Page 15 of Small Town Firsts

In true Simon fashion, he’s just been observing everyone, smiling at their antics. I swear that dude sees, hears, and knows so much more than he lets on.

The waiter returns to ask me what I want to drink, as well as get my, Drake’s, and Simon’s food orders. An ice-cold Coke andsome steak nachos will do me real nice. Everyone also orders a round of margaritas, as well. Everyone except for Myla Rose.

“Not drinking tonight?” I ask her, gesturing toward the oversized fishbowl glasses.

“Um, no.” She looks up at me with a hesitant smile and places a hand on her abdomen. “Not for a while, Cash.”

That small movement—that tiny unconscious gesture—takes me back to the other day at Drake’s when he was telling me to go to Southern Roots for a haircut. He started to tell me about one of the girls being pregnant . . .

Surely, he didn’t mean Myla Rose. She’s just so tiny. And don’t pregnant woman love to talk about their pregnancies? I know Paige did. Every other word out of her mouth for her entire nine months was about her babies, her stretch marks, her swelling—something. I swear, some days, Jake would hide out at my place just to get a break from baby talk.

“I see. Me neither. Never was much for alcohol. My dad was a mean drunk,” I tell her, hoping that tidbit will get her to open up to me a bit about why she isn’t drinking.

“Oh? I never knew my dad.”

“So, how many girls work at the salon?” I ask her, still fishing.

“Well, I believe you’ve met us all—I own it with AzzyJo, and we have Seraphine, our receptionist.”

Damn, that is not the answer I was going for. Maybe it’s Seraphine who’s pregnant? Even though she looks even younger than Myla Rose. Deciding to roll with that assumption, I ask, “So, when is Seraphine due?”

“Due for what?” she deadpans, brow arched.

“Her baby . . .?” My hope that Seraphine is the one with child is fading fast.Why do I even care?

“What? No.” She shakes her head. “Seraphine’s not pregnant. What on earth gave you that idea?”

“The other day, Drake was telling me about your salon, and he mentioned that one of y’all was expecting. I guess I just assumed that Seraphine was . . .” I trail off, noticing the conversation at our table has ceased. Three sets of eyes are trained on us—watching, waiting.

Myla Rose clears her throat. “Pregnant? Well, she isn’t. I am.”

Damnit, damnit, damnit. Promptly, I shake that shit off. I’m not looking for love anyway. Love? What the hell? Where did that come from? Hell, I’m not even looking to date right now. Her sweet voice and big brown eyes have me thinking all sorts of crazy thoughts.

“Well, damn, girl, congrats.” My voice comes out low and scratchy.

“Thank you.” Her response is so quiet I have to strain to hear it.

“Yessir, our girl is gonna have a baby!” Drake sounds downright joyful about it. “Gonna have her shower at my house. You’re welcome to come too, if you want.”

Azalea shoots him a glare so hard, I’m surprised he’s still sitting upright. Myla Rose shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not meeting my eyes. Simon just chuckles.

“Drake,Iam planning this shower.Not you.If Myla wants him to come, she will tellme,andIwill send him an invitation.” I swear, Azalea has steam coming from her ears. Her temper is on a hair trigger.

“You two need to fuck,” Simon states flatly. That shuts Drake and Azalea right up.

Myla Rose turns those mesmerizing brown eyes my way and says, “I–I’m sure you have better things to do, but you’re welcome to come.”

“I’ll be there. Will your boyfriend be there as well?”

She drops her eyes. That non-answer causes my gut to tighten. After a long pause, she looks back up and says, “No. He won’t be there. He isn’t . . .” She pauses again, as if she’s unsure how to continue. “He decided he wasn’t ready to settle down and be a parent. So, it’s just me and the bean.” She won’t meet my eyes, which is probably a good thing. They’re filled with anger, and my jaw is clenched so damn tight I’m surprised I haven’t cracked my molars. What kind of asshole wouldn’t want to see his baby grow up?Never mind, I know just what kind of asshole—the same kind that raised me.

“Yeah, he’s a total piece of shit,” Simon spouts with a hard edge to his voice. “Thinks he can just go on about his life, ignoring the fact that he has a damn kid.” Simon seems protective of Myla. I wonder if that’s in a friendly way or if it’s something more. I know his dad was an abusive SOB, so maybe that’s it? All I know is that any man who leaves his woman high and dry while she’s carrying his baby isn’t a man in my book.

“I hate that boy. I’d string him up by his damn balls if Myla would let me,” Azalea says, her face red with anger on her friend’s behalf.

“I’d fuckin’ be first in line to help,” Drake growls. Huh, I guess if it matters enough, those two can play nice. Listening to them talk about her ex, I realize that they’re all protective of Myla Rose, which makes me feel a bit better. Not that I have the right to be worried. Myla Rose is a friend. That’s all, and hardly even that. If Simon were interested in her, it wouldn’t be any of my damn business. Nope, not one lick.

My thoughts are interrupted by our server bringing out our food. I notice every one is sharing, so I offer up some nachos to the table, and they readily accept. Conversation trails off as everyone digs in—it’s that damn good. As we’re all finishing up, I take the time to really observe everyone at our table. Simon is doodling on his napkin. Azalea and Drake keep stealing glancesat one another, pretending they don’t notice when they get caught. Myla Rose is using the bits of pork left from her tacos to scoop up guacamole.

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