Page 25 of Everything But Mine

I still felt her on my lips, heard the slight hitch in her breath when the kiss deepened. And I knew, without a doubt, that some part of me—maybe even a big part—didn’t want another guy getting to know that sound. But I refused to let myself want more than the pretense.

Amanda stood, brushing herself off. “We should probably head back before someone comes looking.”

I nodded, but as I followed her inside, I knew there could have been more. If I just let it.

Until Diego nudges me with his foot, almost making me stumble.

“You good?”

I shake it off. “Yeah.”

“You ready for more?” He’s standing tall close to me, and I’m still much taller than he is.

There’s something about him, though—something about how he knows so much better than me—that always makes him feel like he’s larger than life to me.

I nod. “Sure. Let me chalk up.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He taps my shoulder. “Are you ready for more, Eric?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AMANDA

Instead of working out of my office on the nineteenth floor of University Hall, I’m typing away in a back booth at the café downstairs. The hum of espresso machines and the faint bitterness of roasted beans wrap around me as I try to focus on grading and evaluating data sets. My gaze drifts to the honey locusts across the quad, their new leaves in early spring green, shifting in the wind. Light threads through them, and it does wonders for my avoidant mood today.

Priority one: not dwell on today. The warmth, sharp and unreserved, that rose in me when Eric overheard me making this pregnancy confirmation appointment and said he was coming. No hesitation, just a matter-of-fact. “I’ll be there fifteen minutes early,” and a growly, “Don’t even, Amanda,” when I tried to argue. His eyebrows furrowed together when I asked to stay a few more days. I figured he was annoyed, except he had me veto ingredients before he even cooked dinner, storing them away if my nose so much as twitched.

Priority two: hide from Valeria Ross. The second she sees me, her extraordinary spidey sense as a therapist will just give me away. Then, she’ll latch on to my going to Eric and nobody else. I have no words to explain us, especially to someone who wasn’t around before.

The clipped cadence of heels, confident and impatient, slices through the quiet, one clack louder than the other one. Only one person walks like that. I’m out of time. My spine stiffens, and I try to hide behind my computer screen.

The steps come to a halt right next to me. “Hiding behind a laptop? Bold strategy, Amanda. Truly the work of an academic mind.” Valeria’s voice is amused.

I lower the screen just enough to see her face—sharp brows, chestnut-brown eyes already scanning me. She’s wearing one of her signature blazers, and her black hair is swept into an ornate high bun, a braid coiled neatly at its base, not a single strand daring to escape. That’s Val for you; immaculate precision any time of the day. Knowing her, she’s just finished tearing down some poor student’s research paper without looking up from her research notes. Now, she’s about to dissect my life choices without breaking stride. Just a regular Thursday for Val.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I say too quickly. “Just, you know, conducting deep academic research. Like a real scholar.”

“Mmm.” She crosses her arms, her gaze unwavering. “And I suppose that’s why you’ve been dodging my calls? All this”—she waves her hand at the papers that cover my table—“research?”

“I’ve been busy,” I offer, which is technically true. Not that I’m going to mention I’ve been rearranging Eric’s office closet or reorganizing his spice cabinet and pretending I don’t know he alphabetized it.

Valeria raises a brow. “Busy. Right. By the way, I saw Diego last night. He said some things… after a few beers.”

I curse Diego’s loose lips. There’s no way Eric hasn’t told him the soap opera that’s become my life in the last couple of days. Wait a minute… “What are you and Diego⁠—”

“Cute, Mandy. You’re not steering this conversation away that easily, friend.” She reaches over and snaps my laptop shut. “Grab your shit. We’re going to The Good Bread for lunch.”

“I don’t have time. I’m going to miss a deadline to peer-review this paper, and⁠—”

“You’re making time.” She takes an unrelenting grip of my arm, pulling me up. I don’t resist, knowing there’s no point. We head out of University Hall and over to BSB—the behavioral sciences building—where the restaurant is. The entire way, the idea of talking through everything with Val makes my stomach turn… especially after how she left things the last time we talked about Eric. The way you hold on to each other… It isn’t a ‘just friends’ thing, no matter how close.

She orders a salad at the counter. I get soup and a breadstick I know I won’t finish. While we wait at the counter, she talks nonstop about the conference she’s organizing, all keynote speakers and budgets and workshops. Will I present? She hasn’t received my abstract yet. I nod like I’m considering it, grabbing my bowl once it’s ready. My half-written abstract is somewhere in my inbox, probably gathering digital dust next to the dozen other tasks I’ve been ignoring. I know I won’t apply, but it’s easier to play along.

We find a table outside and sit down while she complains about the salad price. Her own version of Can I afford a baby? is Should I pay the three extra dollars for avocado?

“Soooo.” She drags out the syllable while she pulls out the fork from the cutlery package. “Why are you shacking up with Eric now?”