Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Our mom would be proud.
“Are you going to be up much longer?” he asks, sounding very much like a parent himself.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad.” Sheesh, give me a break—is he monitoring my sleep patterns now?
“I’m not trying to be a nag, but I noticed you haven’t been sleeping.”
Aww, how cute is he? “Oh my god, you are so worried about me. It’s adorable.”
“I’m not worried about you, idiot. I can’t sleep unless I know you’re sleeping, and also, my unfaithful asshole of a dog keeps walking back and forth between our two rooms when you’re still awake.”
Ahh. “It’s a free country—the dog can go where he wants.”
“Yes, I realize that, True. I’m just saying the noise keeps me awake.”
But he’s already admitted he’s worried about me, which is nice but not surprising. Story of my life, having big brother looking out for me.
“Tripp?”
He stops ranting. “Hmm?”
“Would you think it was…weird if I went to stay with the baby’s father for a few weeks? So we could figure some stuff out?”
Tripp wavers. “Stay with him…where?”
“Stay with him in…” Once I say the word Arizona, he’s going to know. He may not know who Mateo is specifically, but he’s going to know it’s one of Buzz’s friends. Just as he suspected when he first found out I was pregnant.
Oh screw it. “In Arizona.”
I swear, every sound ceases as the words sink in, and along with them, implications. Calculations begin in his brain. Timelines, people, men I may have been seen speaking to at the wedding.
Then again, he was flat on his ass most of the time at Buzz’s wedding, so he wouldn’t have a clue that I was flirting with Mateo Espinoza.
His eyes narrow dubiously. “What’s in Arizona?”
“The baby’s father.” Duh.
“Don’t play word games with me, True.”
I huff, flopping back in bed against the myriad of pillows I stacked up behind my head before reading Mateo’s letter.
“You know what’s in Arizona, brother.”
He gives a stiff nod, acknowledging what I’m not willing to come out and say.
“I don’t think it’s weird that you would want to go figure your shit out. In fact, I think it’s a great idea.” He pauses. “When would you go?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “A few weeks, I think.”
More calculations.
More timelines.
More detective work as the gears inside his head spin, more pieces clicking into place for him. Tripp Wallace isn’t stupid—he’ll have this figured out in short order.
Typical Tripp.
Granted, he won’t say much—not to my face. But he’ll dig up the details just the same and store them away in his memory bank for a day when he may need them, and not a day before.
He likes knowing things.
In a past life, he was probably something noble and annoying, like a barrister or a detective. Or a crime scene investigator.
He doesn’t say anything else from the door, just studies me until I can’t stand it anymore.
“Would you say something!” He’s so infuriating! It’s easy to forget I’m the one shacking up in his house and not the other way around. I want to kick him out of “my room” and demand he goes away.
On the other hand, it’s lovely to have the company even if I feel like a beached whale.
Shouldn’t have gone with those desserts…
Bad True.
“You’re going to Arizona.” Pause. “Have you told Buzz you’re going to be desert neighbors?”
“Not yet.” Soon, but not yet. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be able to keep the secret from him—freaking Mateo is so excited he’ll probably announce it on the jumbotron during one of their preseason games.
Wait…
Do they have jumbotrons at baseball stadiums, or has baby brain already eaten half the neurons in my head?
“Don’t you think you should tell him before you leave so he doesn’t find out the hard way and cause a scene?”
Buzz is that predictable; we both know how he’ll behave.
“I…I’m going to. You know how he is. I’ve been…holding off.”
Tripp leans his shoulder against the doorjamb, his massive frame encompassing the entire space.
“I get it, True. He’s a whacko.” My oldest brother crosses his arms, looking deep in thought. “I think you need an audience when you tell him to take some of the sting off. Out. Sting out?” He’s struggling to find the words. “Maybe civilian witnesses.”
“Not family?”
He nods. “Some family, but definitely a mix, so he doesn’t cause a scene. Maybe even a really nice, fancy restaurant?”
A quiet, fancy restaurant—that’s how some men break up with their girlfriends, in public where a woman is less likely to get hysterical and embarrass them both.
“Are you insane? He is one hundred percent going to cause a scene!”
“Yes, I am aware of that, True—I’m just suggesting it to make it less awkward.”
“There is no such thing as less awkward when it comes to Buzz. The only thing that’s going to make it less horrible is not telling him at all and introducing the baby during its first Christmas.”