Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I dropped beside her, pulled her against me, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I know you can. Don’t care. I’m still doing it.”
She didn’t argue after that.
Our nights were the best part, though. At first, I tried to keep my hands to myself. She was pregnant. Tired. I didn’t want her thinking the only reason I wanted her in my bed was sex. So I held back. I just wrapped around her at night, pulled her in close, and stayed still.
Mostly.
Every time she shifted in her sleep, pressing her hips against me or tucking her cold feet between my calves, I had to fight not to groan. She was always warm and soft, smelled like soap, and wore my shirt.
I slept better than I ever had before, and I woke up every morning with her tangled in my arms. The world made sense again.
I wasn’t used to living with someone. Not since college, and even then, it wasn’t like this. Micah had been the only roommate I could stand back then. He kept his shit clean, didn’t play his music too loud, and never ate my protein powder.
But this was different.
Living with Marissa wasn’t like sharing a space. It was like claiming one. Putting roots down and watching them wrap around her, slow and sure and permanent.
I liked seeing her shit mixed with mine. Opening the fridge and seeing her favorite flavored water next to my sports drinks. I even liked the way she left a trail of socks, bobby pins, and half-used lotion tubes in her wake.
It made the place feel lived in. Like a home.
I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
So I showed her in the only ways I knew how. With my hands. My time. With a thousand small things she didn’t even notice I was doing.
Calling her doctor and double-checking the list of pregnancy-safe vitamins, switching our laundry detergent to the hypoallergenic kind, and buying blackout curtains for the bedroom so she could sleep better.
And I’d keep doing it. Every damn day until she realized what I already knew.
She caught me looking at her belly one night while brushing her teeth.
We’d just finished dinner. She wore a tank top, and a sliver of skin was visible above her hips, which were wrapped in ridiculous fuzzy shorts that looked like they’d been made out of a Muppet. And I couldn’t stop staring.
“You keep looking at me like that,” she mumbled around her toothbrush, “and I’m going to develop a complex.”
“I’m just looking for…” I dropped to my knees in front of her and pushed her shirt up to examine her tummy. I didn’t want to tell her what I was trying so hard to see.
Proof. Physical evidence that I’d buried myself so deep in her body, I’d left a part of me behind. A bump, or even just the slightest swelling of her stomach.
Marissa spit out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, then put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at me. “It’s too soon.”
I stood and stepped around behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Too soon for what?” My tone was all innocence.
She sighed, but it ended with a cute giggle. “Too early to prove you’ve done your manly duty and knocked me up.”
I tried to look offended, but I couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin that spread across my face. “I’m just excited to see your belly grow.”
Marissa huffed. “Stop wishing for me to get big faster!”
“Why? You’ll look every bit as beautiful and fucking sexy as you do right now,” I murmured, sliding one hand down to splay across her belly. “Maybe more.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and something soft bloomed in her gaze.
My lips brushed over her temple before I whispered, “I can’t wait to meet the little troublemaker we made.”
She blinked fast and nodded. “Me neither.”
I almost blurted it out and told her how much I loved her, but I stopped myself at the last second.
Are you sure you’re waiting for the right time, Shaffer? Or are you just scared?
I wasn’t ready to answer that question.
The next night, I was relaxing on the couch, watching an old game, when I caught myself daydreaming about baby names.
Ridiculous, maybe. But I couldn’t help it.
Names. Nurseries. Game days with our kids in my jersey. Teaching them how to throw a spiral. Marissa and I tucking them in at night. I was so fucking ready to build this life with her. Hell, I’d never been more ready for anything before.
When I glanced at her on the other end of the sofa—her legs curled under her, her lips curved around the rim of a tea mug, her eyes flicking over some article on her tablet—I felt something click into place.