Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(42)

The tears well up in my eyes so fast, I have to blink them away to see clearly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whisper, so grateful to the universe for putting such a kind, sensitive, loving soul in my life. “You don’t know how much that means to me. You’re going to be the best granddaddy ever.”

? ? ?

At my appointment the next day, Dr. Hao confirms that I am indeed pregnant, which comes as no surprise. Dad comes back in the room and squeezes my hand at the news. When the appointment over, I promise Dr. Hao that I’ll find an obstetrician and schedule an ultrasound when I return to Seattle, and Dad promises her that they’ll go get coffee soon and catch up.

Back at home, I head into my room while Dad makes himself busy with a crossword puzzle. I pick up my phone and call the first person I think of.

“Hey, babe! How’d it go?” Georgia chirps on the other end.

“Good, I guess. The doctor said everything seems normal.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. This whole thing is crazy. How are you even pregnant?”

“Well . . .” I want to crack a joke about the birds and the bees, but I’m feeling uninspired. I can only joke to a certain extent when my reality is . . . this.

“I just can’t believe you’re going to have a baby,” Georgia says, her voice almost a little sad.

My chest clenches painfully. Will things change between us once there’s a kid involved?

“I know, me neither.” I close my eyes tightly, praying that our friendship won’t be affected by my new reality.

“Well, thanks for calling, babe. Keep me updated, okay?”

I sigh, a little relieved, and also a little surprised that she’s cutting the call so short. But she seemed interested, so she’s still invested, and that feels like a good sign to me.

“Of course.”

We say our good-byes and I roll over on the bed, scrolling for the next contact on my list.

“Hey,” Grant says, his voice rumbling pleasantly in my ear.

“Hi there,” I say, pretending not to notice the way my heart skips a beat when he speaks.

“What did the doctor say?”

Ah, straight to business.

“That I’m definitely pregnant. And everything looks fine.”

“What do you mean, everything? You and the baby?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“Good.” Grant lets out a sigh.

His relief is contagious, so I lean back against the pillows stacked on my bed and smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after a moment.

“I’m okay,” I say firmly. He spends way too much time worrying about me. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention sometimes.

“You sure? No dizziness or anything? Nausea?”

“I’m sure. I feel so much better than I did the other day. I’m even holding down my dad’s pancakes.”

“That’s good to hear. And how is your dad? With everything?”

I chuckle, suddenly imagining a meeting between my dad and Grant. Talk about worrywarts.

“He’s being very supportive. I told him all about Jason too. About the breakup, anyway.”

“Oh?” There’s a hint of something in Grant’s voice, but I can’t make it out.

“Yes. He, um, thinks the baby is Jason’s. And I didn’t tell him otherwise,” I say carefully.

“Right, makes sense,” Grant says on the other end, and I can imagine him nodding solemnly like he does whenever he has something more to say.

“My dad wants to kill him,” I find myself saying, unsure why I’m sharing this. “I’m pretty sure he wants to hunt him down and make him suffer.”

“He’s not the only one.”

I roll my eyes. Men.

“Have you told him yet?” Grant asks.

“Jason?”

“Yeah.”

“Not yet. But I need to, soon. It’s the right thing to do.” I scratch at a spot behind my knee. I’d rather never talk to Jason again, but he needs to know that I could potentially be carrying his baby.

“I guess so.”

I frown. Grant clearly has something else to say, but as always, he’s self-censoring. I’d be aggravated if I weren’t so sure that he’s putting my feelings first.

“So, you’re getting enough to eat?”

I grin. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“When are you coming home?” Grant asks next.

I think we’re both surprised by the use of the word home to describe Grant’s condo, because a silence falls over the call.

“Uh, well . . .” I stammer, eager to banish any awkwardness. He could just be talking about Seattle in general. “Probably the day after tomorrow. I don’t work again until later this week.”

“All right, well, let me know. I can pick up some groceries, and we’ll have dinner.”

I chew on my lip. When are you going to stop using Grant, Ana?

“Sounds good,” I say, feigning enthusiasm. It’s just dinner.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“You bet. ’Bye, Grant.”

“’Bye, Ana.”

I hang up, tossing my phone on the bed beside me and closing my eyes for a moment. The sigh that comes out of me is tired and weak.