The Way We Score: A small-town, accidental pregnancy, sports romance. (The Bradford Boys)

When my eyes meet Garrett’s, I completely lose my nerve.

He’s standing in front of me, all six-foot-four, in a white T-shirt that stretches across his muscled chest, and I swallow the drool in my mouth.

I remember very well how he looks naked. I don’t know how, but his body is even more defined than when we were young. Lines of muscle cut across his abs, and his broad shoulders are round and defined.

The sleeves of his shirt stretch around his biceps, and his hair is slightly damp at the collar like he recently showered. It looks like he’s either preparing to go out or he just got back, and now, standing here in front of him, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Booking that flight was a total, panicked impulse. We haven’t talked since our wild night of sex after the wedding. Not that I blame him. I walked out—correction, I ran out. The onus was on me to call him if that’s what I wanted.

Now I’m thinking I’ll show up here and tell him I’m pregnant completely out of the blue? I should’ve written him a letter. Does anybody write letters anymore? I only know I should’ve figured out some way to give him the heads-up and feel him out.

I should not have jumped on the first flight out of Birmingham without even packing a suitcase. It’s possible I was in shock. And completely freaked out.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m not really prepared for company.” He puts his hand on the back of his neck like he always does when he’s thinking or embarrassed or unsure, but his blue eyes are shining and warm. He’s so damn appealing. “It’s kind of late, but it’s New York. We can go out for dinner, or we can walk down to the grocery store and pick up a few things. What do you think?”

“I think grocery shopping sounds fun.” Blinking up at him, I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as panicked as I feel.

I can’t imagine what he’ll say when I tell him. Part of me wants to believe he’ll be cool and supportive. I have no idea what that will look like from a thousand miles away.

My throat tightens, and through sheer force of will, I command my body not to vomit.

“I’ll put your suitcase in my guest room…” He looks past me, and my cheeks heat.

“I didn’t bring one.” I look down, trying to figure out how to explain my one small bag. “I just brought some personal items.”

Toiletries and a change of underwear. Who packs this way?

His brow furrows. “What was it, some kind of legal emergency?”

“Something like that.” I scrub my hand over my face.

Get a grip, Liv. I’m a lawyer. It’s my job to look at all the angles, apply reason, and calmly make the right decision for all parties involved. I do it all the time, every day. I do not freak out over difficult situations.

All the vomiting has made me weak. And my heart. And Garrett. And I will not cry, oh my lord. I will not cry. Is this pregnancy hormones?

Clearing my throat, I look around quickly. “Would you mind if I have a glass of water? Flying makes me a little dehydrated…”

“Oh, shit, of course.” He hustles down the hall, and I follow him into an expansive, stainless-steel kitchen. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” I take the glass and look down, away from his curious gaze.

His penthouse in Midtown Manhattan is absolutely gorgeous. It’s completely furnished, and very masculine, all dark wood and leather.

The living room has an overstuffed, brown leather sofa and chairs with a polished coffee table and a massive flatscreen television. A wall of windows provides a breathtaking view of the city lights.

It’s straight out of Architectural Digest, and I’m doing my best to breathe, drink the water, get control.

“Your place is really nice,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Thanks.” He holds up my tiny bag. “Does this mean you’re only staying one night?”

He actually seems disappointed, which I guess is an encouraging sign.

“I’m not sure.” I return slowly to the kitchen. “I’m kind of playing it by ear.”

“Okay…” His tone is justifiably confused, and he places the bag in a room across from the kitchen. “Ready to get some groceries? There’s a Whole Foods on the corner, and I’m pretty sure they have just about everything.”

“Sure.” I place the glass on the bar, following him to the door. “I can help pay for the groceries.”

“We’ll figure it out later, and don’t worry if you need to pick up anything, extra clothes or whatever. I bet we find anything you need.”

He has no idea.

“Thanks, Garrett.”

His large hand gently holds my upper arm, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him, to wrap my arms around his waist and break down and tell him. But I’ll hold it together a little longer.

The Whole Foods market actually is right on the corner, down the block from his building. It’s decorated for Halloween with corn stalks and pumpkins everywhere. He almost takes my hand a few times as we’re walking, but quickly redirects to guiding me by gentle touches to my arm. It’s a little zip of electricity every time.

A nervous laugh bubbles in my throat when he pulls out the small cart. “Let me push it. You look ridiculous with that tiny thing.”

“I beg your pardon.” He pretends to be offended. “I shop here all the time.”

“I’m sure the workers love it.” I give him a wink, and he straightens to his full height, looking around the relatively empty store.

It’s after 10 p.m. on a Thursday, and we’re almost the only people here.

“Shit, now I feel like Shrek.”

I exhale a snort through my nose. “You’re way better looking than that guy.”

He smiles down at me, and a silly heat floods my stomach. This is the better approach, starting as friends. We’ll warm up, have a chat, then I’ll tell him what happened, and we can decide what to do.

My stomach clenches at the thought, but he’s out in front of me loading up the cart. He grabs two Italian sandwiches he says are the best he’s ever had—even better than Central Grocery in New Orleans, which I seriously doubt.

He picks out a bottle of wine, and I’ll have to figure out a way not to have any without raising his suspicions.

Not that my whole appearance here and behavior aren’t suspicious enough.

“They have the best gelato.” He guides me to what looks like an ice-cream counter down from the deli section. “Check it out, they’ve got dark chocolate, pistachio, tiramisu, coconut, melon…”

“What’s your favorite?” I blink up at him, and he shrugs.

“They don’t have cherry, but the dark chocolate and hazelnut are really good together.”

“Sounds good to me!” I grin, and we wait as the server scoops it into medium-sized plastic containers for us.

We watch as she weighs them before passing them to us, and he places them in our basket full of sandwiches and wine and chips and odds and ends. He directs us to the check-out area, and he doesn’t let me pay for a thing, claiming I’m his guest.

Shaking my head, I take one of the bags, and we walk slowly up the block in the direction of his apartment. I’m thankful the prescription Dr. Beck gave me seems to be helping with my nausea. If I started throwing up, I don’t know what I’d say.

He nods at the doorman, and I watch as he enters the code for the elevator. “Did you have plans for tonight? I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

Leaning against the glass wall, he shakes his head with such a warm smile. “I was actually about to crash for the night. We had a game, and I don’t know⁠—”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I should’ve checked. Of course you had a game.” I scrub my hand over my forehead, feeling awful.

“It’s my job, Liv. I play every week.”

“I know, but it’s a lot with all the pregame and the post game and the game game.” My smile is more of a cringe. “Did you want to go out with the guys? Did you win? Of course you won. Are you all amped up? Of course you are⁠—”

“Take it easy, Cherry.” He laughs, patting my shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here. I didn’t feel like partying tonight.”

It’s a relief to hear him say that, but it’s also worrying. This is not the Garrett Bradford who gets on the bar at Cooters & Shooters in a blond wig and shakes his sexy ass to the music—or who gives his best friend a lap dance at his bachelor party.

“You’ve never been one to turn down a party.” I tilt my head up at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good, I just… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m getting older? I wasn’t in the mood.”

We’ve reached the top floor. The elevator dings, and I decide to put a pin in that for now. It’s not like I have a leg to stand on when it comes to uncharacteristic behavior, considering I showed up on his doorstep with no notice, no luggage, and no good explanation. He’s probably thinking something’s going on with me—and he’d be right.

He enters the code, holding the door for me, and instead of focusing on how awkward we’re both acting, I decide to lighten the mood.

“I wouldn’t say getting older is a reason not to party.” I give him a little smile. “We’re the same age, after all, and we partied hard at Dylan’s wedding.”

“Are you saying you want to party with me tonight?” He’s teasing, and I carry the one bag he let me hold into the kitchen.

Shaking my head, I put it on the counter. “I’m just saying it’s lucky for me you decided to stay home.”

“I’m feeling lucky to have such a pretty house guest.” He places the three bags he carried beside mine on the counter.

“We should buy a lottery ticket.” This is better.

Our old banter is returning, and I’m feeling a little more at ease about being here. My confidence is returning. Yes, it was an impulsive decision, but this is Garrett. I can talk to him.

He puts the gelato in the freezer and pulls out the two sandwiches and the wine. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat these muffalettas and watch some Road House.”

“Road House!” I cry. “What?”

“Yeah, but the old one. Not that new MMA, Jake Gyllenhall bullshit. I want the classic, ‘pain don’t hurt,’ Patrick Swayze Road House.”

“Oh no!” I snort covering my nose.

This is the Garrett Bradford I know and… loved. Past tense. We’re friends now. And potentially parents. Oh, God. Confidence slipping.

He takes out the wine and holds it up. “Can I pour you a glass?”

“Um…” I chew my bottom lip, searching for an excuse. “I think I’ll just stick to something unleaded tonight. The plane kind of got me a little…” I wave my hand up and down, side to side.

“Hate that.” He walks to the refrigerator and puts the bottle inside. “Turbulence is the worst. Let’s see… I’ve got beer and one of these sparkling waters. We should’ve grabbed some ginger ale at the store.”

“Sparkling water’s good.” I manage a smile, and he hesitates a moment, his brow furrowing like he might ask me something.

My chest tightens. We know each other so well, and I’m sure he’s wanting to ask why I’m really here. I don’t give him the chance.

“If we’re going to watch Road House, then we have to watch Dirty Dancing to even it out.”

“No!” He groans, putting a hand over his eyes. “Not Johnny and Baby.”

“You said you liked that movie!” Now it’s my turn to pretend to be offended.

“I said that because I wanted to get in your pants. I don’t know a single guy who likes Dirty Dancing.”

“Craig does!” He gives me a look, and I raise my eyebrows. “You said a guy.”

“Sorry, a straight guy.”

“I don’t know why you’re rewriting history.” My stomach tingles at the memory of us as teenagers. “You didn’t have to pretend to like Dirty Dancing to get in my pants.”

“Tell you what.” He steps closer, placing one hand on the cabinet above my head. “We’ll watch Road House tonight, and maybe if you stay another night, we can watch Dirty Dancing.”

Lifting my chin, I look up at him leaning closer. The pull between us is strong as ever, and now I’m here, surrounded by his scent of soap and citrus, the warmth of his body raising the hairs on my arms.

“Are you suggesting you might try something, Mr. Bradford?” I’m teasing, but his eyes darken.

I almost expect him to lean down and kiss me, but instead he pushes off and walks around the counter. “Not at all Ms Bankston. It’s just nice to have you around.”

His response sends me straight back to uneasy. Garrett has never put distance between us, and I don’t know what to think. Then it hits me. It’s so obvious. My body flushes hot then cold, and nausea creeps up my neck.

“Will it create a problem for you if I spend the night here?” I take a step back, wondering if it’s too late for me to book a hotel room.

“What do you mean?”

“Is there… someone who wouldn’t appreciate me being here all night, alone with you?” Looking into the guest room, I see my bag sitting on the dresser.

Of course, he has a girlfriend. Look at him. It’s why he didn’t call me after our red-hot wedding weekend. It’s why he made a point to say it didn’t count if he kissed me after midnight.

“Whoa, hang on.” He rounds the counter, brow lowered as he charges into my space again.

I take another step away, ready to grab my bag and bolt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think⁠—”

“Liv, stop.” He puts his hands on my upper arms, holding me in place. “There’s no someone. There’s no one.” His expression tenses as if that’s not accurate.

“You’re not dating anyone at all?” I want to be perfectly clear. “How is that possible?”

“No. I mean, sure I’ve had dates, like for awards ceremonies and charity events and stuff, but nothing serious.” He shakes his head. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Relief hits me so hard, my knees almost give out. I can’t even imagine how that would’ve complicated things if he were. At the same time, it’s not right for me to be so relieved. I have no claim on him. We had a crazy, passionate weekend, but we didn’t make promises. He’s not mine.

That thought sends another painful twist in my stomach. Turning away, I rub my hand over my midsection. My feelings are so mixed up and intense these days. It has to be pregnancy hormones. It’s the only explanation for my roller-coaster insides and impulsive behavior.

“Okay.” I nod, wrinkling my nose as I look up at him. “That’s good, I guess… another lucky break?”

He huffs a laugh, releasing me. “Let’s eat. It’s getting late, and you’re really going to like this sandwich. You’ll see.”

He returns to the kitchen to plate the food, then he leads me around to the living room and pulls up the movie. Plates on the coffee table, he tosses two large pillows on the floor in front of the couch and pats one for me to sit beside him.

“Ready for one of the best action movies ever made?” He grins widely.

“Pretty sure that’s up for debate.”

“You know, they modeled the whole thing after old westerns.”

“Makes sense. I usually slept through those, too.” I pick up the large, round sandwich and take a bite of ham, salami, provolone, and green-olive salad.

I hold my hand over my full mouth. It’s an explosion of rich, salty, spicy, deliciousness with a touch of tang. “Oh my god!”

“Good, huh?” He nods, wide-eyed, and I can’t argue.

“It’s delicious!” I also haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I’m starving and exhausted and emotional, and the movie opens with a ridiculous fight at an over the top bar full of bad acting, bare breasts, and a band shielded behind chicken wire.

My mind drifts to Mom at home in Newhope with the chickens. Henny Lane was acting strangely, and I need to call and ask how she’s doing. She’s Mom’s favorite fancy chicken…

When I open my eyes again, I’m lying on the couch. The living room is dark except for the glow of city lights shining through the large windows.noveldrama

I’m not surprised I fell asleep. I’m more surprised I lasted as long as I did. Every day after work, I’ve been getting home, lying down on the sofa, and falling dead asleep. I must’ve been running on adrenaline.

Garrett is on the floor beside me sleeping, just like we did at his house, and warmth settles deep in my chest.

I want to reach down and slide my fingers through his hair. I want to slide off the couch and let him hold me in his big strong arms and tell me everything’s going to be okay. Nothing can ever hurt me when he’s around.

Instead, I place my cheek on the cushion, smiling gently as I close my eyes again.