Page 21 of Her Game Plan

“What if you chewed before you talk?”

She opens wide, exposing the morsel of food in her mouth. “Like this?”

“You’re gross. But it doesn’t matter. I can date real people or cartoon drawings of them, and it wouldn’t change the fact that I don’t want to limit my options. I’ve pledged my forever to Langford Enterprises, and that is enough commitment for me. I don’t need to be tied down to a man and miss out on other things.”

“I want to argue with you, and tell you that if you find the right guy, they don’t actually limit you, but honestly, I’m not sure that man exists. Maybe you should talk to Finley.”

Addie and Finley met once when I was living across the hall from Finley. Addie came to visit, and I made Finley go out for brunch with us.

I laugh at the memory. “Remember how awkward she was about the concept of brunch? The idea that we would go eat breakfast together hours after waking up?”

“And yet, somehow, she found the right man for her. Maybe there is hope for us, after all.” Addie sighs.

I shake my head. “For you, certainly. For me, I’m not interested in finding out.”

“Fine.” Addie’s huff is overly dramatic. “Then let’s get back to your family drama. What does Chris say about this?”

“Oh shit! Chris! I told him I’d meet him for coffee so we can game plan without stressing out Kim! I’ve got to go! But come live here. Don’t be stressed about that.”

I hang up, rushing around until I’m fully clothed and ready to go. Luckily, Chris volunteered to come meet me, so I’ve only got to make it a block in—I check the time on my phone—negative two minutes. I slip an earbud in while I’m on the elevator, scrolling through my playlists until I find the one I use when I’m running. I might not be going for a jog, but these songs are all picked because of their specific tempos. Ones ideal for moving quickly.

Once outside, I weave around the cars already lining the streets, breaking a few pedestrian laws to get to the coffee shop in under three minutes.

“Sorry,” I apologize, sliding into the chair across from my brother, and pick up the cold brew he ordered me.

“No problem, it’s not like one of our entire futures is at risk.”

I pat his hand. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” I take in the dark circles under his eyes and the coffee stain on his shirt that looks like he tried to clean it up. “Are you okay?”

“Marlee has slept in our bed for the last three nights. I don’t know whether she can sense my stress or is regressing because of the baby, or the moon is in the wrong cycle, or what, but she kicked me in the face twice last night. In the face, Char.” He gesticulates widely in the general vicinity of his head. “Why are her feet even up there?”

I bite my lips, willing myself not to laugh. It’s not funny. Chris clearly hasn’t slept well, and now is not the time to make fun of him for that. “That sounds… tough. Want me to have her for a sleepover?”

“Really?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. “Are you sure?”

I shrug. “Sure. I’ll make her sleep out on the patio and tell her it’s camping.”

He takes a gulp of his coffee. “Fine. If Kim asks, I’m going to tell her I assumed you were kidding about making a toddler sleep by herself on your patio. Who wouldn’t think that was a joke?”

I offer him my most angelic smile. The one that has gotten me out of at least two speeding tickets. “Of course it’s a joke.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’ll bring her by at five.”

“I’ll feed her macaroni and cheese and candy for dinner and let her stay up as late as she wants or until she falls asleep on my couch watching a movie that’s likely too old for her. What age can you start watching Twisters?”

“No Twisters.” He rubs his temples. “Everything else is… fine. Just don’t bring her home until after ten tomorrow.”

“But Glen Powell is so pretty!”

He stares at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “If my daughter develops an irrational fear of tornadoes, you will be moving into my house and sleeping with her every night until this baby is born.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Chris yawns, his eyes barely opening once it’s done.

“You’re not going to be much of a brainstorming partner today, are you?” I ask.

“No,” he whines, laying his head on the table between us, his hands acting as a pillow.