The two of us have never had a real relationship. Most days, she'd rather just write me a check and hope that I'll go away instead of actually taking the time to have a conversation with me. Even though she’s just an hour away in Chicago, I haven’t seen her in over two years. And that’s only because I made the short trip down to visit her at work.
I call every month or three, and I think our longest running chat lasted just a hair over 60 seconds. She’s always in the middle of something and has to call me back.
I’ve been waiting 30-odd years for my mother to call me back.
As for my father, Mom claims he's just some mistake she made in law school. He signed me away in an instant. I wouldn't know where to start looking for him if I wanted to.
My phone is still in my hand when a social media notification pops up from Lexi. I click on her post and it’s another sucker punch to my fragile emotions.
“Family time! XOXO!”
Her caption is followed by a short video and a couple candid photos showing the Kingston family dinner from earlier tonight.
I feel a small, wistful smile on my lips as I swipe through the pictures. Walker would probably flip his shit if he knew these existed. He hates having his picture taken, even though he’s so freaking handsome. I chuckle to myself at his expression. I see why Lexi thinks he’s such a grouch. While he usually wears a perma-scowl, he seems extra annoyed in this image. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be there.
But the rest of the family is all smiles. They always are. The Kingstons always looks so happy. The perfect family. Once upon a time, I used to dream that Walker and I would have our own happy family. But in reality, the opposite is unfolding...My friend and I are growing apart.
Back in the day, I used to be at those family dinners. Walker always extended the invitation. But it’s been a few months since he invited me over, and now, seeing these pictures of Iris and Lexi blending in with the Kingston family, it really burns that Walker didn’t think to call me this time.
I know it’s lame but I can’t help but feel left out now. Everyone’s moving on. No one remembers the girl who spent her days chasing around after Walker like her life depended on it. Sometimes I think I’m fading completely from my friend’s memory, too.
I click out of the social media app. These pictures just solidify my decision. The most Walker and I will ever be is just friends. I need to get over him and move forward with starting my business and having my baby. I need to take matters into my own hands. That’s the only way I’ll ever have my own family, my own life.
I darken my phone’s screen, not wanting to torture myself further. Ready for bed, I bring my empty bowl to the kitchen sink and wash up. Then, it’s off to the bathroom for my night routine.
Makeup remover. Cleanser. Moisturizer. Brush and floss.
Once in my bedroom, I reach over to plug the device into my charger for the night. With heavy eyelids, I slide beneath my sheets. There’s no sense in waiting for my busy mother to call me back tonight—or any other night.
But right before I flick my lamp off, I hear a knock at my front door. I pause. A moment later, I hear the knocking again.
I’m most certainly not expecting anyone over at this time of night. This isn’t a normal time for visitors.
I glance at the wristwatch sitting on my night table. It's booty-call o'clock. But no one is chasing this booty so I don’t have the faintest clue who it might be.
I tiptoe across my apartment and quietly approach the front door. I peer through the peephole.
“What the hell?” I murmur, then flip the locks one by one. I fling the door open.
Broad shoulders fill up my doorway. Stormy brown eyes leer at me from beneath a strong, male, always-furrowed brow. Six feet, three inches of Walker Kingston stand there on my doorstep, wet and ruffled and handsome as ever.
7
Walker
Penny opens her front door, her beautiful face marred with confusion and her body barely covered in her thread-bare sleep shorts.
Why in god’s name am I standing here?
“Hey,” I say dumbly, shifting my weight as I drip water on the welcome mat.
I’m already thinking this was a bad idea—a really moronic idea—but she’s stepping aside and inviting me into her apartment. There’s a reason why I try to never be alone with Penny at night, and those long legs in those tiny shorts are 90 percent of that reason.
My gorgeous friend frowns at me, making me wonder what the hell I must look like. “I’ll grab you a towel,” she says, spinning around to her narrow linen closet.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. I watch her lean into the linen closet. I'm unable to look away from her gorgeous body as she bends over. Christ. I abhor the idea of some other man’s baby inside of her. The thought makes my blood boil. Artificial insemination or not, no other man is worthy of that body.
She returns, handing me a towel and leading me to the couch. She’s close. Too close but not close enough, at the same damn time. I grunt out a 'thank you' and run the fluffy terrycloth over my damp hair.
Despite the rough state of her apartment building, she’s transformed her little abode into something stylish and cozy. There's throw pillows covered in loud, crazy colors and vibrant art hanging from the walls and wildflowers brightening up her small dining corner.
“It’s late,” Penny points out softly. “What are you doing here?”
I absently rub the back of my neck. "I heard you’re looking for clients to build up your decorating side business.”
Her eyebrow lifts in surprise. Then, she bites her lip. "That's what you 'heard', huh?"
I lean an elbow on the arm of the
