Page 44 of Yours to Catch

Joy scoffs. “Only because you refuse to be in a relationship.”

“Why should I be the one to sacrifice my ideals and preferences?” Grace said something similar to me when we first met. I couldn’t agree more.

“Fine, whatever. You’re just friends. That means there are no dating rules to skirt around. Call her if you want to talk.”

“Nah, she’s probably resting. I don’t wanna bother her.”

She groans. “You’re such a man.”

“Thank you?”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she gripes.

“Didn’t really figure it was.”

Belle wiggles in my arms, swatting at me with a tiny hand. I take that as a hint to resume swaying. Her responding smile is a rich reward.

“You’re good with her.” There’s pride in my sister’s voice.

That encourages me to keep the question from mine. “Thanks.”

Silence envelops us for several beats. Her unwavering focus has me bracing for whatever she’s about to say. “Don’t you want kids of your own someday?”

“Didn’t we already discuss this? On countless occasions?”

“You’d be such a great dad,” she whispers.

“I don’t need a wife or girlfriend in order to be a father.”

“Well, no. But it’s nice to have a partner in the experience.” Joy is speaking from her own. Cole—her fiancé and my so-called friend—appears to be an ideal half of a perfect parenthood equation.

“I’ll just babysit Belle more often.”

“If that fulfills your paternal urges.” Her expression is too cheery for my liking.

“Or I could be a sperm donor.”

She clenches her eyes shut and quietly begs for patience. “That’s not what I meant, and you’re missing the point.”

“Depends on who I give my swimmers to.”

“Such as Grace?” A coy smile curls her lips.

“If she’s interested. We could make one of those pacts.”

“Yeah, or you could skip the delay and marry her tomorrow.”

I blow out a harsh breath. “Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?”

My sister laughs at my evasive maneuver. “Just consider it. You’re already committed to her from what I’ve seen and heard.”

There’s that claim again, one that I accidentally on purpose spouted as well. Maybe I’ve brought this on myself. More than likely. That doesn’t mean I have to admit it.

“We’re just friends,” I repeat.

“Right,” Joy mumbles. “You can be faithful to someone without slapping on a label.”

“Not sure what you’re blabbering about.” But the knot tightening in my gut suggests otherwise.