Page 86 of Pregnant By the Playboy
“By two? Are you serious?” he says, pretending to be outraged.
I relax. This is more like it.
“I know, I know. So, what do you say we have a drink, then head out?”
When we get to my suite, I pour us each a bourbon.
Brian downs his in one gulp and pours himself another.
I start to feel a little on edge again. Sure, things are changing, but why can’t we enjoy a drink together?
“What’s up?” I ask.
He’s wearing a pinstripe suit and his hair is styled the way it normally is, but Brian’s actions usually have a grace or polish about them, and today, he looks a little vacant. Rough.
Our friendship might be based on superficial shit, and I haven’t known him for years and years, but I can tell something is wrong and I do care.
“So you really love her,” he says, shaking his head.
“I do.”
He tosses back another drink.
“What the fuck, Brian? Why can’t you be happy for me? We’ll still be friends. Besides, you make friends easily. Or do you still not believe I love her? Here, I’ll show you.” I pull out the small box I just purchased and open it up.
“You asking me to marry you? Gee, thanks, Vince, I’m flattered.”
“Come on, be serious.”
“Well, if you truly meant it, I’d be flattered.”
“As you should be. I’m awesome.”
“You are,” he says quietly, and a horrible suspicion grips me.
Oh, fuck.
“But you love her,” he continues bitterly. “Not me. You’re having a baby with her. Not me. I don’t even want a baby.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“I know.”
But we’re dancing around the truth.
Brian picks up the ring and slides it onto his pinky. “You didn’t get her a big one.”
“She wouldn’t want that. I know her.”
He puts the ring back in the box. “I’m the idiot. The idiot in love with his straight friend. I didn’t think you’d ever fall in love, and we’d continue to hang out together all the time. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was something.”
I press my hands to my face. I never considered Brian falling in love with anyone—least of all me—just like he, and so many other people, never thought I’d fall in love. And yet...
“You deserve someone who returns your feelings,” I say.
He snorts.
“What? Why wouldn’t you deserve that?”
