Page 11 of Desperate Games

Because Remy Falco?

He’s reckless and dangerous and too hot for his own good—but that night with him?

It felt like something. Like fate, or maybe just luck.

My body responded to him in a way it never has with anyone else. And I thought that just this once maybe I would get what I want.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

But here I am.

Back to zero.

Not pregnant. Not in love. Not even sure if he’d answer my text if I sent one.

And now I’m just fucking sad.

Because even when you try not to hope, you still fall apart when it doesn’t come true.

And what good are dreams when you know you can never achieve them?

“Andrea!”

“Oh my God, I’m getting out now!” I shout, a little harsher than I mean to. I’m scrambling, trying to shove the used test stick back in the box, wrap it in tissue, and make it disappear like this whole pathetic morning never happened.

The second I crack open the door, Julia’s there. In her stupid matching track suit and her perky ponytail and her stupid big brown eyes that match mine a little too well.

She steps back, giving me space, but it’s too late.

She sees it.

Not the test, thank God, but my face.

My blotchy, red-eyed, falling-apart face.

“Ann? Hey, is everything okay?”

My throat tightens.

I could tell her. I could collapse in her arms like I used to when I scraped my knee or got dumped in middle school.

She’d probably hold me and say all the right things. She’s always been better at this stuff.

Emotional triage. Nurturing.

All the things I pretend I don’t need.

But I can’t.

I’m too raw.

Too embarrassed.

Too fucking sad.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I lie, the words coming out wobbly and watery.