Page 40 of Pregnant By the Playboy
This is an unfortunate pattern with me. I meet a respectable and genuinely nice guy. Usually, I’m the one who makes the first move. We date for a while, maybe we exchange “I love yous.” Occasionally, he ends it, but usually I get bored and end it first.
I have no history of going for assholes who break my heart.
Sanjay got married five years ago and has a few kids. I don’t talk to him anymore, but we’re “friends” on Facebook, and I like when a picture pops up of him with his family. He always looks happy, and I’m glad for him.
Then I inevitably get a little sad. Why can’t I have what he has?
Maybe I should have “settled” for one of my exes. Have I been looking for the impossible, for a love that doesn’t exist?
No, I don’t think so. I think I’ve just been unlucky and haven’t met the right guy yet.
“If you have a little crush on Vince,” Pearl says, “it’s probably because he’s a sweetheart, underneath everything else. You have impeccable taste in men. Unlike me.”
“You’re the one who’s married.”
“But until my husband, I was doing pretty poorly with dating. You’re different.”
“Why couldn’t I really, truly love one of those guys?” I shake my head, frustrated with myself, but there’s no point in dwelling on it. “The reason I’m not letting myself fall for Vince is because I know he’s all wrong. He’s definitely not a sweetheart.”
I remember what happened the night we met.
Nope, definitely not sweet.
Then last night...
“You’re blushing!” Pearl says.
“Pregnancy hormones,” I mutter.
“Or...”
I have another sip of my drink. “Last night he brought me matcha double fromage cheesecake because I was craving it.” I don’t bother describing how hot he looked when he delivered my food. That image is just for me.
“From Cheese & Me?”
“Yeah.”
We both spend the next minute salivating.
If I was a truly good friend, I might have brought her the small piece I have left, but I’m keeping that for myself.
I mean, I’m pregnant. I deserve it.
“I’m just saying,” Pearl says, “maybe don’t write off the cute guy who brings you cheesecake.”
“You’re a romantic, wanting me to have a happy nuclear family.”
She shrugs. “Perhaps you need someone who’s a little different from the other men you’ve been with. Now tell me.” She leans forward. “Does he really look that good without a shirt, or are the pictures lying?”
I laugh. “No, they’re not lying.”
As I walk home, I wonder if maybe Pearl has a point.
Chapter 13
Vince
I stand on the balcony—one of many balconies—at Brian’s house and look out at his backyard. The sun has set, but there are enough lights for me to make out the edge of the tennis court and hedge maze.
