“I would like a rib-eye, medium. . . .” My gaze flicked from the young waitress to the menu. Was I not supposed to eat possibly undercooked foods now that I was pregnant? I had no idea. I needed to Google this shit. Sighing, I closed the menu. Safety over taste. “I’ll go with medium well.”
“Is that how you normally eat steak?” Nick asked as the waitress moved away.
I shook my head. “I normally eat it like you do—medium rare, but I’m not sure if I should be eating meat like that now.”
Sitting across from me, he picked up his glass of water. “Maybe we need to get a manual or something.”
“I think we do.” Grinning, I fiddled with the edge of the cloth that had been rolled around the silverware. “I’m sure there’s one out there.”
After what wasn’t the most awkward hug in history, Nick had asked if I was hungry. Instead of explaining that I just ate, I decided to go with whatever he was suggesting, because we needed to talk. A half an hour later we ended up at the Outback not too far from Mona’s.
“You said you have a doctor’s appointment, right?” he asked. “This week? I want to go with you.”
For the hundredth time today, astonishment winged its way through me. I settled back against the booth. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” Nick frowned, and damn, even with a pretty decent frown on his face, he still was strikingly handsome. “But I want to.”
Something warmed in my chest, but I ignored it. “It’s just a general doctor. They’re just going to tell me I’m pregnant and that I’ll need to see an OB/GYN.”
“Then why not go ahead and set that appointment up?” His gaze was steady, searching. “Why go to a general doc when you already know what they’re going to say?”
Damn. He had a good point.
“I have a good point, huh?”
My eyes narrowed. “Can you read minds?”
“No.” He laughed. “I’m just logical.”
“Whatever,” I sighed. “Okay. I can make an OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. Well, hopefully find one.”
He smiled briefly. “I can be available whenever. You let me know. I can drive you or meet you there.”
“Okay.” Folding my arms over my stomach, I peeked up and found him watching me. “Are you . . . you going to tell your family?”
The line of his jaw hardened. “No.”
His response was so quick it was cutting. “Okay.”
“Dammit.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t have any immediate family—not any that would care.”
I tipped my head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“A lot.” He rested his chin in his hand and his fingers obscured the well-formed mouth. “I’m not close to my extended family. I don’t even know if they still live around here. Are you planning on telling Roxy?”
Knowing he’d changed the subject on purpose, I struggled to let it go. Things were very new to us and our steps were tentative. If he didn’t want to divulge that information right now, fine, but he would have to eventually. “I hadn’t thought about it. Were you?”
“I was going to leave that up to you, but I don’t think it’s something I could keep secret from everyone,” he reasoned. “I’ll have to let Jax know if I need time off or something, but he’d keep it secret.”
“He might tell Calla. I mean, they’re together and I’m sure they talk. Then if she knows, there’s a good chance she’ll let it slip.” I bit down on my lip. “We don’t have to tell them anything right now, though.”
He nodded. “Nothing needs to be said at the moment, but what about your job? How do you think they’re going to handle it?”
“Ugh.” I plopped my chin into my hands. “I don’t even want to think about it and I have no idea how they’ll respond. I guess I still have some time before I tell them.”
Nick raised a dark brow. “I don’t think you want to drop a pregnancy bomb on them a few months before you’re due.”
“I know, but I’m barely a month, so I have time.” I wrinkled my nose when he raised both brows. “And I really don’t need to tell them for a long time, right? It’s not like I’m delaying the inevitable.”
“Huh.”
My eyes narrowed again. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” There was a brief pause. “You’re not delaying the inevitable here. You don’t have to tell them yet. I mean, I think women wait for a while, but you just don’t strike me as the type who delays anything. You seem like you meet most things head on.”
“Obviously you don’t know me well.” Immediately, I recognized the snottiness in my tone.
Nick’s fingers lowered from his mouth, revealing a half smile. “That’s what we’re doing, aren’t we? Getting to know each other.”
Kind of felt like we were just scraping at each other’s surface and not going any deeper. “We do need to.” I softened my tone.
“Agreed.” Suddenly, he reached across the table with his long arm. His hand cupped my cheek, and I stilled, holding my breath as he swept his thumb along my chin. “You had a piece of lint there.”
My pulse fluttered. “I did?”
“Yeah.” His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “Not anymore.”
“That’s good,” I whispered, the fluttering expanding. “Are you searching for more lint?”
Nick chuckled deeply, and the sound elicited a fine shiver out of me. “Maybe.” His voice had changed, sluicing over my skin like warm water. “Lint are tricky little beasts. But I think I’d have to do a more thorough search.” His lips curled fully as he removed his hand. “Just to make sure you’re lint free in all the important areas.”
I grinned. “You’re so helpful.”
“That I am.” He tilted his head to the side and the low light glanced off his high cheekbones. “Anyway. We need to figure each other out. We are stuck with one another for like . . . well, forever now.”
A wave of prickly heat washed over my skin, eroding the sensual warmth of his teasing. A bitter-edged hurt I didn’t fully understand replaced it, and my mouth immediately formed words. “I guess you need to start buying better condoms then, huh?”
The grin twisted into something wry. “I guess you need to pay better attention to taking your pills, huh?”
Touché.
We both scored points there.
“Look. We need to make this work.” He pressed back against the seat, his eyes chilly compared to earlier. “And pointing fingers at one another for this isn’t going to do us any favors. There’s a lot we need to figure out—a lot of important things like child care, how we’re going to raise this kid—the money it’s going to take. I’m not sure about the legalities involved in all of that, but we’re going to need to figure it out.”
The prickly heat spread, and I wished I was outside, letting the cold wind chill my body and erase the sting. I felt myself nod, but I couldn’t get the word “stuck” out of my head. Being “stuck” with someone didn’t allude to anything deeper. What the hell was I thinking earlier, when Nick had hugged me? That we could somehow grow to really care for each other, maybe even . . . maybe even love one another in the way I’d always hoped I’d fall for someone?
I was a fucking idiot.
Nick and I had sex. Now we were dealing with the consequences. Emotions weren’t involved in this. Nope. Not at all.
He looked away, a muscle ticking along his jaw. The food arrived, but my stomach had soured.
Well, that new beginning didn’t feel too shiny now.
The stack of fresh binders wobbled in my arms as I navigated the cubicles Monday afternoon. The revamped HR manual had been completed, but now they needed new binders, because of reasons. The plastic, chemical scent turned my sensitive stomach and I was half tempted to throw them into the stockroom, but once again, there were reasons why that wouldn’t be acceptable behavior.
I stacked them on the center shelf, spines facing out, and then smoothed down the front of my blouse. A different scent overpowered the chemical one, something too musky. Turning around, I almost threw myself on the floor and started flailing like a two-year-old.
Rick stood in the doorway, his flushed face and beady eyes a very unwelcome sight. He was the source of the newest stomach-turning aroma. Some days it smelled like he bathed in cologne. He smirked.
I sighed.
Today was not a good day.
My shitastic mood kicked off in the morning when I tried to slip on this extremely cute pin-striped pencil skirt. I’d gotten it up my thighs and over my hips but when I tried to zip it up, it cut into my stomach and stretched the seams.
Then, after experiencing the very first pregnancy-related clothing failure first thing in the morning, my stomach was not a happy camper the entire rainy commute to work. Not having had the foresight to check on what pregnant folk could use to deal with nausea, I just had to suffer until I got home. My paranoia would not allow me to Google that info while I was at work.
Since my stomach felt like it was just bubbling with bile, I couldn’t eat much for lunch, which made me hangry—hungry and angry at the same time. But that wasn’t the main source of discontent during lunch. I’d hidden in my car and started calling OB/GYNs, and dear God in heaven, was everyone in the county pregnant and in need of a baby doctor? I had to make six different calls to find a doctor who could see me by the second week of November.
The second week of November!
Holy crap, by my calculations, I’d be around eight weeks pregnant by then. Eight weeks! That was two months and some spare change. What in the hell was I supposed to do between now and then?
There were a lot of things I could screw up in two and half months.
But I made the appointment, and then, even though the dinner with Nick last night had gone downhill as quickly as a zombie apocalypse would, I texted him the date and time I’d scheduled my first appointment.
No response.
Not a damn thing.
Oh, he wanted to be involved and we needed to be in this together because we were stuck together, but that text message was three hours ago, and he still hadn’t responded? We were getting off to a great start.
Granted, for all I knew, something could be going on, but my shitty day was just shitacular and logic wouldn’t do anything but make me angrier.
And now I had Rick staring at me like the dickhead he was.
I stalked toward the door, planning to punch him in the balls if he didn’t move out of the way or brushed against me again, but as I neared him, he stepped to the side. Rick said nothing as I all but stomped past him, out the door, holding my breath so I didn’t choke on the cologne. He just stood there, like a creep, staring at me.
Creeper-mc-asshole.
I’d neared my desk when Marcus’s door flew open, rattling the edges. My eyes widened as I jerked to a stop. Andrew Lima raced out of the office, hauling butt to the main doors. Marcus was right behind him. Andrew’s daughter—the quiet Jillian, darted out next.
“What happened?” I asked, my hand fluttering to my stomach for some unknown reason.
As I jerked my hand away, the gesture went unnoticed. Jillian’s face was leeched of all blood as she hurried past me. “It’s Brock,” she said, her dark eyes shiny with tears. “He’s been hurt.”