Page 53 of Screwed

FIFTEEN

Iris

It takesme another two days to work up the nerve to go to see Arlo.

I had thought about stopping him when I saw him heading into the bar but at work didn’t seem like the right place or time to drop this news on him.

So now I’m standing outside of his apartment, trying to work up the courage to knock.

Just get this over with so that you’re not so stressed out all of the time.

I try to pep myself up but I’m not sure that it’s working. I have so many conflicting emotions and I’ve been trying to focus on just letting him know that I’m pregnant but maybe I should have taken some time and thought about what it was going to be like to be face to face with him again.

I still want him. I still love him, even after all of this drama and mess. Even when I was screaming at him about his brother, I couldn’t get my heart to stop beating for him.

I tried to tell myself that it was just the pregnancy hormones but how I feel about Arlo has been the one constant throughout all of this.

I take a deep breath and raise my hand, knocking on his door twice. I wait a moment and when he doesn’t answer, I try again.

Then I start to pace.

What if he’s not home?

I could have sworn that I saw his car in the parking lot but he could have gone out for a walk or maybe he’s out with someone else.

Maybe he’s in with someone else.

I shake that thought out of my head. I know that Arlo would never do that to me.

I knock again and I’m about to leave when I finally hear movement from inside. I wipe my sweaty hands off on my skirt and try to rehearse my speech one last time.

Then the apartment door swings open and Arlo is standing there in a towel.

“Um…” I say.

“Iris,” he says and the way that he says my name, like it’s his salvation, has my knees feeling weak.

“Hey,” I say lamely.

“What are you doing here?” He asks and then he shakes his head. “Come in.”

I don’t get a chance to answer his first question before he’s grabbing my hand, dragging me inside and closing the door behind us.

“You look great,” he says, his eyes running over my body greedily and that has my core clenching with need.

His hand is still on my elbow and it’s like he’s afraid to let me go or to stop looking at me. It’s like he thinks that if he does, I’ll disappear.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he rambles on and I start to relax.

“I’ve missed you too,” I admit and he beams at me.

He’s only wearing a towel and I try to keep my eyes on his face.

I fail miserably.

I track a stray drop of water as it rolls over his chest and down his stomach. My mouth waters and for the first time in a week, it’s not from nausea.

“We need to talk,” I tell him, dragging my mind out of the gutter.