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“One. Two. Three.” And she flips it over, revealing that double blue line.

Fuck.

Tears fill my eyes, and Jordan guides me to the closed toilet lid and squats before me, pulling me into her shoulder.

How did I fuck this up a second time? How could I be this naive? Falling into a fantasy of a romance with three men.

It’s not like I’m not on birth control, and I know it’s not one hundred percent protection. God. What am I going to do?

I’m such an idiot.

When my quiet sobs settle, Jordan wipes off my face with a washcloth and kisses my forehead. She’ll make a good mom someday.

It makes me laugh a little hysterically as she pets my hair back from my face.

“How did I let this happen?”

“Well, you have been having a shit ton of sex.”

I laugh harder, the tears blurring as the tears pool. “Yeah. I have.”

“First thing, you need to go to the doctor to confirm. Then, you need to decide what you want most of all. Don’t worry about them. Think about you. What it means for your career, for your family, for your dreams. Then, you can tell them.”

I nod at this wisdom. “My phone. I have an app.”

God, how absurd that sounds, but I can make an appointment without having to call in. Easier to do it that way. It’s in a week.

Shit. Am I going to have to cut this from my footage? How dishonest would that be? How much do I owe my vision for my project when it hampers my mental health?

I can’t even talk about it with my advisor until I figure out what I’m doing.

Jordan is patting my knee, drawing me back from my spiral. She hands me a plate with a slice of quiche. She taps her own plate against the edge of mine and lifts her fork in toast. “I got your back no matter what, baby doll. Don’t you worry.”

We both devour the hot, gooey eggs and flaky crust. Afterward, I feel halfway human again.

“Okay. I know we can stay here and wallow in the silent peace that is my Thursday mornings, or… we can go get some hot chocolate. One of the fancy ones from off campus.”

I am so lucky to have a friend like her. She pulls me up, and we drive into Bricktown and hit up the posh chocolatier’s I’ve never been in. A place I’ve been keeping my son from because I can only imagine the chocolate coma he would have after a single visit.

My poor baby boy. I’m just going to make his life tougher.

I think about him with my dad right now. How much more will I be imposing on him because of all this?

The scandal when it comes out.

I’m going to ruin my parents’ careers with this, too, aren’t I?

We get cocoas and a shared chocolate fondue plate. Sweet and salty options come with it, and as soon as I get a bit of it in me, my tension starts to settle. It’s not dissolving like the sugar crystals on my tongue, but they’re doing their job.

“Now, I know this isn’t a major distraction, but I have to say, I’m curious about Noah’s dad. What happened there?”

I laugh. “Nothing too dramatic. He was a foreign exchange student. Older than me, of course…”

“Of course,” she prods.

“I met him on the first day of the semester. He was suave and smooth, unruffled by my lack of a filter. Few men are, you know.” I dip a strawberry in the chocolate and nibble on it.

“Oh, I know it.” Jordan wiggles, full of life and vigor. No wonder we get along so well.