Free Finding Chris Evans: The Hollywood Edition by Lizzie Shane Page B

self-fulfilling prophecy. And then if you’re miserable, is it the fortune teller’s fault? Or is that just your fate ?”
    “You don’t believe in fate?”
    “Do you?” he countered.
    “I didn’t,” she admitted. “When my mom got sick, I refused to believe that was her fate. Or that it was fate that my dad died when I was little. I believed in love and bad luck.” And that trend seemed to be holding. She was going to be forever tied to a man she thought she could love—who now seemed to see her only as an egg donor. “But now I don’t know. Maybe it was fate that we met in Chicago. If I’d walked down that alleyway five minutes earlier, you wouldn’t have been able to get into the Hot Box and we never would have met. If the condom hadn’t failed… But then there’s the other side. Would things be different if I hadn’t dropped my phone in the sink and you hadn’t had your number changed?”
    “We’d be together,” he announced, without a shadow of doubt in his tone.
    “Would we?”
    “I wanted to come see you in Chicago. I didn’t want things to be over between us.”
    She noticed he was using the past tense. What did he want now ? “Neither did I.”
    He glanced over at her then, holding her gaze with heat in his, and all at once she felt that same snap of connection that she’d felt in Chicago. This. This was how it was supposed to feel—until the car began to drift toward the side and the growl of the rumble strips snapped them both out of it.
    “Sorry,” Chris murmured, and she wanted to ask him whether he was apologizing for nearly running them off the road, or for giving her that shiver of hope that the thing between them was still there.

    Bad idea. Very bad idea.
    This was the mother of his child. The stakes were too high to screw things up by rushing into romance again. She was going back to school and he was going to work—for at least the next couple months. When her semester was over and she joined him in San Diego was plenty early enough to see if this thing between them still burned as bright as he remembered.
    They had time. They had their whole lives. He could wait.
    Even if that one look at her had gotten him hard as a freaking rock in the driver’s seat and nearly sent them inadvertently off-roading.
    He wasn’t going to screw things up with her again. One step at a time. And the first step was friendship. Not lust. No matter how much he might want it to be otherwise.
     

Chapter Eight
    They made it to the airport without further detours toward the shoulder, or any other sizzling, electric moments of connection snapping between them. Trina had taken over driving when they stopped for gas and was behind the wheel as they approached the terminal.
    The discussion about Ellie and fate—or that momentary flash of lust—had broken the ice and their conversation had flowed easily as the miles flew by, reminding her why she had liked him so much that first night. Though the taste of that reminder was bittersweet since he seemed to have no interest in rekindling their brief affair.
    Chris had told her stories about his builds and strange celebrity moments. She’d told him about the highs and lows of medical school. And neither of them mentioned their shared history again. They’d almost been able to forget they were about to become parents together.
    Almost.
    It had been comfortable—until they hit the Twin Cities. Then Chris had begun navigating and Trina had grown more and more tense as they grew closer and closer to the airport. They had a plan, but it was small comfort. She was still scared of watching him walk away—scared that he would vanish on her again.
    Marty had texted Chris his flight confirmation. Marty, who excelled at keeping Chris away from her and would have his ear for the next several months while they were separated. Marty, who thought she was a predatory gold-digger out to wreck Chris’s career.
    Trina was silent as she followed the signs for