Tears of frustration surfaced and fell with every blink as I fought with the zipper on the back of my dress.

I dropped my right arm to my side, exhausted from the fight with the inanimate object. When I turned to snatch my phone from Dalton's dresser, my extended arm fell and a knot formed in my throat. As hard as I'd tried to pin the blame on the dress and manufacturer, staring down my reflection, I realized the problem had been me. The burgundy cocktail dress clung to every inch of my body, including the small bump that'd appeared over night a few days ago.

I didn't look pregnant. I looked bloated. Just enough there to be an inconvenience in everything I wore, but not enough to show off. I'd always had body dysmorphia, but this brought insecurities I thought my middle school self-had buried to light again.

"Hey, babe." Dalton didn't glance my way as he entered his bedroom but made a beeline for his closet. "Jeff said he was going to make it after all."

I nodded despite having no clue who he was talking about, and kept my eyes trained on him heading back in my direction rather than my reflection. "Can you zip me up?"

He ran one hand through his hair as he crossed the room. He waited until he was to my back and pressing one of his palms flat against the small of my back and the other pulling the zipper with most of his strength to chuckle and comment, "I told you to be careful with all those carbs."

It was said lightly, no doubt a joke to him, but he may as well have slapped that hand with all his force against my chest which how much it stung. Oblivious to the hurt lining my face, he squeezed my shoulder once he'd gotten the zipper in place and stepped back out into the hallway. I listened for him to spark a conversation with Dylan in the living room before I breathed out shakily and ran a hand down my dress, as if it'd flatten my stomach back to its normal shape. Suddenly uncomfortable with my own reflection, I spun on my heel and left the room. I snagged my jacket off the arm of the leather couch on my way out of the hall and to the front door. Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough. Dylan stepped out from the kitchen just as I reached for my purse on the table.

"You know," he said, popping a grape into his mouth. "I'm starting to get the impression you don't like me, Harley."

I retracted my arm with my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and mumbled, "That's because I don't."

"You need to get over whatever your issue with me is." Dylan said with a not-so-discreet traveling of his eyes down my cleavage and to my baby bump. "We're family now."

I gagged, relieved when Dalton shoulder past Dylan, knocking him into one of the kitchen chairs. "Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."

Dalton stepped out onto the patio, leaving the door wide open behind him. I sped out, but not quick enough, as Dylan caught my eye and winked before shutting the door behind us.

As if his brother's behavior and my loathing for my new body wasn't enough of a mood dampener, the second I was sitting in the passenger seat of Dalton's truck, he eyed my chest and nonchalantly ordered, "Put the jacket on. Your tits are in everyone's face."

Blinking in surprise, it took until he'd pulled away from his apartment for me to fully process what he'd said and I slipped my arms into my coat before we'd reached the end of the neighborhood.

I'd never worried about showing too much; that'd been Ashley's forte. She had spent countless nights our senior year explaining when and where showing skin was appropriate if we wanted to be respected. Lindsey and I had eaten up every word up. Ashley had also told me the only time a man would tell me to cover up would be if he was insecure and didn't want others looking. As I snuck a look in Dalton's direction, I considered the idea.

It had only been a month and a half since he'd decided he wanted to try this. To not only be involved in our baby's life, but mine as well. He hadn't shown much jealousy in that period, but he also hadn't been keen on me meeting his friends and coworkers until tonight, after close to two months of being a couple. In his defense, I wasn't in any rush for him to meet my parents either. It'd been that thought that had kept all my others from overwhelming me.

As Dalton slowed the car to a stop outside of the club, I craned my neck to get a good look at the neon blue sign.

Blues.

It was a strange name for a club, but I didn't question it. Even if I'd wanted to, Dalton walking around and throwing my door open and nearly having me eating the concrete prevented any coherent word from escaping me. He apologized quietly before he wrapped his arm around me and led us to the back of the building. The bouncer at the door didn't ID, he barely even looked at me. He offered Dalton a quick, two finger salute, then opened the door and stepped aside so we could enter.

The bass sent vibrations through my entire body and nausea immediately started to ease its way into my stomach. I tightened my grasp around Dalton's bicep as he pushed us through a sweaty crowd of people until we were at the bar, where a few men and a couple pretty blondes favoring my best friend stood and headed right for us. Between the strobe lights, the aroma of alcohol and sweat, and the proximity of the people from all directions, I had serious doubts I was going to make it five minutes without vomiting, let alone hours.

"You okay, babe?" one of Dalton's friends leaned in from behind, his hand on my back and inching its way down. When I threw a look over my shoulder for my boyfriend, I found him leaning over the bar with another one of the guys, not even bothering to spare a look my way.

"This is the first we're hearing of you." The guy continued, his lips far too close to my ear lobe for comfort. "Not a surprise Dalton wanted to keep his most prized possession secret. Look at you."

So many things about the comment made bile rise in my throat and I staggered forward, away from the man, and made a gesture toward the bathrooms when I passed Dalton. He nodded and watched after me until I was in. I started for the stall and dry heaved for a few minutes before I flushed and rested my head back against the wall adjacent to the toilet, pulling my phone from my purse. I found Ashley's contact and put her on speaker, having no care that people entering and exiting the bathroom could hear everything.

"Har, babe, hey." Ash answered with concern entering her voice. Keys jingled somewhere in the background. "What's up? Are you okay?"

I tried to keep my tears back, my voice even and neutral, but my pregnancy hormones won and I choked on my words, "Can you come pick me up?"

There was silence for a while before she said, "Of course, Har. Where are you?"

Too exhausted and sick to explain, I sent her a pin of my location. She kept me on the phone all the way to her car, muttering incoherently under her breath. Once the sound of her engine roaring to life sounded in the background, she huffed, "Why the hell are you at a club, Harley? I don't know whether to beat him upside the head or you."

"I didn't. . . I didn't want to make a bad first impression to his friends by saying no."

"And you couldn't have met at a place a little more pregnancy friendly?" my best friend grumbled. "Come on, Har. It was a dick move. He knows morning sickness has been kicking your ass for the last two weeks and he drags you to a club to watch him and his buddies get obliterated."

I flinched at the bitterness in her words, but she didn't wait for a response, or perhaps she assumed I didn't have one or would defend him as I usually did. "I'm on my way. I'll meet you at the bar."

I didn't have to question how she'd get in. The bouncer hadn't even batted an eye when he'd let me in, and Ash had the ability to entrance close to every man she met. I just had to hope it'd be soon.

Pushing up from the ground, I forced myself to the sink, popped mints into my mouth and headed back into the sweaty mass of people. Dalton and his friends were still at the bar, talking over drinks. To my relief, neither of the women made an attempt to get close and personal. As I approached, the creepy friend that'd been touching me smiled and tilted his glass in my direction, complimenting, "Got yourself a model here, man. No wonder you didn't say anything."

The comment made Dalton as uneasy as it did me and he straightened, pulling me into his side and smiling down at me. I tried to return it, but I knew with the way the two girls snickered that it failed miserably.

"Harley!"

If I had thought Dalton was irritated and uncomfortable with his friend's comment, then he was fuming and ready to fight when he heard Ashley. He immediately turned and stared her down as she sauntered her way toward us. She winked at a few guys that stared after her as she passed.

"What are you doing here?" Dalton growled as soon as she was close enough to hear him. She cocked her head to the left, holding his glare with as much, if not more, malice than his.

"I came to take my very pregnant best friend home." She spat the words, and his friends, all drawn to Ashley's beauty and leaning in to eavesdrop as much as they could, "Is that a problem, Ambrose?"

Dalton stepped forward, so close his nose brushed against hers, but she didn't cower, she didn't back away. Instead she straightened and crossed her arms, lips pursed, one of her brows arched. Clearly not wanting his friends or me to see him in a bad light, he fell back a step with his hands raised in surrender and looked my way. There was no mistaking that fury in his eyes, and I was sure my guilt was just as visible.

Then, just as quickly as the anger was there, it was gone and he moved so he could pull me into his embrace. I relaxed against his chest and nuzzled my face against his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Go get some sleep." he pressed his lips against my forehead. "I'll call you when I get home."

I nodded and he repositioned himself at the bar. Ashley sneered his way, then looped her arm through mine and we made our way to the back of the building. She waited until we were in the security of her locked car in the lot to throw her head back against the seat.

"What are you thinking, Har?" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

She threw her hand in a gesture toward the building, or more specifically, the man inside it, "Him. He's an asshole. He is literally every red flag our parents warn us about."

"How so?"

She shifted her entire body in my direction, her bangs falling into her eyes, cheeks flushing. "Harley, look where you're at right now. You're three months pregnant with horrible morning sickness and instead of comforting you and bringing you what you need, he drags you to a fucking club. And I know you won't tell me if I'm right or not, but I'm willing to bet he guilted you into coming tonight. Gave you some sad sob story, or maybe told you it was important for your relationship that you meet his friends."

I crossed my arms and looked out the window. "I get it, Ash, you don't like him."

"I don't like pickles." My best friend laughed without emotion. "I hate that man, Harley. He knows he isn't worthy of you. Maybe not now, but he will eventually make you feel as though you're not worthy of him. That you're not worthy of anyone or anything."

"He's not like that, Ash." I defended. "He cares. He's sweet. He—"

She bowed her head and started talking with an undeniable irritation in her tone. "He is a narcissist. I could feel that the second I met him. He is living in his creepy older brother's apartment, leeching off him and their parents money, with no job. Do you think you'll change that? Do you think your kid will change that? Do you honestly believe you can change him?"

I reached up and wiped the tears soaking my cheeks with my knuckles, refusing to look in her direction.

"Harley, look, I love you. I love that little baby that's growing inside you." she reached out and took my hand. "But I've seen men like Dalton. I've been in relationships with men like Dalton. Hell, Har, I was in a relationship with a twenty-five-year-old when I was seventeen. Do you remember what Garrett did, Harley?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head and sniffling. I remembered it like it happened yesterday. Popping my bedroom window open and my best friend climbing in with her entire face covered in blood and her right eye swollen shut. I could still hear her sobs and her pleading for me to not tell my parents because they'd tell hers. It was the only time in the seventeen years I'd known Ashley that I had ever seen her shed more than a few tears-or beg for something.

"They don't show it at first. They love bomb, Har. That's what Dalton's doing. He's promising you the world, a future, all the love you could ever imagine. He's playing into your hopes, your wishes, your vulnerability. But he'll change. They always do."

"You don't know that." I said through my tears, swiping the back of my hand under my nose. "You don't know he's like that."

Ashley's expression fell for a moment as her eyes roamed my face, then her own was wiped clean of all emotion entirely.

"Let's get you home, Har." she muttered, starting the car. I rested my head against the cold window, wrapping my arms around myself. I thought for sure I'd lost Ash then, that she would ignore me the rest of the trip back home. She didn't speak, but her hand found my knee a few minutes later, and when I started crying, she didn't judge me, or whisper that she's right under her breath. She just held my hand, and eventually pulled into a parking lot so she could hug me. She buried one of her hands in my hair and the other stayed on my back. It wasn't until I lifted my head a fraction of an inch to stare at her that I saw a stray tear roll down her left cheek and fall.