Chapter 317

I lit a cigarette and took a small drag.

Damn it.

I shouldn’t have asked Esme that. Shouldn’t have pushed. Should’ve read the room better.

Another drag, slower this time. Smoke curled upward and vanished into the night.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Missed calls. Messages. And there it was again, stubborn as ever.

Penelope.

Still there. Still unanswered.

"No more dodging, I guess," I muttered under my breath.

I tapped her name and brought the phone to my ear.

It rang. Once. Twice.

Then she answered.

"I thought you forgot how to answer a phone," Penelope snapped the second I picked up. "Where the hell were you?"

"Busy," I replied. "What’s going on?"

A short pause. Then, quieter—but sharper. "You met with Mendy, didn’t you?"

"Y—yeah."

"She’s been upset for days," Penelope continued. "Let me guess. That has something to do with you?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Maybe."

"She confessed to you," Penelope said flatly. "So what happened after that? What did you tell her?"

Good. At least she didn’t know the rest. The part where I went down on Mendy—where things crossed a line they shouldn’t have. That detail had to stay buried. Penelope would lose her mind if she found out. She cared about Mendy more than I’d ever realized.

I dragged in a slow breath of smoke, buying myself a second. There was no way to make this sound good.

"I refused her," I said finally. "I didn’t want to lie to her the way Richard did. That’s not who I am."

"And what exactly did you say to her?"

"We just... talked," I answered, evasive even to my own ears.

"So you rejected her," Penelope pressed. "Because of Nala?"

"Yes." No hesitation this time. "Because I already have someone in my life."

"She knew that," Penelope shot back. "And she still worked up the courage to tell you how she felt."

"I know."

She let out a long, frustrated breath. "God... she’s such an idiot. I even told her about your relationship with Nala—that it’s open."

I snorted. "Yeah. Thanks for spreading that around."

"At least do this," Penelope said. "Call her. Talk to her. She’s been really down, Evan. You owe her that much."

"I know," I said quietly. "I just... haven’t found the time."

"That’s bullshit," she said, not unkindly. "But fine. Just don’t keep avoiding her."

"I won’t," I promised. "I’ll call her."

"My taxi’s here," Penelope added. "Don’t forget what you said. Just talk to her. About anything. Weather, movies, dumb shit. Just—talk."

"I will."

"Mm."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and stared out at the city, smoke curling from my lips and dissolving into the night. Mendy was... fuck. Mendy was naïve, yeah—but Penelope was right. She’d known I was with Nala. She’d known the risks. And she still confessed. That had to mean something.

I pulled my phone back out and scrolled through my contacts. My thumb hovered over Mendy’s name. Now? Was now really the right time? Or was that just me being a coward again?

I exhaled sharply and tapped her name.

She answered almost immediately. I heard running water in the background, faint clinks of dishes.

"H-hey," I said. "Uh... Mendy."

"H-hey," she replied, hesitant. "How... are you?"

"Good," I said. "You?"

"Good," she answered—but the word landed hollow.

Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

"I, uh..." I started, then stalled. "I just wanted to... hear your voice."

"Oh." A pause. "Y-yeah. Thanks?"

The water shut off. I imagined her standing there, hands wet, probably staring at the sink.

"I was cleaning the dishes," she added. "What about you?"

"On the terrace," I said. "Smoking. It’s freezing out."

"It really is," she murmured. "I miss the sun."

I let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. Me too."

Another quiet stretch.

Then, finally, "I’m sorry," Mendy said. "For... confessing to you."

"No," I said immediately, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see it. "Don’t apologize. I was honored. You opening up to me like that—it meant something. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me."

"For what?"

"For messing it up," I admitted. "In that moment... I wanted you. The way you looked at me. The way you said those things. It lit something up in me. I wanted to see that side of you. In... uh, in bed."

Her breath caught, just slightly.

"I-It was consensual," she said softly, almost teasing herself. "But... do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Doing that. With me."

"Not for a second," I said honestly. "But after you said we should stay friends... yeah. That’s when it hit me. It felt like I’d crossed a line. Like I’d taken something I shouldn’t have."

"You didn’t," she replied quickly. "We’re adults. We wanted it. And honestly? If anyone used anyone, it was probably me. I needed a distraction from Richard. And you were there." She hesitated, then added, quieter, "Besides... you’re the one who went down on me."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy.

"Did you... regret it?" I asked, throwing her own question back at her.

"I didn’t," she replied almost instantly, like she’d already made peace with the answer.

"Oh." I nodded to myself. "That’s... cool."

"Y-yeah."

I took another drag from my cigarette, then leaned forward and stubbed it out in the ashtray beneath the sunbed. The ember hissed softly as it died. On the other end of the call, Mendy exhaled and cleared her throat—one of those small, nervous sounds people make when silence starts to stretch too far.

"So..." I started, then adjusted my tone. "Would you like to meet tomorrow? Maybe grab some coffee? There’s this place—Burney’s. I swear, they’re physically incapable of making bad coffee."

A short pause. "S-sure," she said.

Relief loosened something in my chest. "Great. I’ll pick you up at seven?"

"That works," she replied. "Yeah."

"Alright," I said, smiling despite myself. "Then... I’ll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yep. See you, Evan." Her voice softened. "And... thanks for calling."

"Thanks for answering," I said. "Good night."

"Night."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and stared out over the city, lights scattered below like fallen stars. Coffee with Mendy. The woman I’d gone down on. The woman who’d asked to stay friends afterward. Yeah—awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

Still... it was something.

The glass door behind me slid open.

Kim stepped onto the terrace, bundled up in a hoodie and jacket, the cold barely fazing her. She shut the door quietly and dropped down beside me, bumping my shoulder with hers.

"Hey, trouble," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"Hey." She tilted her head toward me. "Who were you talking to?"

"Mendy."

"Oof." Kim winced theatrically. "How’s she taking the rejection?"

"I don’t really know," I admitted. "We’re meeting tomorrow. Burney’s. Seven."

Kim hummed, then rested her head on my shoulder like it belonged there. "Still depressed?"

"Nah," I said, wrapping an arm loosely around her. "She’s okay. Honestly... better than okay."

Kim smiled faintly, eyes drifting back toward the city lights, and for a moment, the night felt quieter—lighter—even with everything still hanging in the air.

I leaned back on the sunbed. Kim crawled beside me, half-draping herself over my body—her legs sliding between mine, head resting on my chest, one hand lazily tracing circles on my shirt. Her warmth seeped into me, soft and familiar, and knowing she was pregnant with my baby made everything feel deeper, more intense.

I kissed the crown of her head, breathing her in, and rubbed her shoulder slowly, eyes on the darkening sky. The wind was picking up, clouds rolling in fast. Another storm was coming—not as bad as the one that nearly ripped the roof off, but enough to make the air electric.

Kim lifted her head, eyes soft, and kissed my lips—gentle at first, then deeper, her tongue brushing mine. I smiled into it, kissed her back, and slid my free hand down to her belly. It was still early, barely a curve, but I swear I could feel it—the life we’d made. The thought sent a rush through me, protective and possessive all at once.

"Eleanor," she whispered against my lips, pulling back just enough to search my eyes. "Did you two fuck?"

I kissed her nose, grinning. "Nope. Just wanted to help her, that’s it."

"What a shining knight you are, ser."

"Why, thank you."

My hand drifted lower, slipping under the waistband of her leggings to cup her ass, squeezing the firm flesh. She arched into my touch instinctively, pressing her ass back into my palm.

"Brr," she teased, shivering dramatically. "Your hands are cold."

"That’s why I’m warming them on your ass," I murmured, squeezing harder, fingers digging in.

"Oh?" She smirked, eyes darkening. "Let’s see how you feel then."

"Hmm?"

Her hand slid down my stomach, unzipped my pants with ease, and slipped inside my boxers. Cool fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking slow and gentle. I shivered at the chill, but the heat of her touch quickly took over.

We both laughed softly, the sound low and intimate.

She pulled my cock free, stroking it openly now, thumb circling the head, playing with the pre-cum beading there—rubbing it up and down the slit, spreading it over the sensitive skin. The cold air hit me, but her hand was fire, and I hardened fast in her grip.

"Daddy is hard, huh?" she purred, voice dripping with mischief.

"Daddy," I repeated, groaning as she squeezed. "Fuck, I like that word."

"You’re officially a daddy now," she whispered, stroking faster, eyes locked on mine. "It’s only natural you’d love hearing it."

"Hmm..." I thrust into her hand, squeezing her ass harder. "Say it again."

"Daddy," she breathed, leaning in to kiss my neck. "Daddy’s cock is so hard for me... throbbing in my hand..."

I growled, pulling her closer, kissing her deep and filthy, tongue claiming her mouth while she pumped me. The wind whipped around us, but all I felt was her—her hand, her warmth, her moans.

She broke the kiss, eyes dark. "Want to fuck your pregnant girl out here, Daddy? Right under the snow?"

I thrust harder into her grip. "Keep calling me that and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow."

She laughed breathlessly, stroking faster. "Promise?"