Page 14 of Reticent

Tonight, over dinner and drinks, I planned to tell Niko and Skylar who the father of my baby is. When I first told them I was pregnant, naturally, they asked by who. It killed me not to tell them, but what was I supposed to say?

Hey, guys, I hooked up with a guy I met at Club Vivid. What’s his name, you ask? Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know.

I cringe when I remember some mistakes I made that night. Not wanting to exchange names was one of them. I only recently told Aria—the most nonjudgmental person I know—the truth about intentionally not asking Hunter for his name. I previously blamed alcohol and loud music for not catching his name.

My dad and stepmom, Gloria, were the most blindsided by my pregnancy. They instilled in me abstinence until marriage. By the time I was twelve, I could recite at least ten Bible passages that dealt with the trappings of fornication. Imagine their shock when, weeks after my Houston vacation, I confess a pregnancy by a man I refused to name.

My pregnancy rocked my family to its core, sending ripples of gossip throughout our church and shattering the perfect image of our family that my dad worked tirelessly to rebuild after bringing home his daughter from another woman.

I take the elevator to Niko’s office before leaving for dinner. Most of the staff on his floor are already gone, save for a few of the marketing execs and their assistants. I tap my knuckles against the open glass door and wait for Niko to notice me.

He looks up from his computer and gestures to me. “Hey, String Bean. Have a seat. Relax those swollen ankles.”

I step inside and slide the door closed. “My ankles aren’t swollen, punk.”

Niko looks over at my feet, cocking a brow. “If you say so.”

I run a hand over my baby bump. It’s gotten a lot rounder in the past couple of weeks. “You can’t call me String Bean anymore.”

Niko’s grin is full of mischief. “You’ll always be String Bean to me.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Is Jordyn staying the night?”

“Probably.”

“I need to buy some noise-canceling headphones.”

“Sorry,” he says blandly. “She’s a screamer.”

“Ear bleach, then.”

His mouth twitches. “I think it’s eye bleach.”

I pretend to barf, silently thankful that I haven’t thrown up since the beginning of my second trimester. “Some of that, too, then.”

He chuckles. “Who chose the restaurant for tonight?”

“I did. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No, but Jordyn has. Her parents took her there for her thirtieth birthday last month.”

“Did she say anything about the food?” Or the owner?

“Only that it was good. I guess they serve Italian-Cajun cuisine. She said it was expensive, though.” Niko opens a desk drawer and takes out his wallet, pulling out a few bills. “Before I forget.”

“You want us to bring you something back?”

“No. Tonight’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I planned to pay tonight, anyway.”

I hesitate before stuffing his money into my maternity slacks pocket. “Thanks, Big Head.”