And a cat.

What little I saw of the place last night as I flung my shoes off and picked the first doorway that looked like it led to a bathroom looked much the same. A glossy high-end condo. Hardwood floors that were most certainly not pre-fabricated but more likely milled from some exotic tree and stained on site. Million-dollar views. Custom everything.

I think the cat might be low-key obsessed with me because it's still staring at me. It's fat. And orange. Super cute. Just really out of place in this condo. It's like finding a polar bear on a tropical island.

We didn't have any pets growing up. My dad was allergic. At least that's what my mom said. Honestly, I think she just had her hands full with me and my sister. Mostly me, to be fair. Violet was perfect, I was the handful.

God, I hope being a handful skips a generation.

Kyle walks in with a cup of coffee. He's wearing a pair of pajama pants that hang low on his hips and he's shirtless. Oh, holy Jesus, why does he have to have such good abs? Why can't he put on a shirt for crying out loud? Really nice arms too. Like he's got this muscle running down the top of his forearm to where he's holding the coffee and it really does it for me.

Good Lord.

I need Jesus.

I wonder if it's too late to join a convent? I wonder if they'd let a pregnant woman in? Like if I explained the whole dick diet thing, and renounced sin?

Yeah, it's probably too late for that.

Also, it sounds really dull. I bet they're not even allowed to keep pictures of half-naked men to masturbate to at a time of their convenience.

Fucking. Hormones.

"You have a cat," I say, tearing my eyes off Kyle's chest.

"I don't have a cat."

"It's right there." I point at the cat. "Surely you can see it."

"That's Tubbs. It's Kerrigan's cat."

"Does she live here? Kerrigan?" I glance at the doorway in confusion, expecting her to come bounding in as I contemplate how much Kyle's marble-covered bathroom must echo. Where the hell am I? Did he bring me to his parents’ place?

"No." He shakes his head. "I have a room for her in case she wants to stay, but she's living in the dorms now."

"So why is Tubbs here?"

"Because they don't allow cats in the dorm?" Kyle is looking at me like maybe I am having a psychotic episode.

"No, I mean, why isn't he at your parents’—" I cut myself off. His parents are dead, I remember now. It was one of the few things I could find out about Kyle online. Way to be sensitive, Daisy. "Why is he so fat?" I cover. "He must weigh like forty pounds." Seriously, the cat is a giant orange tub. With an adorable pink nose and a white belly, which I now know because he's finally stopped staring at me to flop onto his back and expose it to me, fat marshmallow paws in the air.

"Seventeen," Kyle says after a pause. He definitely caught my slip about his parents. "He's only seventeen pounds. Would you like some coffee?"

Only seventeen pounds. He says it like the cat isn't a candidate for Chubsters Anonymous. That kind of delusional support would be great to have when I resemble a basketball later in this pregnancy. Lucky Tubbs.

"No, thanks." I wave away the offer. "I'm not supposed to have caffeine. Or not much, like a cup a day or something, so I mostly just avoid it."

"Oh." He looks surprised for a moment, as if the concessions of incubating a human had never occurred to him. I'm sure my face looked much the same when I saw my doctor to confirm that all three home pregnancy tests I took were accurate and left with a list of things I can no longer consume.

"How old is Kerrigan?" I question as I work to put the pieces together. His parents did not pass away recently, as I remember. Small plane accident, something like five years ago. I recall thinking Kyle would have already been well into adulthood when he lost them. I hadn't realized Kerrigan was so much younger, she must have been a minor when they passed.

"Eighteen. She's a freshman at Penn."

Eighteen. Oh, God. So she'd have been around thirteen when she lost her parents? Kyle mentioned having a bedroom for her. And her cat. So he took responsibility for raising his sister after they lost their parents? A teenage girl when he'd have been in the prime of bachelorhood. Maybe he's not a complete asshole? Maybe it's me? Maybe there's something about me that turns even the nicest of guys into raging assholes? He was nice, right up until he stole my camera and left without saying goodbye. So besides that, nice.

And then I did crash the party and create a bunch of problems for him by posing as his fiancée, so maybe we're even on inconveniencing one another?

Gawd, this is all so confusing. I blame the hormones. In any case, it's time for me to go. I've done my duty and notified him. I'm out of this mess. I've got the conference this week and I want to work on a blog post today.

"Okay, I'm gonna go," I tell him as I toss the covers off.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll grab an Uber, no need for you to get dressed. Though a shirt wouldn't kill you."

"That's not how this is going to work, Daisy." He's staring at me over the rim of the coffee cup, a look of surprise on his face followed by a little shake of his head and a laugh that comes out as more of a huff of air. Even Tubbs is giving me some serious kitty side-eye.

"It's not?"

"Not even close. You're crazy if you think I'm letting you out of my sight."

"Aww." I lay my hand over my heart as my feet hit the floor. "How romantic. But I'll be just fine on my own, I assure you. There is one thing you could do for me though."

"One thing," he repeats slowly. "What is that?" he asks, eyes narrowed like I'm the suspicious one between the two of us. Pfft.

"I'd like my camera back."

He blinks, a glint of surprise crossing his expression as if he's forgotten about it before he shrugs it off. "Sure. You can have it back. After we eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Except. Except that I'm starving and my stomach chooses that moment to loudly protest all lies about not wanting food. Kyle raises his brows as if to further call me out on the fib.

I sigh, loudly. "Fine."

8

Kyle

"Explain to me why I have to go to brunch? In your sister’s clothing? That's not weird at all, by the way. Not at all."

We're in the elevator at my residence and Daisy hasn't stopped complaining for the entirety of the descent to the lobby. Forty floors. Thankfully, we're alone. The elevator did make a stop on the thirty-second floor. A guy I've seen a few times in the gym took one look at Daisy—who was in the midst of one of her hostile jazz hand displays—before stepping back with a small head nod to me as if to say, Best of luck, buddy. I'll catch the next elevator.

"Because we need to eat and last night’s dress isn't brunch-appropriate. And because one of us fell asleep at a quarter past ten before we had a chance to discuss our predicament."

"Because one of us is pregnant. It's exhausting. And we're not in a predicament. It's the twenty-first century and as I've just explained to you, I've got this covered. I don't need you."