Page 32 of The Game Plan
“But I do. This isn’t his problem—me or the baby. I’m afraid I’m ruining his life by being here.” The honesty shocks me. Do I still think this?
“Would you stop?” The harshness in his voice has me pausing the mascara wand halfway to my lashes. “Sorry, but we’ve been over this. Guys don’t act like that unless they care. We’re not wired that way.”
“Some days, it feels like he wants more. Like we’re on the edge of something. But when I think he’s about to admit his feelings or make a move, he distances himself. We haven’t crossed any lines.”
“But you want to.” I can hear the smirk in his voice.
I don’t answer right away. The silence speaks loud enough. Instead, I finish applying the black mascara to my lashes.
Voices sound on Ridge’s end. He curses under his breath, muffling his voice, saying something on his end I can’t make out. “If he breaks your heart again…”
“Ridge,” I interrupt his threat. “He never broke my heart in the first place. I was the one who didn’t want anything. I was the one who kept him at arm's length. But he’s been good to me, I promise. He’s been making me coffee and making sure I’m well fed. Even lets me watchCriminal Mindson repeat.”
“Sounds like the guy needs to grow a pair and admit he loves you.”
I drag a hand through my hair and start piling it into a high ponytail. “Or maybe he’s being respectful.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles. I hear the faint sound of a door slamming behind him. “Let me know how the appointment goes. You need anything, text me.”
“I will.” I smile. “Hey, Ridge?”
“Yeah, Sav?”
“Stay safe.”
“Always.” The line clicks, leaving me staring at myself in the mirror. Reflection caught between steady and unsettled.
I’m nervous about this thing between Grant and me. It’s too early to make any moves. We’ve barely been living together, and we’re getting to know each other again. I’m carrying someone else’s baby, and I refuse to jump from man to man like my mother did. I promise to give my child a stable life, with or without a man.
No time to dwell. I need to get my tennis shoes on and head out for my appointment.
The waiting room is quiet when I arrive. It’s why I love having the first appointment after lunch. I check in at the front, and the receptionist instructs me to use the restroom and leave a urine sample. It’s the same thing every appointment.
With my hands freshly washed and my sample left in the bathroom, I make my way over to the waiting room. Settling into one of the stiff maroon chairs by the window, I pull out my phone from my purse. I scroll through Instagram, liking pictures as I go, smiling at my screen when I stumble across a photo of Quinton and Brynn’s daughter, Cleo. I can’t believe their little girl is six months old. It feels like yesterday when Brynn and I were partying on campus.
The sound of the door swinging open pulls my eyes up. And my breath stutters in my chest.
Grant Campbell walks in like a man on a mission, like he’s been here before.
A light-blue CTU football shirt hugs his muscular chest while short gray athletic shorts hang off his frame. Hazel eyes scan the room, but all I’m focused on is the way his baseball cap hangs low over his brow, casting an intimidating look across his face. His neatly trimmed beard sends heat crawling through me. Grant’s never been one to keep his facial hair, always opting fora clean shave, but since he’s finished playing football, he’s kept a beard that frames his jaw perfectly.
And it looks good. Damn good.
His eyes land on mine, shoulders relaxing in…relief. I take a second to check him out again, blatantly, and I blame my hormones—again. I blink before whispering, “What’re you doing here?”
He gives me a soft smile. “I saw the appointment reminder you had on the fridge.”
“Oh,” I say sheepishly, cheeks heating. “You didn’t have to come.”
He shrugs, walking toward me and taking the empty chair next to me. “I know, but I wanted to be here for you. If that’s not okay, I can wait outside until you’re done. You make the call, Peach. I’ll do whatever you want.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. With a nod, I stare at the man who showed up for me, without me even needing to ask.
My mouth opens with a reply when the nurse calls my name. I press against the armrest, Grant’s hand landing on my elbow to give me more leverage to stand. At thirty-two weeks, this belly isn’t slowing down. I thank Grant for the help, and he looks at me, waiting for me to answer whether I want him here.
Without hesitating, I stretch out my arm, waiting for him to take my hand. Happiness flares behind his eyes as he smiles, taking my hand and standing.
Exchanging pleasantries with the nurse, the two of us follow her through the doorway and down the hallway where the exam rooms are. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest as my mind spirals. Did I give him permission to escalate this situation—whateverthisis—between us? Grant gives my hand a slight squeeze, grounding me in the present moment.
