Eric looked down at his phone. He was late to Skip’s party. And he didn’t feel like going anywhere. He was still torn up by the thing with Getty this morning. The thing. Right. The almost-sex thing. Which, if he was honest with himself, he had pushed her into. Taken advantage of her emotional state to get what he wanted. Even if he didn’t get off, he sure as hell made sure she’d felt used. If he was really, truly honest with himself, he had been using her. Ever since he met her at the club, he had this idea of who she was: a bombshell, sexual and alluring, perfect one-night-stand material. Even after seeing her at the clinic the day they had done her first insemination, he hadn’t read her chart, not the important parts. All he’d read were dates of service, something he could use to attack Skip. She’d been an obsession he’d nurtured, ignoring who she was in favor of who he wanted her to be. He was so sure he knew who she was, he never looked past the warm friendly exterior to see the other woman hidden inside.
