Mateo: What did you say the address is?

I send it again.

Mateo: You are going to be the death of me.

Mateo: Leave the front door unlocked.

Sixteen

Mateo

I turn the lights of my car off before I pull into the driveway—wait, no—park out on the street, curbside. Walk from a neighbor’s house down the sidewalk and up the drive.

Like a kid sneaking back inside the house after sneaking out.

Tripp Wallace’s house is dark for the most part, one single light glowing beside the front door, shitty lighting for someone who should have more security if you ask me. Definitely no deterrent against someone casing the place to rob it.

The door opens before I’ve made it entirely up the driveway, True shrouded in darkness, ushering me through.

She’s wearing a nightshirt and not much else.

“Shh.”

No shit I’m going to be quiet; does she think I’m going to risk having my ass kicked by her brother?

I can’t believe I’m about to sneak into his house to begin with; I feel like a kid. The adrenaline flowing through my veins right now is the same rush I get before running out onto the baseball field during a game.