I shake my head. “I never thought that. Your evaluation of my work and guidance of my research always felt completely separate from our personal relationship.”

He swallows and his chest caves in. Good. At least he’s been a little worried about it.

“I didn’t sleep with you for academic favors,” I say, realizing we need to get this cleared up first. “And I never felt like you used your position on my committee to get me in bed.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, nodding. “Okay. Good, good, good. This is good to hear.”

“That’s a lot of good in reference to a situation that’s pretty fucked up, George. You’re not off the hook for not telling me about your wife. Not with me, at least. If she wants to ignore what you’ve done, that’s on her. Even if I wanted a relationship with you, I wouldn’t forgive you for keeping me in the dark. I don’t have the energy to hash out how I feel about your lies right now.”

He smirks. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

I cock my head to the side. “What exactly did your wife tell you?” Did she tell you I’m pregnant?

“She told me to get out.” He shifts uncomfortably. Ass sore, George? “And then she told me I needed to talk to you.”

“She’s right. We do need to talk.”

He stares at me and when I don’t immediately explain, he says, “Spit it out.”

“I’m pregnant.”

He goes pale then seems to shake away the instinctive panic. “The football player works fast.”

“The baby isn’t Easton’s.” I stare at him, but when he only stares back with that constipated confusion face, I say, “I’m eleven weeks and four days pregnant.” I pull the ultrasound picture from my purse and place it in front of him on the desk.

He stares at the black-and-white photo with wide eyes. “Can you be sure it’s mine?”

What a dick. “Before Easton came to town, you’re the only one I’d slept with in years.”

When he lifts his eyes to mine, they’re angry. “You told me you were on the pill.”

“I was. It looks like I got pregnant during that Florida conference. The doctor said if I was that sick, the birth control wouldn’t have worked right.”

“The chances, though . . .”

I point at the picture. “Right there. There’s the chance.”

He stares at me for a long beat, and I watch as the possibility clicks into place in his mind. “I can’t marry you, Shay. You’ve been acting weird since you saw that ring, but I’ve never given you reason to believe I wanted that from you. I don’t want to lose my wife.”