Page 153 of Even Exchange

She fights a smile, and someone clears their throat, pulling me back to reality, reminding me of our audience.

“Soffione, go get in the truck,” I tell her. Because there’re a few things I need to tell my asshole best friends that I don’t want her here for. She cocks a brow, unmoving, and I grip her chin, our eyes connecting. “Please?”

She nods and I pull her to me, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then hand her my truck key. A minute later, she’s out the door with Sophia on her heels.

Grinding my teeth, I spin to face Theo and Elijah.

“Bro,” Theo says, that smug smile still plastered on his face. “You are so fucking gone for her.”

“Read the damn room,” Elijah tells him.

“You should’ve told me she was here,” I grit out, and they share a look. “Did you already know the baby wasn’t mine?”

“No,” Elijah says quickly. “I swear.”

“She showed up about an hour ago,” Theo says. “She and Soph have been locked in the room ever since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” I press, searching for clarity.

“Probably because I’m an asshole?” Theo says.

“Well, that checks out,” I mutter, turning my attention to Elijah. “What’s your excuse?”

“I was kinda hoping you’d make some big love confession she’d overhear.”

Is he for real?“I could’ve also said something idiotic because I’m freaking the fuck out!”

“I hadn’t considered that…” he responds, eyes darting to the floor.

“DidI say something dumb?” I ask, trying to recall the conversation, anxiety coursing through me.

“Nah, you’re good,” Theo assures me. “Go take care of your girl.”

Don’t have to tell me twice.

I hurry to the truck.

When I open the door, my eyes find Charlotte’s. I’m unable to conjure up a single word as I pull onto the road. Itching to touch her, I extend my hand, and she laces her fingers with mine, tethering us. I grip it tight the entire silent ride home.

When we finally make it through the front door, she trails me to the living room, and I throw a pillow on the ground by the coffee table, gesturing toward it.

She stares at the pillow. “What are we doing?”

“Sit.”

“Should Istaytoo?” she asks teasingly, lowering herself to the cushion, and her attempt at humor lessens more of that anxiety.

“Only if you’re a good girl.” I wink, playing along, and grab a small box from the sideboard under the TV. I return to her, dumping a hundred little bricks onto the table.

“We’re playing with Legos?” She picks one up, analyzing it. “Like, right now?”

“Yep,” I say, grabbing a pillow and situating myself on the floor across from her. “Because we’re about to have a serious conversation,” I say, sorting the pieces for an orchid set I bought to make Charlotte for her bedside table.

She laughs. “And that equals Legos?”

I pause my organization and look up at her. “Mom and I always do this when we have something serious to talk about.”

“Why?”

---