Page 8 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

“God, this is so crazy.” I lean my head against the headrest. “There’s a baby inside me. Our baby. I know I’ve had more time to get used to this than you, but it still doesn’t feel real. I thought graduation in a month was going to be the biggest thing to happen to me this year, but now…” I press a hand to my head. “Thank you for being so cool about this,” I tell him.

His eyes spark with annoyance. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“No, I knew you would handle this with a grace I probably don’t deserve, but most guys wouldn’t.” I think of my ex, Tommy, and how despite being together for most of our college years I know if he’d gotten me pregnant, he would’ve been gone the second the test came back positive.

“Promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”

Chances of that happening are probably zilch. I don’t want to be Luke’s burden. We’re not even a real couple. We exist in this complicated existence that’s more than friends, but not quite a couple either.

I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I’d given him a chance our freshman year. We hooked up at the beginning of that year, and soon after I met Tommy before I ever reconnected with Luke. What if I’d spent these past years with him instead of my miserable ex?

I guess it doesn’t really matter, because now we’re stuck with each other for life.

“I’m gonna go,” I say.

He nods. “Text me when you get to your dorm.”

“I will.”

He steps away from my car, and I roll up the window. He watches as I back out and when I get to the end of the street, I look back and find him watching from the driveway.

“Baby,” I say softly, tentatively touching my stomach. “I don’t deserve him.”

CHAPTER 3

LUKE

I feel like an absolute creep loitering outside of Bertie’s dorm, but I wanted to catch her before she heads to class.

There’s a bench positioned across from the entrance beneath a large shady tree, so at least I’ve had a decent spot to watch from and not look wholly like a creeper. I mean, there’s a bench so that means they expect people to sit, right?

The door opens and like I’ve been doing for the past ten minutes I look up expectantly.

It’s not her.

I’m about to text Rosie—Bertie’s best friend and the wife of one of my teammates—when the doors swing open again and there she is.

Her long blond hair hangs down in loose waves, and she’s dressed in a pair of loose linen pants and a sweater. She looks a little pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes like she didn’t sleep.

She spots me and gives me a tired wave as she makes her way over to me. Her sandals scuff against the ground.

“Hey.”

I thrust out the contents in my hand. “For you.”

She takes the foil wrapped sandwich I made for her breakfast—egg white and Canadian bacon on an English muffin. It was a suggestion from my mom of something Bertie might be able to keep down. I also stopped on my way to school and grabbed a Sprite from McDonald’s.

Her eyes light up at the soda. “Oh, you have no idea how badly I need this. I’ve thought about it non-stop since last night. I almost went back out and got another.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “I would’ve gotten you one if you texted me.”

She rolls her eyes as she joins me on the bench. She yanks off the paper wrapper and spears the lid with the straw. A soft humming sound emanates from her at the first sip.

“I know you would have, but I’m not your responsibility.”

She thinks she’s not my responsibility?

“You’re pregnant with my baby. I think it’s my job to take care of you.”