Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
She leans forward and looks at her phone in the passenger seat. “It’s Dad.”
“You should answer it,” I tell her. “He’s probably worried.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emma
I stop across the street from Logan’s rental car, my heart pounding at the thought of leaving him, even for a day. We haven’t made definite plans yet, except that Logan will get a hotel. We’ll see each other tomorrow, but after that—the baby, Dad, the rest of our lives—I don’t know.
“I can’t believe she told Dad,” I murmur, my heart beating even harder. On the phone, Dad said Miss Harris had texted him, thanking him for raising the sort of daughter who would come to her best friend’s aid. It would’ve been a heartwarming text if it didn’t mean I had to lie to Dad again. He can’t know who the masked, so-called mystery man is any more than the police can.
“We’re going to have to tell him,” Logan says. I study his face in profile, his powerful jaw. He’s looking determinedly at the road. “Eventually, he’s going to find out. All we can control is how and when we tell him.”
“I hate lying to him,” I murmur, “but what would we say? Hey, Dad, your best buddy knocked me up. Maybe you could reconnect?”
Logan grunts. “That’s not funny.”
I touch his forearm. He’s all taut, like when we were parked in the dark. “I’m sorry. I guess making light of this makes it easier.”
“No, I get it,” Logan says, sighing. “It’s far more difficult for you than it is for me. He’s your dad.”
“You said he was your best friend.”
“He is.” Logan laughs in that humorless way he sometimes has. “But that’s only because I’ve been so isolated, without even realizing it, honestly. I’ve always kept to myself.”
I remember how cold he got in the car when he shut down the conversation about his mom. I want to ask if maybe that has something to do with it, but I don’t want to ruin these final moments together. Not final, like it’s the end, but it’s going to feel like that when we’re apart.
He leans over and brings his lips to mine. “We’ll see each other tomorrow. A date.”
“We can’t go on a date, can we?” I murmur.
He sighs. “I don’t care if the world sees us. I don’t care if everybody knows, but I understand. I can’t just expect you to tell him right away.”
“I’ve always been so close with him,” I say. “He’s the best dad. It’s the idea of him seeing me completely differently, somebody who would break his trust. It’s eating me up.”
He kisses me with surprising gentleness on the cheek. “Let’s just focus on tomorrow. You’re pregnant. This is good news. We’re going to be parents. We should celebrate.”
“What about your team? What about Dad? What about—”
He kisses me. Somehow, it’s more passionate than any we’ve shared yet. It’s a kiss that allows me to let it all go. I sink against him, press my hands against his chest, and feel his hard body through his shirt. He pushes against me, almost right into my seat.
“You’re too damn tempting,” he groans. “Don’t worry about the rest of the world. Just us for a little while.”
I almost say, but what about again, and then he kisses me, and it’s so beautifully easy to forget. As he said, at least for a little while.
“I can’t believe you’re working today,” I say, closing my laptop when Chrissy walks over wearing her barista’s gear. She texted me this morning, telling me to swing by if I was around. I don’t have class today, but I would’ve come by anyway.
She sits opposite, working a hairband around and around her wrist. “I’m not letting those assholes take one day from me, E, not one day. I got away lucky. I was next on their pathetic little list. The losers. Did you hear how bad Log—that man beat them up?”
I smile when she smoothly corrects herself, not saying Logan’s name, letting her know I’m grateful. I know Chrissy. She’ll never tell a soul, just as I’d never betray her if she asked me to do something, but I understand I put her in an awkward position.
“Yeah, I heard.” I saw the cuts on his knuckles, too.
“I’m glad,” Chrissy says, then leans forward, lowering her voice. The café isn’t super busy, but customers are at nearby tables. It’s a hipster sort of place with guitars and records hanging from the walls. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know if any of this could be called a plan.” I lean forward, too. “He raced here and saved me. Now he’s got a hotel. He wants to have a date later. We can’t go out because the paparazzi might get us, though.”
Then Dad would see. That’s the only reason I have for caring about photos.