His mouth falls slack at my rejection. “There is something between us.”
This time, when he takes a step closer, I don’t move as if frozen in place. Reaching out, he runs his soft palm over my face, and I tremble.
“We were falling in love, remember? Those feelings aren’t something that can just be thrown away … forgotten.”
Him lowering his hand to swipe a finger along my top lip snaps me back into reality, and he stumbles back when I push his chest.
“Maybe, but I’d never be with a married man,” I hiss.
“What if I was no longer married?” He shakes his head. “Let me figure out a way to get out of this marriage without it being messy. Then, we can be together and have a perfect life.”
“No way. I shouldn’t have even told you I’m pregnant.”
He raises a brow. “Why did you?”
“I’m a good person, and keeping something like this from someone would be wrong. But I forgot it’s you—a manipulative jerk. Go be with your wife or don’t be—I don’t care. Anything that was ever between us is over.”
He snarls, pointing to my stomach. The man changes moods as much as he lies. “That’s my unborn child, which means I have rights as a father. I don’t intend to give those up.”
My stomach clenches.
I was trying to do the right thing, but it’s backfired in my face. Since he’s such a shitty person, I thought he’d want nothing to do with this baby.
“You want rights?” I ask. “Go tell your wife because sooner or later, those rights will result in her knowing about us.”
He goes quiet.
I snort. “That’s what I thought.”
With that, I open the door and walk out.
Chapter Six
Finn
The ringing phone wakes me up, and I groan when reading the name across the screen.
The past twenty-four hours since finding out Grace is pregnant have been a roller coaster of emotions. I’m still trying to get my head on straight, and now, I’ll have the added stress of this call. But like always, I answer.
I answer out of fear of what will happen if I don’t. “Hello?”
“Hey, son.” His chipper tone should be a relief, but all it tells me is, he’s about to ask for money.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing,” he drawls out his response as if preparing himself to break the news. “My car broke down, and I can’t afford to fix it.”
Just as I thought.
Saving money is nearly impossible because I’m always handing it out like candy. I’m not a selfish man, and I’m always down to lend a helping hand to those down on their luck. My issue is supporting someone who blows through their Social Security checks on booze and drugs and then comes to me when he can’t pay his bills.
“Take it to the shop.” I shut my eyes, hating myself for enabling him. “Have them call me. I’ll either go there or pay it over the phone.”
He grunts. “I’ll come by and pick up the money. It’ll be easier that way.”
“No.” My voice turns stern. “We do it my way, or it doesn’t get paid.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “You always make it difficult when it could be easy and save you the trouble.”
It’s a trick I’ve fallen victim to countless times. Me handing him money in these situations, resulting in him conveniently losing it or having an excuse of how he had to pay for something else. The man once claimed the hundred-dollar bill I’d once given him blew away in the wind like it was a damn kite. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember, and I don’t expect it to change anytime soon.
Taco Tuesday is my favorite day of the week.
As someone who grew up with no family, what drags me out of a sour mood is my friends. For once in this fucked-up life of mine, I’m not lonely 24/7. I have people who care about me, who I care about, relationships that weren’t created to see what someone could get out of me.
I met Cohen while we worked at a club in the city together. Over the years, we built a tight circle, consisting of Cohen, Silas, Archer, Maliki, and myself. After we met, Cohen introduced us to his sister, Georgia, and her friends, Lola and Grace. Later, Cassidy and Lincoln started working at the bar, and our group was complete.
Meeting Grace changed my life. I’d never met anyone like her. She had the smile of purity, an angelic voice, but her personality was what drew me in. There was no doubt she was high maintenance, someone who had come from money, but she had no problem casually hanging out with us at barbecues and shooting the shit. She was a breath of fresh air.
I won’t lie. In the beginning, I judged her for her privileged life—her Mercedes and the way she talked like she hung out in country clubs during her summers—but she proved my ass wrong.
Taco Tuesday is being held at Archer, Georgia, and Lincoln’s penthouse. Technically, it’s pretty much Lincoln’s because Archer and Georgia recently bought another home that’s more Georgia’s style. Not that he stays there much either since he practically lives at Cassidy and Grace’s.
I press my palm to my heart when I walk in and see Grace sitting on the couch, surrounded by our friends. She turns, her eyes meeting mine, and shoots me a sweet grin.
That damn smile.
My favorite fucking view.
I could live with that being the only sight I see for the rest of my life, and I’d be one happy man. The penthouse is an open floor plan, so I see everyone scattered throughout the place. On my way to Grace, I wave to people in the kitchen and high-five Cohen’s son, Noah. After saying hi to everyone, I plop down next to Grace on the couch. I squeeze Grace’s thigh—a silent question that she’s okay—and she nods.
“The margaritas are ready!” Georgia shouts, walking into the living room, a frozen drink in each hand, and she hands one over to Grace. “And a virgin one for my girl, so you’re not left out.”
Grace laughs while taking it from her.
“What’s a virgin one mean?” Noah asks, scrunching his brows.
“It means …” Jamie—Cohen’s girlfriend/baby mama—says before pausing, searching for the right words.
“It means it doesn’t have alcohol in it,” Georgia says, using her free hand to ruffle his brown hair.
Noah perks up. “Does that mean when I drink chocolate milk, I’m drinking virgin chocolate milk?”
“Oh my God,” Jamie says, facepalming. “That is not where he needs to go with this.”
“And what about milkshakes?” Noah goes on. “Are they virgin milkshakes?”
“I’m going to kill all of you,” Jamie says, using her finger to gesture to us. “All of you will be drinking virgin margaritas during our Taco Tuesday nights.” She peers at Grace and winks. “Get ready for those questions in five years.”
Grace’s face pales, and I give her thigh another squeeze.
Every minute I can, I want to make sure she’s comfortable. She’s venturing into a rough journey, and I’ll be there for her every step she’ll allow me.