Those Three Little Words

“Do you have everything you need?” I ask Eli as I sit cross-legged on the bed, watching him pack for the first game of the playoffs. Since they’re the wild card, they don’t get home advantage, so they’ll be flying to Washington in a few hours.

“I think so.” He scratches his bare chest as he looks around the room, making sure he hasn’t left anything. He’s grown more and more comfortable with me, and it shows as he stands in front of me in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang incredibly low on his waist. So low that it sits below his Adonis belt, so all I’ve seen this afternoon are his perfectly defined abs, thick pecs, and loads and loads of muscular skin. It’s been hard to keep my eyes off him. “I have the dry-cleaned shoes, which actually look better than ever.”

“Maybe you should do it more often because . . .” I waft my hand in front of my nose and make a disgusted face. “Pee-yew.”

“Fuck off, they weren’t that bad.”

I laugh. “They made me puke.”

“You made yourself puke.”

I eye him with my most scornful glare. “The baby you inserted inside me made me puke. Therefore, you made me puke.”

He chuckles lightly. “The visual with that sentence.” He zips up his suitcase. “You know, you’ve never watched me pack before. Does this mean you’re going to miss me?”

“Miss you? Pfft, no way.” I passively wave my hand in front of me. “I couldn’t be happier about your departure. Quite thrilled, to be honest.”

“Mm-hmm.” He takes a seat on the bed and leans toward me. He points at my eye. “I can see a tear, right there. You’re sad.”

Tear?

What tear?

I quickly swipe at my eye. “There’s no tear.”

He chuckles. “Ahh, but it was fun for a second making you think you were crying over me.”

“Ugh, you’re irritating. You wish I was crying over you, then you could ride off on an airplane, chest puffed, knowing you have some girl back home pining after you. Well, I’ll have you know, Eli Hornsby, there is no pining here.”

“You sure know how to gut a guy.”

I smirk. “My specialty.”

“Okay, so you’re not going to miss me. You’re actually thrilled I’m leaving.”

“Thrilled and thriving when you’re gone, that’s my motto.”

He slowly nods while he looks away. “In that case, I guess I won’t bother calling you at night, you know, since you’re thrilled and thriving and all.”

“Good,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to have to sit through your snooze fest of a diatribe. Thank you for doing me a favor.”

Now he turns to me, and with a shake of his head and a glint in his eyes, he says, “You know, you’re a real smart-ass.”

I flutter my lashes at him. “Aren’t you positively ecstatic you get to have a baby with me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He stands from the bed and moves over to his suit that’s strewn across the chair in the corner of the bedroom. Without even thinking twice, he slips his sweatpants off, revealing his black boxer briefs, and reaches for his black pants.

“Wow,” I say, holding my hand up to my eyes. “What do you think you’re doing there, fella?”

“Uh, getting changed. I have to wear a suit, you know that.”

Eyes still covered, I say, “There’s a perfectly fine bathroom right over there.”

“Yes, and you’ve seen me completely naked. In fact, my dick has been inside you. Therefore, you seeing me in my boxer briefs is G-rated at this point.”

I hear the telltale sound of a zipper, so I lower my hand and glance over at him. He’s facing the wall, so I’m granted a view of his backside. His taut back muscles seem to tighten as they move closer to his ass, which, of course, is the perfect round shape from all those years skating up and down the ice. And his legs, which are thicker than the average man’s, are encased by his tight suit pants.

He slips his black dress shirt over his upper half and then turns toward me, and my tongue nearly falls out of my mouth from the sight in front of me. He’s hunched over ever so slightly to button up the shirt, causing his abs to ripple in the most delicious way possible.

When he looks up at me, I’m met with a devilish grin. “Getting a good show?”

Yes.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

I chuck a pillow at him and then fling myself back on the bed. “You wish. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Uh-huh, and that’s why you were covering your eyes a moment ago.”

“Because I’m a lady, and I’m sorry if I don’t want to be blinded by your man-thigh.”

“My legs aren’t that white.”

“Okay, sure, they’re not that white, Hornsby.”

I hear him walk over to me, rounding the bed until he’s just above me, tucking his shirt in. “It’s Eli.”

I gulp.

Because the way he just said that, all deep and serious, while wearing this black ensemble, makes me swallow my tongue and want to beg for more.

Trying to mask the overwhelming thudding of my heart, I say, “Oh, here I thought it was Elijah.”

Once again, he shakes his head at me. “Smart-ass.” He puts his shoes on and a deep blue velvet jacket with black lapels.

He adjusts his cuffs and then holds his arms out. “How do I look?”

Really.

Fucking.

Good.

Lickable.

Suckable.

Fuckable.

I plaster on a smile and offer him a thumbs up. “Matching.”

“Matching?” He raises a brow at me. “That’s all you have to say? I’m matching?”

“Takes a noble man to be able to mix textures like you.” I offer him a golf clap. “Well done, dear sir.”

His quizzical brow grows higher. “You’re acting weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” I say over the roar of my escalating pulse. “Everything is normal over here.”

He still eyes me. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Trust issues, perhaps?” I hop off the bed, and I reach for his bag to help him, but he’s quickly at my back, taking the bag from me. “Hey, I can help.”

“You’re pregnant. You’re not lifting anything.”

“Uh, I lifted a donut to my mouth yesterday. Where were you then, huh?”

“You are something else right now.” He moves down the hallway toward the living room, where he sets his bag down and turns toward me. “I’m slightly nervous about leaving you in this sort of state.”

Hands crossed at my chest, I ask, “And what sort of state would you be referring to?”

He gestures up and down my body. “This insane state where you’re clearly losing it.”

My fingers drum along my biceps as I maintain my crossed position. Head tilted down, I say, “Has anyone ever told you not to call a pregnant woman insane?”

When I glance up at him, I can see the panic in his eyes, which, of course, makes me laugh. And for some reason, I can’t seem to stop myself. I close the space between us, and I wrap my arms around him while chuckling.

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to bite your head off before you leave.”

I press my cheek to his chest, and stiffly, he returns the hug. “Well, that’s good.” He’s coming off as awkward, and it’s probably because I’m holding him, and we don’t normally hold each other.

But I can’t seem to let go. The baby is forcing me to do this, to keep my hold on him.

The baby is soaking him up.

His strength.

His delicious smell.

His stiff but warm embrace.

After a few more seconds, he finally pulls me in tighter. I relish in the feel of him holding me tightly. I haven’t really given it a lot of thought before this moment, but being held by Eli reminds me that I haven’t had much human touch through the whole thing. As much as I love living on my own, I often miss human contact.

This, right here—hugging him—it feels right.

It feels comforting.

Needed.

He rubs my back and quietly says, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just needed a hug.”

That causes him to pull away just slightly so he can look me in the eyes. “If you needed a hug, you should have asked.”

“I’m going to awkwardly take it instead.”

“That works too.” He squeezes me close to him again. “We’re both going through something incredibly different. If that means you need a hug, then don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He continues to rub my back until I realize I’m going to make him late, so I let go of him and take a step back.

“You good?” he asks me.

“Yes, I’m good. Thank you.”

He nods. “Okay, I’ll call you when I get to my hotel room.” He reaches out and tilts my chin up. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Why do I feel so needy right now? I don’t want him to leave. I want him to sit on the couch with me again, my legs draped over him, just talking about everything and nothing. I want to listen to his deep voice as he tells me about his upcoming hockey game, and I want to watch the way he tugs on his hair when I compliment his skills. I want him to stay here, with me, close to me . . .

Tears well in my eyes, and I curse my godforsaken hormones for not being able to keep it together.

“What’s wrong?” he says, immediately picking up on the walking disaster in front of him.

I swipe at my eyes. “Ugh, hormones. I’m fine.”

He makes a strangled noise in his throat and then pulls me back into a hug. “Please don’t cry. I already feel guilty leaving you. You crying is just going to make it worse.”

“It’s not me crying. It’s the baby unfairly controlling how I feel. You put the baby in there. Blame yourself.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll fully take the blame for this.” He lifts my chin when he pulls away, and our eyes connect.

Mine watery.

His full of concern.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure you answer.”

“I will.”

“Okay.” He heaves a sigh and then picks up his bag. “Let me know if you need anything.” He offers me a wave, which I return.

“Kick some ass, Hornsby.” When he pins me with a glare, I chuckle and say, “Kick some ass, Eli.”

“Better.”

And then he leaves, the door softly clicking behind him.

I fall back on the couch and drape my arm over my eyes. God, I’m in so much trouble.

Because I can’t decide if I like Eli or if it’s the hormones. Either way, my body is reacting to him in a way that I can’t control, and I know it’s only a matter of time before this tight hold I have on my emotions and needs will slip.

THE COOL, sweet feel of a pint of Cherry Garcia rests on my chest as I delight in the comedic styling of Melissa McCarthy rolling around on a car. I love her so much. If I could be friends with a celebrity, I’d choose her. She’s not only funny but also down to earth and very kind. I feel akin to her in a way that is so strong I have the temptation to message her on Instagram and ask her if she wants to be my friend.

Would she accept?

I smooth the ice cream off my spoon and give it some good thought.

“I’m a good time,” I say out loud to no one. “Possibly strange at times, but who doesn’t like a little odd behavior in a friendship? Keeps things alive and slightly unpredictable, which is key to maintaining longevity in a relationship.” I pause and then say, “Am I really talking out loud to myself?”

Knock. Knock.

I quickly turn to the door. Who the hell is that?

It’s clearly not an appropriate time for a visitor. It’s past eight, which to me is the time when everyone crawls into their homes and strips down to troll status. Hence why I’m wearing my pajama pants and don’t mind the ice cream stain on my shirt.

I strip out of my blanket cocoon, set my ice cream down, and walk to the door, where I look through the peephole to see a large bouquet.

Oh. Flower delivery.

I open the door, and instead of taking a bouquet from a delivery person, I’m bombarded by the happy glees of my mother and father.

What.

On.

Earth.

“Penny!” Mom shrieks as she passes the bouquet to Dad and pulls me into a large hug. “Oh honey, we are so happy to see you.”

Uh . . . what are they doing here?

Am I missing something? Did I miss an email? Correspondence that they were coming? Was Pacey supposed to tell me they were on their way and forgot to mention it to me?

Either way . . . THANK GOD the boys are on an away trip because that would have been incredibly uncomfortable to explain to them why a six-foot-four hockey player, shirtless—because God forbid he wear a shirt—lived with me.

And then a bolt of sweat forms on the back of my neck as I remember said six-foot-four beast moved in with me. What if there’s evidence of his residence here? As my mom hugs me and my dad looks at us lovingly, I desperately scan the living room to see if he left a sock or a man item around the apartment.

I can’t tell from this angle, but that’s not to say I’m in the clear.

“Oh, you feel so frail. Have you been eating?” She pulls away and spots the ice cream stain on my shirt. “Well, I guess you have.”

“Take these, Tina,” Dad says as he gives her the bouquet and then pulls me into a hug, jostling me around. “Oh, my baby girl, how are you?”

Frantically trying to see if there’s any evidence of my live-in baby daddy.

“Surprised,” I answer as my dad traps me in a giant bear hug. My face is buried in his chest, making it impossible to look around. “Did you guys say you were coming?” I muffle into him.

“Nope,” Mom answers with pride. “This was done on a whim. We thought we’d surprise you. Hopefully catch a game when the boys return, but until then, we’d love to spend some time with our girl. And before you freak out, don’t you worry, we have a hotel room.”

Look at that. Miracles still do exist.

“Oh, well, what a surprise,” I say when Dad releases me. I straighten my shirt and give the apartment one more scan. Nothing seems to be screaming “hockey man lives here.” “Sorry that I’m not properly dressed.”

“Oh, please.” Mom waves her hand dismissively. “No need to dress up on our account.”

“And you brought me flowers.” I take the vase. “How kind.”

“We didn’t.” Mom waggles her eyebrows at me. They didn’t? “They were at your doorstep when we arrived.”

Hmm, I thought I heard a knock when I was going to the bathroom but just chalked it up to the noises of living in an apartment building.

“Who could they be from?” Mom asks, following me into the kitchen while Dad shuts the door and takes his shoes off.

Who could they be from? Great question. No one sends me flowers, so I honestly have no idea.

Wait . . . they can’t be.

They wouldn’t be.

Eli would never send me flowers.

There’s no reason to.

And we don’t do that, romantic gestures like flowers.

Would he send me flowers?

“There’s a card,” Mom says as she reaches for it, and out of pure survival instincts, I swat her hand away and rip the card out of the holder and hold it against my chest.

“No one,” I say with panic. “They’re, uh, they’re from me.” That sounds believable. “Yeah, you see, I read this book that you should treat yourself to certain things you don’t normally get, so yeah, I sent myself flowers. Sounds kind of lame, but trust me when I say, my spirits were just lifted seeing how much I care for myself.” I toss the card on the counter. “Anyway, do you guys want any ice cream? I think I have a quarter of a pint I can offer you.”

“The card says it’s from E. Who’s E?”

I whip around to see my mom reading the card. What on earth? Isn’t privacy a thing for old people?

“And why is this E telling you thanks for the hug?”

He wrote that? What would possess him to do such a thing?

“Err, well E, is me.” I nod and smile manically. “E stands for the E in Penny. Have to come up with a nickname, you know. That was part of the blog post. Nickname yourself. Clearly, I’m not very creative. Anywho, I hugged myself earlier, long and hard, and boy, oh boy was it a great one. So great that I decided to send myself flowers.” I sigh. “So, yeah, about that ice cream.” I motion toward the freezer.

Dad is now on the couch and holds up my phone. “Are you calling yourself too? Seems like an Eli is trying to get in touch with you.”

Jesus Christ!

Panic swells in my chest as I run up to the phone and snatch it out of my dad’s hand before he could do something completely asinine like answer it himself.

“Eli?” Mom coos. “Ooo, who is this Eli human?”

“Telemarketer,” I screech as I hurry down the hall. “Excuse me for a moment.”

I find the first door I see, open it, and shove myself into the hall closet, bumbling over my vacuum and dodging empty plastic hangers. When I answer the phone, I whisper, “Hello?”

“Penny? Is everything okay?”

“No,” I hiss at him. “Everything is not okay. My parents are here.”

“They’re . . . what? They’re there, at the apartment?”

“Yes, and they are questioning who the flowers are from. Which are gorgeous and thank you, but why did you send flowers? And you said thank you for the hug? Now my mom thinks I nicknamed myself E, and I send myself flowers and hug myself. Do you know what kind of loser status my parents must think I’m at right now? I’m pretty sure they’re questioning all of their parenting decisions at this very moment.”

“Why would they think you sent yourself flowers?”

“Because that’s what I told them when they asked who they were from. I am panicking. Can you hear that I’m panicking? Because I am. I haven’t told them about the baby yet and then all of a sudden, while I’m trying to enjoy freaking Ben and Jerry’s and watch a movie to get my mind off the fact that I miss your company, my parents come barging in with your flowers. Eli, this is not good. They’re going to be able to smell it.”

“Smell what?”

“My pregnancy,” I hiss again. “Keep up.”

“Uh, I’m still trying to comprehend that you hate the flowers but miss my company.”

“I didn’t hate the flowers, but I have ice cream on my shirt. I didn’t think I’d be seeing anyone. If I knew I’d be entertaining tonight, do you think I’d be doing it so unpolished? At least I would have put some ChapStick on or something. But then they stop by, unannounced, and I have ice cream on my shirt.” My throat chokes up as tears start to form. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this, a frozen dairy treat stuck to the fabric threads of my shirt, telling them self-love stories of how I enjoy my own damn arms wrapped around me so much that I send myself flowers. It’s not a good look, Eli.”

“Okay, slow down for a second. Did they actually see you hug yourself?”

“THAT’S what you’re going to pull from what I said? What is actually wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to help. Maybe, just be cool, you know? Try to act like everything is normal. Or tell them about the baby. It might help.”

“Tell them that I’m pregnant and have no intentions of getting married to the man who inserted the baby?”

“I didn’t insert—” He lets out a large sigh. “Listen—”

“And what if they ask about the sex of the baby or the name. For Christ’s sake, Eli, we are naming our child Peggy Leggy or Johnny Jim Hornsby. They’ll commit me to an insane asylum.”

“They’re not going to commit you to an insane asylum. They won’t even know unless you say something and only say something if you’re ready. How long will they be there?”

“At least through to the third game of the series.”

“Okay, so I’ll be back. Why don’t you just hang out with them, have fun, and when I get back, we can tell them together so I can be there to support you and field questions.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would—”

The closet door opens, revealing my parents. Arms crossed, nostrils flared, they stare down at me with twin glares that I can actually feel my skin start to melt off my body.

“Uh, can I help you?” I ask them with a forced smile.

Dad holds up a book. “Why do you have this?”

My eyes narrow in on the pregnancy book I’ve been reading.

Oh, God.

That’s more revealing than a damn man sock!

“Uh, Eli, I’m going to have to call you back.” Before he can say anything, I hang up and slowly extract myself from the closet.

Okay, don’t panic. This will all be okay. You’ve gotten pretty far on the whole loving yourself lie, so why not stretch it out a bit? They don’t know what’s going on with your friends. For all they know, it could belong to someone else.

Like Blakely.

YES!

It belongs to Blakley. She’s in a relationship. She’s sexually involved. She’s the perfect scapegoat.

“It’s Blakely’s,” I shout and then turn to face my parents, whose arms are still crossed. “She left it here at my apartment the other night. Yeah . . .” I slowly nod. “Poor girl is knocked up, but you know, at least she has Perry, right?”

“Call her,” Mom says.

“Um, what?” I blink a few times.

“Call her. We’d like to congratulate her.” There’s a challenge in my mom’s eyes, the kind of challenge that scared me right out of my socks when I was young. And if I was wearing socks now, they most likely would have shot across the room.

“You know, it’s late,” I say as casually as possible. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Call. Her,” Mom says, her words so forceful that I find myself searching for my friend’s name on my phone.

“I don’t even think she’s awake, you know. Because of the baby and all. Makes her tired. She just sleeps all day, every day. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. So, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t answer. Maybe we should just—”

“Put the call on speaker.”

Ugh, my mom is being a total pill.

I put the phone on speaker and think of a way to communicate to my friend that she needs to cover for me. If she’s quick enough on her feet, she’ll be able to handle this. I know she can.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hey, you,” I say as casually as I can. “So I just wanted—”

Mom jostles the phone out of my hand like a ninja and then walks toward the kitchen, out of grabbing distance. “Hello, Blakley dear. It’s Mrs. Lawes. How are you?”

“Oh hey there, uh, I’m good. How are you? Visiting, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, we are.” Mom looks up at me and says, “Just wanted to celebrate with our daughter.”

Oh no . . .

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what a master conversationalist looks like at her best. Tina Lawes was once the PTA president, a woman celebrated for her ability to communicate so well that local businesses feared her as she walked around, searching for donations. She is a manipulator but will do it with a smile, so you never truly realize what Tina Lawes has done to you until you’re recovering, thinking over everything, and slowly understanding that you’ve been stripped from your dignity by only her words.

And that’s precisely what she’s doing right now.

“Celebrating, oh that’s fun,” Blakely says.

Blakley, if you can hear me, you’re pregnant. You have absorbed my child, and you are now the one with indigestion, onion cravings, and the need to bury your head into a pair of testicles because that’s how horny you are.

Can you hear me?

“Yes, such exciting news about Penny, right?”

Damn it!

“Blakely, don’t—”

I start to shout, but Dad slips his hand over my mouth, halting me. Did I mention Joseph Lawes is Tina Lawes’s evil henchman? He performs the dirty work, as you can see.

“Aw, about the baby? And here she thought you guys were going to be angry.” Oh Blakely, what have you done? “I told her anyone would be happy to be grandparents.”

“Thank you, Blakely. You’ve been incredibly helpful.” And then, like the freaking mob boss that she is, she hangs up and slowly lowers the phone onto the counter.

“Care to explain?” Mom says.

“Uhh . . . sure.” I step away from my dad and slowly make my way to the living room area, near the windows. “You see, when she said baby, she was talking about the puppy I’m going to adopt. Surprise.” I raise my arms up in the air. “We call it a baby.”

“And what are these?” Mom holds up a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

You see, this is EXACTLY why people should tell you they’re coming before they arrive, not just show up willy-nilly. It makes it impossible to hide all evidence of a pregnancy!

“I read that it’s healthy to take prenatals before adopting a dog. Something about the dog can feel your nerves—”

“Penny!” Dad shouts, startling the ever-loving shit right out of me.

With my hand clasped to my chest, I turn toward my dad and say, “You almost made me pee myself.”

“Tell the goddamn truth, right now.”

I’ve been caught.

And here I thought I was truly doing a good job at covering it up. I’m lying. My parents are not idiots, and I knew I’d have no real chance of lying myself out of this one.

I slump on the loveseat, exhausted. “Ugh, fine. Yes, the rumors are true. I had sexual intercourse.” I hold my finger up. “Protected sexual intercourse, I’d like to add, and five weeks later found out I was pregnant. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to tell you, and frankly, the entire situation has been an absolute nightmare because I don’t want to like Eli. Still, I do like him, and we’re not supposed to like each other because we’re just friends, and he sure as hell doesn’t want a relationship with this brand of crazy. But the flowers are from him because I gave him a hug. It was a friendly hug on his part, not so much on my part, and I smelled his chest, and I liked it.”

I reach over and grab my ice cream, scoop up a large ball, and shove it in my mouth. The cold is so severe that I feel my brain freeze immediately, but I don’t care. I keep powering through and shoveling the sweet goodness in.

“And he’s living with me. Eli, that is. Yup. We share living quarters and a bed.” I lick the spoon. “He sleeps in my bed, but there has been absolutely no touching. Zero touching. Not even a gentle brush of a hand or an accidental erection in the morning. No moaning. No groaning. Nothing. Sure, we said this was platonic, but if you ask me, I think he’s too scared to even go near me in fear of getting me pregnant again before this first child is born. Which I know can’t happen, but with my luck, somehow, someway, I’d get pregnant in my shin, and that would be that. One baby in the uterus, one in the shin. Call it a medical marvel.” I twirl my spoon in the air.

“Honey—”

“And of course, I have to get pregnant by a hockey player—”

“Wait . . . Eli Hornsby?” Dad asks.

“Oh yeah, Dad. Eli freaking Hornsby.” I lick my lips obnoxiously. “The one and only. Yup, we did it. Sorry to throw it out there like that, but in fact, we canoodled in bed . . . naked. Technically, it started in front of his fireplace, then the wall, then his bed. And we were so naked, the most naked of all the nakedness. Private parts touched. And all it took was one time to seal the deal, and I told him and Pacey at the same time, and oh my God, Pacey clocked Eli right in the face. An old one-two pow pow.” I jab the air with my ice cream carton. “And then threatened Eli with his life if he didn’t live with me. I thought it was ridiculous until I realized I was doing this all by myself, and how could I do this by myself, take care of a baby, if I still have trouble ordering my own food off Door Dash? I say no plasticware, yet they still give me plasticware. I’m having this delivered to my place of residence. What person doesn’t have eating utensils? Stop killing the earth with all this godforsaken plasticware to a freaking place of residence. What more does a person have to do to avoid all of the PLASTICWARE?”

“Honey.” My mom is at my side now and slowly lowers my ice cream and spoon. She hands it to my dad and then pulls me into a hug. When her hand hits my hair, I start sobbing into her shoulder.

“I don’t want plasticware, Mom.”

“I know, honey. I know.” She rubs my back, and all I can think about is how when she rubs it, it isn’t nearly as nice as when Eli does it. “Joseph, why don’t you make us all some tea, and we can talk.”

“Sure.” Dad starts to move but then he comes over and places a kiss on top of my head. “It’ll be okay, sweetie. We’ll work through this.”