It is not.

Lillian Whoever-She-Is is the opposite of what I want.

I want the kind of girl who’s going to fuck me then ghost me.

The kind of girl who tells me off, curses like her brothers, shoves me down on the bed, and then sneaks out in the morning without saying goodbye.

A career in sports.

Dark hair and darker eyes. Sarcastic mouth.

Tall, but not taller than I am.

Fantastic tits.

Two brothers who would beat my ass if they knew I’d banged her.

Like my sisters, they would most definitely blame me—despite the fact that I’ve been hounding Buzz Wallace for his sister’s phone number.

At least let me apologize for not…for…

Sleeping with her when I should have asked her on a date instead.

It’s not too late to right the wrong, is it?

I glance around, letting the sounds and smells of the restaurant and my family assail me, grateful and weighted down by them all at the same time.

But honestly—when haven’t they helped me when I’ve needed them? Maybe getting the girls to give me advice is exactly what I need…

Three

True

Captain’s log, day four: My brother is officially driving me nuts. I thought I’d have more privacy than this, considering he works full-time and isn’t supposed to be hanging around the house, but that hasn’t been the case. My brother is lurking, hovering like a worrywart, and he’s driving me insane.

Tripp is gone today, having left for work before the sun rose. He taped a sticky note to the door of my guest bedroom: “Sis, be back around 7. Text me what you want for dinner and I’ll grab sushi.”

Sushi. The thought of it makes me want to puke.

Fishy, raw, sticky, moist sushi.

In my condition? Blech.

Okay fine, I’m not that far along—but that doesn’t mean my eating habits haven’t drastically changed or my gag reflex hasn’t kicked in.

I can barely brush my teeth.

The bump is still nonexistent, and I run a hand down my still smooth stomach, kind of wanting more to happen downtown. I mean, if I’m going to have all the symptoms and experience all the negative aspects, wouldn’t it be nice to have something to show for it?

I check the time on my phone and see a text from Buzz.

Buzz: Hey, one of my teammates is asking for your number but I told him my sister is off limits.

Me: So why are you telling me about it if you told him I’m off limits?

Buzz: Because he’s really insistent and I wanted to give you a heads-up in case he finds a way to contact you.

Me: Who?

The tingle in my stomach tells me I already know who, except we’re not ready to admit it to anybody, let alone Buzz.

Buzz: José

Me: Who?

Buzz: Espinoza

His name is Mateo, I want to reply, but I don’t. That would give me away and piss off my brother, and the last thing I need is to raise his suspicion.

Buzz: I don’t know what his fucking problem is…

I do.

He didn’t want me to leave that morning after we slept together. He wanted to get to know me. He wanted to date me.

I’m embarrassed, humiliated, and ashamed by my behavior, because I slept with a man I don’t even know, snuck out on him, then ghosted him completely for no reason other than I’m a chicken.

Worse, he seems like a super nice guy.

Worse, I like him.

Worse still? Well. We all know how this story ends.

Me: Thanks for not giving him my number. It’s not that I don’t WANT him to have it, I’m just not ready for him to have it.

Buzz: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Me: I’m not ready to date, LOL.

Buzz: Well no shit. And you won’t be dating HIM when you are.

Me: Okay, cool your jets, bro. And don’t be rude to him either—he’s not a bad guy.

Buzz: You’re my sister.

As if that explains it all.

Me: So?

Buzz: So. It’s my job to look out for you.

Er, not really, and not like this, but okay. Cock-blocking or clam-jamming or whatever the term is, is most certainly not his job. It’s his job to approve or disapprove once I finally find a man I want to bring home and introduce them to—not scare away every single man who expresses an interest in me.

Still. His reluctance to give Mateo Espinoza my contact information buys me a little more of the time I need.

I’m going to have to tell him at some point…and how giant of an asshole am I going to look like once the whole world finds out what a douchebag I am for keeping this a secret from him and my family?

It’s going to be on the news, in the press, in the papers. They’re going to gossip about it in the clubhouse at the stadium and up in the executive offices.

The world is going to know I’m a foolish girl.