“You caught that, did you?”
“Yep. Is it because of my sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“You’re pretty good at this. It must be the dad thing.”
“Knox can date whoever he wants.”
“And the new baby? What if it’s a little girl?”
He growls into the phone. “She’s not dating until she’s thirty.”
“Good luck getting that past Kendall,” I goad.
“Fuck me. We have to have a boy.”
“I thought you wanted a little girl who looked like her momma?”
“I did. I mean, I do. Fuck.” I can hear the frustration in his voice. I feel a little bit guilty about it, but not enough to apologize. This is real-life shit he needs to be thinking about. A boy you worry about one penis, just one. With a little girl, you deal with hundreds. I shudder at the thought.
I keep my thoughts to myself, though. No need in freaking him out even more. “Yeah, I’ll help you enforce it,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he says, distracted, and I know it’s the thoughts of fighting off all the boys from his little girl. The one we’re not sure he’s having. She’ll for sure be a looker if she looks anything like her momma.
“So, we’re good. You and me? You’re good with me pursuing Reagan?”
“What if I said no?”
“I’d do it anyway,” I say without thinking. “She’s… yeah, I’d do it anyway.” I know I sound like a shit friend, but I’m not going to lie to my best friend. That’s the point of this call in the first place.
“Good answer. Yeah, I’m good with it. You know where I stand.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just be good to her.”
“Always. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”
“See ya then. Good luck, my man.”
“Thanks. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. She’s worried.”
“Prove to her you’re a risk worth taking.”
“I plan to.”
It’s ten minutes until six and I’m pacing my living room. After talking to Ridge, I’m relieved, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’ve wanted her for so long, and it’s more than just physical. Truth is, she’s beautiful, and her eyes, I could get lost in them. But it’s the whole package. It’s the way she loves her family, the way she dotes on her brother, and loves her nephew as if he was hers. She’s not just a girl you pick up at a bar to have a night of fun. She’s the one you take home to meet your parents. As a matter of fact, my parents love her.
I’m so lost in thought, wearing a path into the hardwood floor, that I startle when there is a light knock on the door. “Hey,” I say, pulling it open and stepping back so she can get through.
“I brought dinner.” She holds up a bag of Chinese food.
“Perfect. I have snacks and beer, so we should be all set.” I follow her into the kitchen. My condo is an open concept so you can see the living area from the small island.
“What are we watching?” she asks, pulling items out of the takeout bag.
“I’m leaving that up to you. Lady’s choice.”
“Really? You sure about that?” There’s a wicked gleam in her eye.
“As long as your ass is on the couch sitting next to me, I can endure anything.”
Her cheeks glow the slightest shade of pink. “That’s… unexpected.”
“Is it?” Reaching out, I place my hand over hers so she’ll stop and give me her attention. “Is it so unexpected?”
She shakes her head. “But saying it out loud…” She swallows hard. “That makes it real.”
“It is real.”
“There is so much at stake, Ty.”
I nod. “You’re worth it.”
“Hungry?” she asks. I know she’s changing the subject, so I let her off the hook.
“Yeah, let’s take this to the living room. You go on and pick whatever it is we’re watching. I’ll bring this in. Beer?”
“Yes, please.”
“You staying here tonight?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
“I’m not going to drink unless you’re staying.”
“It’s one beer. I can drive home.”
“Not on my watch.”
“Fine. I’ll stay. I mean, if that’s okay.”
“Good.” I motion for her to head to the living area and to my surprise, she doesn’t argue or give me a hard time about being a worry wart. I’ve heard her call Ridge out on it many times. Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t win. Keeping her safe is my number one priority. A drink with dinner is not worth your life or anyone else’s.
Grabbing a serving tray that my mom bought when I moved in—insisting that I’d need it to entertain—from the small cabinet over the fridge, I pile the boxes of Chinese as well as forks, because chopsticks suck for me, and some napkins. I reach into the fridge and grab two bottles of beer, and head to the living area.
“Look at you, all prepared and proper,” Reagan teases when she sees the tray.
“My mother,” I tell her. “She insisted I would need it to entertain. This is the first time I’ve ever used it.”
“Aww,” she coos. “She’s spoiling you. You should take a picture and send it to her.”
“She’d love that,” I say, laughing.
“Do it.” She starts moving things around on the tray.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it photo worthy. We need to make Mamma Helen proud.” She grins and goes back to what she was doing.
“She’s going to know I didn’t do that.”
She shrugs. “She won’t care. You can tell her it was me.”
A feeling, this fluttering in my gut happens when I think about telling my mother that I’m spending time with Reagan, just the two of us. There will be no way around that conversation if I admit to her Reagan staged the tray. “You sure you’re up for that?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s going to ask questions, knowing that you’re here and all that.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks cautiously.
“No. Not for me. But it could get… messy. You know my mother has always loved you.”
“Okay, so maybe don’t tell her it was me,” she backtracks. “We don’t want this to get out of hand and more complicated.” She steps away from the table, satisfied with her creation.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a couple of pictures and send them to my mom with a message.
* * *
Me: Reagan is putting your tray to good use.
* * *
I then turn my phone to show her the screen.
* * *
“Tyler,” she scolds slightly, slapping me on the arm. “I thought we agreed not to tell her.”