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WHEN TELLING YOUR ONE-NIGHT STAND YOU'RE PREGNANT DOESN'T GO AS PLANNED... "Start talking," Foster says. “The T-shirt did the talking.” I point toward the bedroom. “So you were just going to leave it here and hope I knew it was you?” He goes to the fridge and grabs two beers, twisting the cap off of one and holding it out for me. I raise my eyebrows. “F#@k.” He places it on the counter. “What do you want to drink?” “Nothing.” “Shouldn’t you have water or something? Are you hungry? I have peanut butter but no pickles.” He turns his back to me and pulls a jar of peanut butter out of the cupboard. “Listen.” I go to the front door to grab my shoes. “I just wanted to let you know. I don’t expect anything from you.” I place my hand on my stomach, and his eyes zero in on the gesture. I retract my hand immediately. “This was a you should know obligatory telling. I’m not looking for a relationship or money or anything.” I hurriedly slip into my shoes as he rounds the counter. Damn, he looks good today. Of course he does. Low-hanging jeans, a black T-shirt, his tattoos sneaking out of his sleeves and above his neckline. “Oh, I get it. You wanted to let me know, but I’m not good enough to talk it out with or have any part in the baby’s life if you decide to keep him or her.” I glance up, and his eyebrows raise from what I suspect is a shocked expression on my face. “Are you at least gonna tell me if you’re keeping the baby? Do I deserve to know that much at least?” I stand and grab my backpack, securing it on my back. “I…” I stutter because I assumed… shoot, I’m the A-hole now. “Well… I thought… You wouldn’t want to? I mean I… do you?” He puts the closed beer back in the fridge and dumps the other beer in the sink before tossing the bottle in the trash can. “You assumed I’d be a deadbeat dad. That I wouldn’t want to know my own kid.” My stomach feels as though it slides down my leg and onto the floor. “That’s not it.” I glance away from him. “I think you’re lying.” I throw my hands in the air. He’s cornered me, and it’s apparent that I’ve clearly made assumptions about him. “Okay. Yes. I figured you might not even believe me and probably ask for a paternity test and then maybe you’d want to pay me a few bucks to go away. Which I wasn’t going to take, for the record.” “Jesus, Callie.” He runs his fingers through his hair and appears genuinely hurt. I’m surprised by how much it bothers me. “You’re my best friend’s sister, and you think I’d just desert you?” I bite my lip as my shoulders sink. “I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to assume.” How could I be so stupid and judgmental to think he’d abandon the baby? His reputation as a womanizer doesn’t mean he’d run from his own kid. “I’m sorry. I think I got caught up in worrying how I’m to navigate this, and I wasn’t giving a lot of real thought to how you would.” Foster sets his hands on his hips. “Are you keeping the baby? Have you made that decision yet?” His gaze falls to my stomach once more. I follow his line of vision so we’re both staring at my not-swollen belly. “I am.” He nods, steels himself with a deep breath. “Okay, well then, I’m in.”