Page 104 of Sin Bin Daddies
“I swear, I barely recognize you,” Henry teases. “My little overachiever, actually relaxing?”
“Shocking,” Logan agrees, sipping his wine.
I roll my eyes but smile. “I needed this.”
Henry reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “We missed you.”
I squeeze back. “Missed you too.”
Two glasses of wine later, I excuse myself to the restroom, cheeks warm and limbs soft. Everything feels light and lovely—until it doesn’t.
At the sink, a girl beside me groans softly, fishing through her purse. “Shit. You wouldn’t happen to have a tampon, would you?”
“Yeah.” I dig through my bag and hand one over.
“Lifesaver.” She grins, muttering something about her cycle being off. “Probably the weather shift.”
I nod politely, but something tugs at the back of my brain. Like a loose thread.
Weather shift. Cycle. Period.
Wait.
I open my phone. Pull up my period tracker app. Stare.
And then my stomach just… drops.
I’m late.
Not just by a few days. Weeks. A whole blinking, red-circled mess of time I should’ve noticed but didn’t. I’ve been busy. Distracted.
Between Ford, Asher, and Leo—Shit.
I grip the counter, suddenly too warm. I leave without even glancing in the mirror.
I come back to the table and slide into the booth with what I hope is a convincing smile.
I laugh at Logan’s story about the customs officer who thought he was smuggling cheese. I answer Henry’s questions about the marine center.
But I’m not really there. Not anymore.
Later, outside the restaurant, I hug them both goodbye. “I’m gonna walk. You guys go ahead.”
“You sure?” Logan asks.
“Yeah. I need the air.”
“Actually, there’s a band performing at the hotel. Maybe we can stay there one more night,” my brother says.
I nod and wish them a safe drive.
They don’t question me. I start walking fast, then faster, cutting across the street to the nearest pharmacy.
My heart is thudding now. I grab a basket and toss in three different pregnancy tests like it’s a speed-run challenge.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the gas station bathroom, staring at the little windows.
One. Two. Three.
