Page 170 of Even Exchange

Our eyes connect, and I force a smile. The day has been emotionally exhausting, and honestly, all I want is my hot-as-sin boyfriend. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

“I’m going to grab us another drink,” Noah tells me, standing from the table.

“I can come,” I say, rising from my chair.

“No, stay. You’ve been dancing for an hour.” Noah leans down to my ear. “I’m sure you could use a few minutes off your feet.”

“Fine,” I concede, settling back in the chair, a hand on my stomach. “I’ll have water.”

“You’ve got it.” He kisses me on the cheek and leaves, my eyes trailing him as he makes his way to the bar.That suit does wonders for his ass. Damn.

“Charlie,” Mom says, sitting next to me and begrudgingly yanking me out of my drool spiral.

I turn towards her, moving my hand to my lap. “Mother.”

“How are your classes going?” she asks.

“Good,” I say, not bothering to mention how it’s actually been really difficult to concentrate. But unless I change my major back, I doubt she cares anyways.

“Here.” She offers me a glass of champagne, a matching one sitting in her hand.

“What are we celebrating?” I ask, accepting it so I’m not too obvious.

She smiles, but her eyes are empty and lack emotion. “You tell me.”

I stare down at the liquid. “I don’t drink during cheer season.”

“Good thing you aren’t cheering anymore,” Mom says, and my muscles freeze.

“How did you know that?”

She scoffs. “I know everything.”

Well, not everything.

“Then, I guess…” I shakily pick up the glass. “To your campaign.”

I tip the champagne flute towards hers, and they clink. Bringing the glass to my lips, I keep them pursed to avoid the alcohol and set it back down. My tongue darts out, clearing the moisture by reflex, and a sweet taste dances across it.

“Ginger ale?” I ask, brows pulled together.

She leans in, snarling in a low voice, “Well, I wasn’t about to give mypregnantdaughter champagne, now was I?”

My gaze snaps to hers. “How’d you know?”

Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t for sure, but I do now.” She stands, pulling me with her, and drags me through the room and out a side door.

“What are you doing?” I say, snatching my arm away once we’re in the empty hallway.

She glances around, then steps toward me. In a hushed tone, she says, “I’m yourmother. You really thought I wouldn’t notice you’ve been touching your stomach incessantly and haven’t been sneaking merlot? Have you forgotten I’ve been in your shoestwice? I know exactly what it feels like,lookslike, to be pregnant at your age.”

“And look at you now,” I say, tone dripping with sarcasm. “A teen pregnancy success story.”

“You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get where I am,” she grits out. “I raised you better. Tonotmake the same mistakes.”

“Is that what I was?” I snap, my voice getting louder. “A mistake?”

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