Kensley

 

I’m so tired, and I’m pretty sure this baby doesn’t approve of my late hours.

I puff out a sigh as the baby pushes uncomfortably on my insides and I rest my hand over where I assume is baby’s butt, pushing back gently.

The walk from my car to the apartment feels longer than normal, and I’m blaming my ankles—they decided today would be a good day to start swelling. It’s easy for me to remember all the positives from my pregnancies with the girls; I forgot about the bloat.

Oh, did I get swollen with those girls, and it seems that this pregnancy will be no different.

I unlock the door, not sure if Liam would have crashed on the couch or if he’d be awake. I’m not entirely sure how I want to encounter him, either.

Awake, so he can witness first-hand the mess that I am, or asleep, where I have to wake him up.

The television is off, or, at least, I can’t hear it, when I walk in, and Liam isn’t in the living room. I frown as I close the door, locking it again—completely out of habit.

Realizing it, I quickly unlock it. I don’t want Liam getting ideas.

I drop my bag on the counter and walk down the hall; the bathroom door is wide open so he’s not there. There’s whispering coming from the girls’ room though, so I step to the jam and peek inside, just in time to watch Liam put Sawyer back in her crib.

Once again, seeing this man with my babies does funny things to my heart. I swallow hard and move away from the door, before he can turn and see me standing there.

He’s too good.

It didn’t matter that I pushed him away.

It doesn’t matter that what he makes me feel, scares me.

He’s still good to my girls.

Good to me.

I smile, as I remember the post-it note I found in my lunch.

I hope your shift is going well, beautiful.

So simple. But enough to put a smile on my face.

Then, there was the picture message he sent me earlier. The way he took the picture of London barely gave me a view of him, but my girl looked absolutely thrilled. And the braid was impressive, for a guy.

I’m in the kitchen, putting my lunch bag away, when he comes out of the girls’ room.

“Oh, hey,” he says, noticing me. “I didn’t hear you come in. Sawyer woke up again.” I glance up at him and his face is heavy with sleep. He’s likely been up for nearly twenty-four hours at this point, and I suddenly feel terrible for asking him to watch the girls.

He was just about my only option though, as Sharon wasn’t able to tonight; not with Mark going over for dinner. Then, there was the fact that my friend circle greatly diminished over the years, thanks to Mark…

I shake my head and offer a smile. “It’s okay. Was she a terror? Some nights she does better than others. I think she’s getting her molars.”

“Nah, she was fine. She only woke up twice and went back down easy enough.”

“Did she need a pacifier?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

Liam’s mouth opens, shuts again, before he shakes his head. “No. I actually forgot about that. I’m sorry.”

Now it’s me shaking my head. “No! Don’t be sorry. If she settled without it, it means we’re getting somewhere. I’d rather her figure out how to soothe herself without it. It was hard to break the habit with London, so I’ve been trying to nix it earlier with Sawyer. Anyway…” I wave him off in front of me. “You’re probably tired. You can go home. Thank you. Can I pay you?” I’m turning to reach for my wallet when suddenly I feel him at my back.

He reaches for my hand and pulls it away from my wallet.

“You are not paying me for watching your girls.”

“But—”

He turns me then, and I realize just how close he is. Closer, even, than in his kitchen last weekend, if that was even possible—I mean, my belly grew in the last week.

“You’re not paying me to watch your girls, Kensley,” he says again, staring down at me. “I like being here with them. I like being here with you.” To drive that point home, he puts a hand on my face and runs his thumb gently under my eye. “You’re tired.”

“I’m okay,” I manage.

He’s watching his thumb and I’m watching him, my lips parted and waiting for…

Well, for a kiss.

There’s always that lingering thought in my mind that I barely know this man, that what he makes me feel is simply a response to what I haven’t gotten from Mark in so long, but I can’t help but want to believe Liam when he says this is different.

I swallow hard, and it’s enough for Liam’s eyes to move from his thumb, to my eyes. When he drops his hand and steps back, I feel the loss of him and have to stop myself from rubbing my palm over the spot his hand just left.

“I, um,” he starts, and I decide immediately that I like these moments, the ones where Liam seems to lose his confidence. I fight to not smile. “I did some research. You know, on your situation. Not that you couldn’t do it on your own, but I wanted to help. Remember, I heard what Mark had to say—” as if I could forget, “and there’s no way a man like him ought to have custody of his daughters. But maybe we can talk about it tomorrow. Or Sunday. Whenever works best for you and the girls.”

I don’t want him to leave yet.

“We can talk now.” I try to make it sound easy, almost flippant, but I’m sure it doesn’t come across that way. I’m not ready to walk him to the door.

“Are you sure?” The concern is all over his face.

Over his stubbled, clearly tired, face.

Good God, he’s handsome awake, made up, made down, and exhausted, where I’m pretty sure I’m starting to resemble a beached whale. It really isn’t fair.

“Yeah. I won’t be able to fall asleep for a little while anyway,” I lie. “Can I change first though?”

“Sure. Yeah. Okay.” He’s nodding, and I’m smiling, and it feels good.

I head to my room and quickly change into oversized sweatpants and a ribbed tank top, keeping my sports bra in place. I also make a quick stop to the bathroom to wash my face before meeting Liam back in the living room, where he’s sitting with his phone and a pad of paper in his lap.

There’s no mistaking his once over, nor the appreciation in his green eyes. Just like there’s no mistaking the blush that’s painting my entire upper body.

However, I try to ignore it.

“My t-shirts are all in the wash,” I say, self-consciously palming my belly that is on full display in the tighter tank. Each pregnancy, my belly has gotten bigger, earlier. With London, I barely showed until I was thirty-weeks, and here I was, at twenty-six weeks, and looking like I did right before London was born.

Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but my belly definitely grew over the last week or two.

Liam shakes his head and pats the couch beside him. “You look fine. Good. Beautiful. Come sit down.” His voice has some of that not-confident tone again. In all his spiels about clicking and this being right, it’s nice to hear nerves in his voice, too. It makes everything seem less like a line, and more like the real deal.

Once I’m sitting beside him, Liam puts his phone down on the table and picks up his pad of paper.

“So, just to clarify again…you and Mark were never married? Not even for, like, a week.”

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on his manly scribble.

“Is he on the girls’ birth certificates?”

“The girls have his last name.”

“But did he sign the birth certificates?”

I shake my head, shifting in my seat. “No. He wasn’t there for their births and without being married, I couldn’t put his name on them.” I watch as Liam’s knuckles turn white briefly as he fists the pad of paper. I can also feel him staring at me but looking at the paper is easier. “He was supposed to sign the paternity documents, but I don’t think he ever did. I mean. I know he didn’t.”

“Well then, he has zero rights to the girls.”

Now, I look up at him. Liam’s watching me, the most intense look on his face.

“But if he’s going to contest it,” I manager, “he could go and sign the papers now.”

“Any papers you signed four and two years ago, are likely null at this point.”

“His lawyers could make me sign the new ones though, couldn’t they? The girls have his last name.”

“You can put any last name you want on a baby’s birth certificate.”

“He’ll demand a paternity test.”

Liam’s nodding. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right. What I know says he’d do just that. But I also think that a judge hearing what he had to say about you, and about the fact he led a conversation with ‘if the baby’s a boy’…I just don’t think a judge will grant custody to him. At least, I wouldn’t hope so.”

I frown, thinking about what Liam just said.

“Does the station keep those conversations?”

He shrugs. “Some. We do our big deletes on the first of the month, but others, we’ll keep them for repeats throughout the year, for like, I don’t know, Christmas break when Johnson and I aren’t in the studio for a week.”

My face has gone white; I can feel that the color is gone, just like I can feel my heart skipping a few beats. “You wouldn’t replay that call, would you?”

Liam frowns. “Fuck no.” He’s shaking his head. “One, because it’s incredibly disrespectful to you, but also because there’s, thankfully, not enough to replay. We had to cut it down a lot in order to air it the first time.”

“Are you saying ‘fuck no’ because you like me, or because that’s studio policy?” I hate that the words are there, but I’m afraid that if something were to go wrong with us, that he’d possibly retaliate by allowing that clip to go back into circulation.

I’m not even sure how it happened, but soon the pad of paper is tossed to the table and I’m being pulled up on Liam’s lap, one of his large hands bracing the back of my neck and the other, cradling my stomach. I’m sitting sideways on him but turned just enough to nearly be facing him—without actually straddling him.

“I get that Mark was a douche and an asshole to you,” he’s saying, his voice low and vibrating. Not with anger but with…passion? “I would never allow that to be played, regardless if it’s your tape or someone else’s. And if I didn’t think it could help you get full custody of your girls, I’d have Johnson delete it before the first of the month.” We’re both silent, staring at each other, before Liam lifts his brows and rubs my stomach lightly. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

From my spot on his lap, I’m at eye level with Liam. I can make out darker green spots in the otherwise incredibly clear orbs, and I see that the dark ring around the green isn’t actually green, but a navy blue—probably what makes them so clear. He also has the faintest hint of freckles on his nose, something that you wouldn’t notice unless right next to him.

Part of me feels awkward to be taking such a close study of his face, but another part of me knows that Liam’s doing the same.

And if the flare of his nostrils, or the slight notice of man under my left leg, is proof, he likes what he sees.

When was the last time I felt like this? Felt wanted, like Liam makes me feel?

I try to remember, but honestly…

I can’t.

Mark and my relationship started to fall apart shortly after I got pregnant with London; I can admit that to myself now. He wasn’t around much during the pregnancy; wasn’t there when she was born. Hardly handled her as a baby.

I didn’t think anything of these things then but seeing Liam with my girls now makes my heart physically ache for what they missed out on when they were infants.

It’s clear to me that I was simply a means to bear a child, in Mark’s eyes.

A boy.

And the cycle would have kept going, with me getting pregnant and being alone, had I not realized I wanted more for my girls than what they were getting.

“I’m going to kiss you, Kensley Cole,” Liam breaks through my thoughts, his voice hardly more than a whisper, and breaking just enough to confirm my thoughts.

He’s as affected by this, by us, as I am.

“Okay, Liam Hardt,” I mimic his name use, my voice no louder than his. Then, I nervously lick my lips, just before his hands are on my face and he’s gently bringing me closer.

My eyes close on their own accord, but open when he stops. I feel his breath on my lips but am confused as to why he stopped.

It’s only when my eyes are locked on his again that he finishes the pull, and his lips are pressed to mine. I let out the softest of sighs and this time, when my eyes flutter closed, Liam doesn’t stop.

This kiss is light.

Soft.

Nearly timid.

But when I feel his tongue over my lips and I open, the kiss turns to exploring.

I shift in his lap, wanting to turn more, but my belly is in the way. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and he moves his hands—one to my neck again, and the other to my back.

His lips are surprising soft under mine, his tongue, gently exploring. This isn’t an assault of a kiss; this is what kisses are supposed to be like.

I’m pushing my chest into his and realize—too late—that I’m rubbing myself over him with the slow ebbs of my breathing. What draws attention to it is the fact my nipples are incredibly sensitive. Even through the tank top and my thicker sport bra, I’m well aware his chest is against mine.

And even though I’m getting uncomfortably wet and he’s getting undoubtedly hard, even though we’re both clearly turned on and wanting more, Liam keeps his hands gentle and respectful.

I’m basically six-months pregnant, and I want to have sex with a man who is not the baby’s father.

The thought touches my mind, giving me negative feels for the briefest of moments, but soon, they’re fleeting.

Like Liam’s been saying…

This feels right.

And I don’t know the last time something felt as right as this moment right here.

Then, Liam’s pulling back and gently squeezing my neck. His lips are swollen, just like mine probably are. With his thumb running up and down into the base of my falling-out pony tail, with his eyes focused on my lips, he says, “Someday, I’m going to take you to bed and show you just how good you and I can be. This was just a prelude.”

Gathering courage, I wait until he looks at me again, our eyes locked. “I’m afraid,” I admit. “I’m afraid that you’re going to decide what Mark—"

Liam doesn’t allow me to finish. “Mark is an asshole who used belittling you, to make him feel better about what he was doing. He knows he’s in the wrong. I promise you, Kensley, there is nothing wrong with you.”

“But what if—”

“Trust me, Kens,” he interrupts, squeezing the back of my neck again. The hand at my back dips, and I can feel the tips of his fingers slipping into the very top of the waistband of my sweats, but he doesn’t take it any further. “You don’t respond like you do, if you aren’t a passionate human being. I can feel your heat on my thigh. I can feel that you’re wet for me.”

I’m blushing like mad now, and he sees it—his grin is wide and boyish and not at all cocky. Okay. Maybe a little bit cocky.

“There’s nothing wrong with you Kensley,” he repeats. “And if I didn’t have a dog at home who needs a potty break in five hours, I’d spend the night showing you.”

There’s his over-confidence again, but it doesn’t do anything to me—other than turn me on more.

“Pregnant sex is different,” I choke out, but I should have realized it wouldn’t stop Liam.

“I spent the earlier part of the night looking up braiding techniques for your daughter. I can spend the latter part looking up the best ways to make pregnant sex good for you.”

“Oh my God,” I laugh lightly, covering my face, but Liam isn’t having it. His hands leave their spots on my body—and I hate the loss—only to pull my hands from my face.

“You still think you can trust this?” he asks, repeating the question from last weekend.

Then, my answer was I wanted to.

Now?

“Yes.”