Page 34 of Tattletale

“Cosmopolitan.”

There’s an uncomfortable tug in my midsection, like I swallowed a ball of lead, and it’s settling deep in my stomach. “I don’t like fruity drinks.”

Ollie squints at me, her dark eyebrows, which are a contrast to her platinum-blond hair, scrunch in confusion. “You order sweet drinks all the time.”

Actually, I order sugary crap while Lance orders Jameson on the rocks or a filthy martini with an extra olive. I always pretend like the sugar gives me a headache, and so gallantly, he offers to swap. Almost ten years into our friendship, I’ve never once let anyone in on the truth that Lance likes to drink like Malibu Barbie on her 21stbirthday-palooza. I kept all his secrets. I’ve never betrayed his trust.

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” I mumble.

“For the drink?” Ollie takes one more look over her shoulder, her long ponytail swishing behind her as her eyes snap back to me. “Or the men?”

I let out a soft laugh. “Neither. You drink it.”

Ollie puts her free hand against her belly. “I’m not drinking right now.” There’s barely a slight curve to her midsection, but the way she’s cupping her stomach like it’s precious, it’s obvious she’s pregnant.

The lead ball in my stomach sinks even lower. “How far along are you?”

“Almost sixteen weeks. I just started telling people this week. We wanted to be sure the baby was okay. My sister struggled with miscarriages, and it was always so heartbreaking when she had to explain to everyone…” She bites her bottom lip.

I hold up my palm. “I understand. Congratulations, Ollie. To you and the baby’s father.”

Ollie rolls her eyes. “Her dad left a douchebag-shaped hole in the wall when I told him. He wants nothing to do with us.” She glances down at her belly, then back up at me. “It’s all right. We’re better off.” Ollie sets the tray down at the edge of the table and rolls her shoulders, shaking out her arms.

This happens every time I hear a woman is pregnant. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. A life I wanted…but can’t ever have.

“Do me a favor?”

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Don’t tell me his name, love. I’ll be way too tempted to do something about it.”

She laughs. “In that case, I’ll give you his social security number, too.”

Ollie’s a smart girl. She has to know that Callen, Linc, Vesper, Lance, and I don’t have normal jobs. We’re Friday regulars at Martinis now, so when she asks us how work was, we all shrug and give evasive responses like, “tiring” or “messy.” She never pokes or prods. I assume she thinks we’re FBI or Secret Service. I’m sure she’d never imagine the depth of what we are and what we do.

“Anyway, I—”

The front door of Martinis opens, and the slim figure at the door catches my attention.Fuck.Ollie turns to see what I’m looking at.

“Oh, look, there’s your boss,” she says, clueless to the tension that just entered the room.

My eyes are locked on Vesper as she scans the lounge and spots me easily. She stares right back, holding my gaze as she advances toward my booth.

Ollie picks up her tray. “Let me go return this and then grab your usual. Two dirty martinis?”

“Filthy,” I say. “Extra olives. And make it seven.”

Ollie laughs, but I’m not kidding. I need seven whole martinis to keep my cool around Vesper at the moment. I haven’t decided if I’m angry with her.Am I even allowed to be?I know the rules. I’m the one who tried to break them.

As soon as Ollie shuffles away from the table, Vesper replaces her.

“What’s wrong with Ollie?” Vesper asks. “She hurried off.”

“I think she’s afraid of you.” I scan Vesper head to do. She’s in high-waisted black slacks and a cap-sleeve turtleneck, also black. “Perhaps you should introduce more color into your wardrobe. You look like an assassin.”

“Clever,” Vesper mumbles.

“How’d you know where I was?” I hold up my finger, then tap underneath my collarbone. “Oh, wait.Did my vet tip you off?”

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