“I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been thinking about you. Jesus, you have no idea. I haven’t stopped—”
My words cut off quick.
Because that’s when I feel it—when it registers that Lainey’s lower abdomen is pressing against my hip. That it’s different from the flat, tiny waist I worshiped with my tongue and hands four months ago.
Very different.
It’s distended. Hard. Round.
I look down between us. Lainey’s wearing black yoga pants and this tied, layered navy and white shirt number that makes her tits look fantastic, and hugs her tight around the hips—accentuating the unmistakable bulge protruding beneath it.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you too, Dean,” Lainey confesses in a whisper.
It’s . . . a bump. That’s what I’m looking at. Maybe she’s bloated—or decided to eat a small soccer ball for dinner? It could happen.
The downside of being really smart is that it’s almost impossible to delude yourself, no matter how much you want to drown in that ignorant bliss. It takes a nanosecond to discard those theories and recognize the obvious conclusion.
And when that happens—my brain becomes a ghost town.
I take a step back. And then I take another one—just in case.
I point at her stomach. “Is that . . . ?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you . . . ?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
Nope, still can’t deal.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I point to myself.
“Is it . . . ?”
And the whole world slants, like the floor of one of those Tilt-A-Whirl carnival rides we used to ride over and over until we threw up.
Lainey looks at me gently, her eyes light, her voice tender.
“Yes . . . it’s yours.”
When I was seventeen I got slammed by a three-hundred forty pound linemen who got drafted to the NFL the following year. It was a blind hit, I never saw it coming—it knocked my helmet off, knocked the breath out of my lungs, and left me unconscious on the field for four minutes.
This hits harder.
“Are you sure?”
She twists her fingers together in front of the bump.
“You’re the only person I’ve had sex with in five years.”
“Damn. That’s pretty sure.”
“Yeah.” She nods.
“But we used condoms. We used a whole . . .”
“A whole box of condoms.” Lainey throws up her hands. “I know! That’s what I said. The sperm and egg apparently didn’t get that message. And there’s this whole ripping the condom open with your teeth statistic that’s gonna blow your mind, but . . . maybe . . . maybe you should sit down, Dean? You don’t look so well.”
The pregnant woman is telling me to sit down—this is where we are now.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
And yet, I don’t move an inch. My central nervous system has been frozen by the shock.
“I tried to find you,” she explains. “To tell you. But the band doesn’t have a website and the bar was closed and . . .”
“We don’t advertise.” My words are hollow and flat, answering on autopilot. “Since we only play in the summers, we don’t take on new gigs.”
Lainey licks her lips, nodding.
“That’s what I figured.”
The timer goes off—and I want to chuck it out the window, smash it with my fists like the Incredible Hulk having a really bad day. A second later, a parent—Louis’s dad—sticks his head through the door.
I hold up my hand before he says a word.
“I’m going to need another fucking minute here, Larry.”
My words are harsh and totally unprofessional and I don’t even care.
Begrudgingly, he closes the door. And I desperately try to pull my shit together.
But Lainey’s already a step ahead of me.
“We should talk, Dean, but not here—and obviously not now.” She goes to my desk, writing on a scrap of paper and handing it to me. “Here’s my number. Text or call me when you’re free and we’ll meet up to discuss . . . everything.”
“Okay, yeah. Sounds like a plan.”
She shifts on her feet.
“So . . . how’s Jason doing in math?”
And I laugh—sounding a little lunatic even to my own ears. I scrub my hand over my face.
Snap out of it, Walker.
And it’s like a default setting. Even with the easy, uncomplicated world as I know it disintegrating before my eyes, I’m able to shift into teacher mode.
“He’s . . . he’s doing awesome. He’s a great kid, Lainey.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“He’s gifted.”
“He’s always been so smart. Really quick when it comes to school.”
“No, I mean—Jason’s legitimately gifted. There are some college-level programs you should be looking at for him. For his future. We can talk about that later too.”
This seems to come as a surprise to her, but she rolls with it.
“Oh. Wow, okay.”
The door opens again, and I’ve never wanted to knock a parent on their ass as much as I do right this second.
“Goddamn it, Larry—not yet.”
When the door is closed again, Lainey moves toward it.
“I’m going to go. This is—we’ll talk more soon, Dean.”
But when she puts her hand on doorknob—it’s like there’s a break in the fog—a space of clarity. And I remember there’s something I need to tell her.
“Lainey!”
She turns back, her eyebrows lifting and her features supple with curiosity. My feet finally remember how to function and I move closer to her.
“I should’ve asked for your number—that morning—I wanted to. Later, when I woke up, I was so pissed off at myself for not asking. Because . . . I wanted to see you again.” I look into her eyes and I don’t hold back. “I’ve wanted to see you again since the minute you walked out the door.”
Lainey blinks those long lashes, taking that in—because she didn’t know. When her smile comes, it’s soft, a little relieved, and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“Okay. I’ll see you again soon.”
Then she walks out the door.
~ ~ ~
I spend the next three hours is a haze of jumbled thoughts. I nod my way through the rest of my conferences, like a zombie who’s just discovered he’s spawned a little zombie. McCarthy will probably get some emails about my distraction, and she’ll ride my ass, but that’s the least of my worries.
After the last conference is finally over, I head straight to Garrett’s class, but he and Callie are already gone for the night. So I get in my car and drive to their house—it’s only 9:30. And when crazy, monumental stuff happens, guys really aren’t so different from chicks—we talk to our friends about that shit.
When Garrett opens the door, he’s surprised to see me.
“Hey, man.”
I walk in and sit down at the kitchen table before I fall down.
Callie is there, giving baby Will a snack in his highchair.
“Hey, Dean.”
Will holds out his hand and squeaks a saliva-slicked version of my name.
“Deeen!”
I smack his palm high-five. “Hey, little man.”
Callie puts carrot pieces on Will’s tray and looks at me with concerned eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Garrett comes in beside her. “You look like Brian Pataloo at Kimberly Fletchers’s Sweet Sixteen, right before he puked all over the cake.”
Callie laughs. “That was literally twenty years ago! I can’t believe you remember that.”
“It was a lot of puke. I still can’t believe someone puked that much and lived.” Garrett lifts his chin at me. “What’s up?”
I don’t know how to say it. I literally can’t make my mouth form the words. So, I take
the long way around.
“Remember the blonde I told you about that I hooked up with in the beginning of the summer? The hot one that I couldn’t get out of my head—Lainey?”