Page 39 of Only for Tonight
“No shit,” I confirm, turning and walking off the plane and heading toward the waiting bus that will take us to the hotel, once our bags are transferred. Then tomorrow to the arena and then back to the airport.
I sit down and Kirby sits beside me. “I’ll tell Angela to lay off,” he mumbles, “but her and Tiffany, they were tight.”
“They can still be tight.” I look around, not wanting to have this conversation with him, but knowing I need to. “But she’s going to be around, and I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “No fucking way that happens, and if it does, I’m going to be really pissed.”
“Thanks, man. What are the odds we win both games?” I ask him, changing the subject.
“Fifty-fifty,” he offers as the door to the bus closes and we take off.
We arrive at the hotel and step into the lobby, grabbing the key cards from them before the bags are brought in. All the guys grab their bags as we head our separate ways. A couple of the guys chat about hitting up the gym, but all I want to do is get to my room.
I walk in and toss the key card on the little table in the corner and then my bag on the floor before taking my phone out and calling her.
“You have, like, the perfect timing,” she huffs. “I just stepped foot into my apartment.”
“You didn’t text me,” I scold, trying not to fixate on the fact that she’s not at my house, but it bothers me so much.
“Oops, my bad,” she replies and I take the phone from my ear and press the FaceTime button.
“What are you doing? Are you FaceTiming me?” she groans. “No one does this anymore.”
“I do,” I tell her. “Answer the phone, I want to see you.”
“Annoying,” she mumbles and then the circle starts to spin, and her face fills the screen. Her hair looks like it’s fanned on the pillows.
“Are you lying down?” I ask her.
“Yes, which is gross since I have airplane clothes on, but it’s the couch, so it’s not that bad.”
“You tired?” I ask her.
“You could say that. I forgot how long the flight is from the West Coast to the East Coast. Plus, it’s like your child is sucking the energy right out of me,” she tries to joke.
“I thought this was our child.” I smile and see her eyes light up and, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her.
“It is, but when it does something wrong, it’s automatically yours.” I laugh at her reasoning.
“When do you go and see the doctor?” I ask her and she shrugs.
“I saw my OB/GYN in New York where she confirmed my pregnancy. She said to make an appointment with her after the twelve-week mark, which is the first trimester.”
“I want you to do whatever is easiest for you. But do you think if I send you my schedule, you can get an appointment that I can be at?” I ask her. “I already missed so much; I don’t want to miss any more.”
“Of course,” she says softly, “and you haven’t missed anything. I just don’t know where I’m going to book it.”
“I guess we should maybe think about where you are going to be having the baby,” I offer, trying to get my heart to not pound out of my chest.
“I’m obviously going to have the baby in California. I won’t be able to fly there once I get to a certain point.” The tension leaves my body. “And the logistics of you coming here if my water breaks and the flight is six hours…”
“Do you think you can come back to California soon?” I ask her.
“I don’t know, I have to check my schedule,” she answers softly. “I took the last three days off. Besides, are you even going to be there?”
“I get home Saturday night, I think.” I pull up the travel schedule. “Yeah, we fly out after the game, arriving at like two a.m.” Her eyes go big. “But I get two whole weeks at home.”
“Wow, that’s long.”
