by BJ Harvey
Just as I’m expecting him to move things to the bedroom and really get things started, he’s helping me out of his lap. I stare at him absolutely dumbfounded as he gets off the couch, his jeans looking so tight I’m scared they might be cutting off circulation to one of my favorite body parts of his. He walks out of the lounge and through to the kitchen, all without uttering a single word.
No “Sorry.”
No “Can we take a breather?”
No “Let’s go to bed.”
Absolutely nothing.
“Ez? Are you okay?”
When he doesn’t answer, I lean my body to the side and crane my neck to see what’s happening.
Ez stands in front of the open refrigerator door, seemingly staring blankly inside. His shoulders are squared, and he’s holding himself so taut that even from this far away, I can see he’s like a tightly wound spring, ready to burst.
I’m just getting to my feet when he shuts the fridge a little too hard and grabs his keys and wallet off the island. He lifts his head and looks straight at me.
“You need milk. I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait. Ez, what’s—”
“Are you okay?”
My head jerks back. He’s obviously freaking out about who knows what, and he’s still worried about me? I nod. “I’m fine. I’m just—”
“Good. I won’t be long.” And then he’s gone, out the door, leaving me standing there in my empty house, my eyes wide, my mouth open wider.
“What just happened?” I whisper to myself, snorting and shaking my head as I try—and fail—to work out what the hell freaked him out.
Then, because I’m curious, I walk to the kitchen and—sure enough—we absolutely do not need milk. Which means Ezra Baker just had a freak-out to rival any one of mine.
Since I’m there already, I grab a fresh bottle of water from the fridge and a chocolate bar from the pantry and decide to relax until the baby daddy returns.
Whatever has set him off, I know he’ll come back.
Then maybe, I might finally get some much-needed naked fun time.
I may be pregnant, but I’m not dead. There’s absolutely no reason why things can’t continue the way they were between us. A baby is a blessing, not a chastity belt.
And soon enough, Ezra is going to realize that.
If not, I’ll be sure to take great pleasure in reminding him.
Ezra
I walk around Walmart aimlessly. I know I screwed up by pretty much running out of Gilly’s place, but if I’d stayed, I would’ve taken her to bed, and I don’t want to do that until I know whether we’re on the same page.
It’s my own fault. I’ve sat on the conversation we’re well overdue to have for three weeks now, ever since she told me she was pregnant.
Spending so much time together, I’ve struggled not to fall into our old habits, and I know she’s questioning why I’m not sleeping with her. It’s not like we haven’t before—obviously—but if we have a chance of changing what we were to what I’d like us to be, I want to take things slow.
Except I’ve been procrastinating, preferring to be there to help Gilly at night when I know her nausea and tiredness is at its worst, which has inadvertently reduced the chances of us having the time and mental headspace for a serious conversation.
I’ve been staring at a freezer full of frozen pizzas for five minutes when I catch a young couple walking past me for the second time.
“You alright, man?” the guy asks.
I snap out of my daze and nod. “Yeah. I just zoned out.”
“Happens to me when I’m hungry too.” He points into the freezer. “That vegan cheese one is the shit,” he says, his girlfriend nodding before they continue pushing their shopping cart.
What the fuck am I doing?
I fish my phone out of my pocket and bring up Jamie’s number.
“Hey. Didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight. Aren’t you at Gilly’s house?”
“I was. Now I’m walking aimlessly around Walmart, trying to reason with myself why I’m here and not getting my ass back to explain why I walked out the door instead of taking her to bed.”
“Okay. So why didn’t you?”
“Because I haven’t talked to her yet.”
“Ez,” he groans. “Are you serious with this shit? You decided you were going to talk to her about it weeks ago.”
“And I haven’t yet.” I keep moving around the back of the store.
“Why are you putting it off? It’s not like you’re proposing again,” he says with a laugh.
“Never going to live that down, am I?”
“C’mon. You have to admit that was funny.” Jamie says, chuckling.
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject. I look up and find myself in front of a rack of baby onesies. Of all the places…
“So, what do you want me to do? Call you a dumbass?”
“You do that on a daily basis, don’t you?” I deadpan.
He chuckles. “Maybe not daily.”
“Close enough,” I mutter, thumbing through the rack, stopping on one that’s perfect for our baby—boy or girl.
“Ez? You still there? I hear random grocery store music and creepy breathing and nothing else.”
“I think I have an idea.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“God, I love having such a supportive best friend.”
“You would have at least five alimony checks if it weren’t for me,” he muses.
I snort at that. “You’re such a dick.”
“A loveable one though, right?”
“Only sometimes,” April shouts down the phone, obviously close to her husband.
I grin, pulling the onesie from the rack and going in search of the other things I’m going to need to grovel to my pregnant girlfriend. “I agree with your far better-looking wife on this one.”
“Typical. Maybe April will have some advice for you.”
“I’ve got a plan now, but if I crash and burn this time, tell April she’s up.”
“Will do. I’m going to go and see if something else comes up here.”
“Dude, eww. You’re married. Married people don’t do that.”
He snorts. “And now I know why your divorce lawyer is on speed dial.”
“Nah, that’s ‘cause he’s my best friend. You’ve been demoted for being an asshole.”
He barks out a laugh, making me grin. “Okay. Well, good luck. We’re both here if you need us.”
“For anything,” April adds.
“For anything.”
“Yeah, I know. See you tomorrow at Maple.”
“Have a good night,” he says, and I don’t miss April’s giggle in the background. “I know I will.”
“Bye,” I say, grinning when I end the call.
Without the distraction of being on the phone, I focus on getting what I need and make my way to the checkout. After putting the loot in the trunk of my car, I get behind the wheel and type out a text message to make sure Gilly is still awake.
Ezra—I’m coming back now, tail between my legs. Are you still awake?
Gilly—Yeah. See you soon, baby daddy.
Fuck, she’s far too fucking perfect for me.
It’s only when I turn toward her place that I realize I didn’t even buy milk, which means there’s nothing else to do but have that overdue chat.
I knock before letting myself back in the front door.
Walking into the lounge room, I find her lying on the couch, cuddling a cushion in front of her chest. Her eyes drift in my direction, and I can see humor in them.
She rolls to her back. “Where’s the milk?” she asks, with a smirk.
I shake my head, hating—but also finding it sexy as hell—that she’s not scared to call me out on my bullshit. “Damn, I knew I forgot something.”
She nods at the bag in my hand. “What did you get? Because if it’s Mega Stuf Oreos, cranberry juice and/or Kraft Mac & Cheese…”
Fuck, she’s cute. I
tilt my head. “Is our baby boy hungry?”
Her grin widens. “Maybe our baby girl has eclectic tastes.”
That earns her an arched brow. “Cookies, fruit, and a processed pasta meal in a box isn’t eclectic—it’s whacked.”
She giggles, and that sound is the thing I live for.
“Should I bring it over there?” I ask. Her eyes narrow, and I swear my balls go into hiding.
Now I’m almost hoping for a girl just so that the future of the Baker bloodline isn’t put to risk whenever my son pisses his mother off—which will happen often if I’m anything to go by.
Gilly sits up and hugs her knees before crooking a finger my way. “Gimme the goods, Baker, or there will be hell to pay. Haven’t you heard? Pissing a pregnant woman off brings seven years bad luck.”
I dare to chuckle. “I’ll make a note of that,” I reply, slowly walking over to the couch, drawing out every step. I’m enjoying this showdown a little too much, but Gilly’s smile tells me she is too.
As soon as I’m within touching distance, she grabs hold of the carry bag in my hand and gives it a playful pull.
I resist for a little bit but let it go, taking a seat near the middle of the sofa, cupping my hand over her knee.
My gaze locks on her face. Watching her gleeful expression is far more fascinating than looking at what’s coming out of the bag.
She hugs the pasta box to her chest, then hands it my way without giving me a single glance. The juice bottle is next, then the Oreos—three different flavors, because even I know her fancy can change faster than the Chicago wind direction—then her eyes widen, and she goes completely still.
She reaches her hand in as she turns her head my way. “You sure know how to apologize, baby daddy.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice. Now, read what it says,” I urge, nodding to the bag.
She pulls out the white onesie and holds it up, one hand on each tiny shoulder of the outfit.
‘If you think I’m cute, you should see my momma.’
“Dammit,” she says with a sniff. “You made me cry. This is the best thing ever.”
I lean in and wrap my arm around her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I saw it and had to buy it.”
She turns her head so we’re cheek to cheek, brushing her lips against my skin. “It’s the first thing bought for our baby. I love it.”
Pulling back slightly, I meet her eyes. “I’m glad I could do that while trying to come up with an apology on the fly while late-night shopping at Walmart.”
She carefully folds the fabric and puts it back in the bag, along with everything except the cookie-dough Oreos, which are ripped open. One is stuffed into her mouth faster than I can blink.
“Whmf mmr ywr apwmng mwr?” she asks.
“Say what now?” I ask, loving the look of absolute satisfaction on her face—and all from a cookie.
She grins and swallows her mouthful. She shifts her butt and folds her legs over mine.
“What I was trying to ask is, what are you apologizing for? Look, I get it. This entire situation is the same but totally different in that we’re still hanging out, except I’m vomiting or tired, or having weird cravings, and it’s not exactly what you signed up for when you followed me to my room in Vegas, and—”
I flex my fingers against her thigh and fight back a laugh. “I followed you?”
Gilly shrugs. “Okay, we both dragged each other to the nearest flat surface.”
“And nothing changed until this little nugget was made.”
She looks down at her stomach, the one I can’t wait to watch our baby grow bigger and see her with a round bump like Faith and Ronnie have.
I snake an arm around her waist. She shrieks when I drag her sideways into my lap, her shocked expression almost comical. I’ve kept her guessing since the moment we met. She never lets me get away with anything. Her narrowed eyes tell me this is one of those moments. I want to kiss her, but first—I’ve got to put myself out there.
Lifting my hand, I gently run my palm over her hair, resting it on the side of her throat. “You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes soften. “I bet you say that to all the girls you impregnate.”
My lips tip up. “Yeah, because the only one I’ve made a baby with is sitting in my lap.”
“Is that right?” she muses. “And is that why you’re strictly a caregiver now and not an orgasm-giver anymore?”
That gets my dick’s attention—which goes against the point of this conversation. Gilly wiggling against me definitely isn’t helping either.
I squeeze her waist. “Stop distracting me,” I grind out.
There’s a mischievous twinkle in her gaze and one last shuffle of her hips before she nods.
“I want to apologize for running out of here earlier.”
“You mean your delayed freak-out over the fact I’m pregnant, and there’s an actual real-life baby in here.” Wrapping her fingers around my wrist, she brings my hand down to rest on her stomach. “With my throwing up, weird cravings, and going off foods I loved before and being so tired, my bags have bags who have bags?”
My eyes roam her face. “Tired is the new sexy.”
She throws her head back and laughs her ass off, letting me sit there and watch the show. “That was the smoothest, most ironic pick-up line you have ever said.”
“Pleased to be of service.”
“You don’t need pick-up lines for me, Ez. We just need to be open with each other. We said we’d be honest, and if you don’t want to sleep together anymore then—”
“Wait—what?”
“You’ve been absolutely fantastic, and I love you taking care of me and feeding me, doing my laundry and everything, but—”
“I want to date you,” I blurt out, studying her face for a reaction.
Her head jerks back. “You want to… what?”
I chuckle, lifting my hand to cup her jaw. “I want to take you on a date.”
She opens and shuts her mouth, and part of me loves that I’ve rendered her speechless. Never has there been a woman harder to shock than the one in my arms.
Narrowing her eyes, she pins me in place with her stare. “This is why you’ve been hands-off?”
“Well,” I say with a wry smile, sliding my hand to her hip and tugging her closer, “it doesn’t feel like I’m hands-off.”
Gilly scoffs. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“I meant what I said about being all in. I just left it a bit too long to have this part of the talk.”
“About changing the way we are?”
“About my intentions when it comes to the mother of my child. I think we owe it to ourselves—to our baby—to see whether this chemistry we have can lead to something more.”
“But we haven’t… we weren’t…” It’s wrong just how cute I find her when she’s struggling for words. This is a woman who I’ve heard can slay opponents in the courtroom without a second thought, yet me suggesting we date has her brain scattered.
“You know I haven’t got the best track record with relationships?”
She nods, and I take that as a sign to keep going.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking up and meeting her gorgeous eyes—eyes I hope like hell our child gets.
“This is more important than anything else I’ve set my mind to before. You’re one of the most beautiful, smart, balls-to-the-wall women I’ve ever met.”
“Is this why you’ve put the brakes on us having sex?”
I nod. “I don’t want you to think I’m only here for the baby. Yes, I’m helping out around the house and looking after you because you’re carrying our child,” I say with a grin. “But I also like spending time with you, and I know we didn’t start out thinking it would go any further than unbelievable sex, but I—”
That earns me a quirked brow. “So unbelievable you’re happy to hold out on your pregnant…” She throws her hands in the air. “Woman-friend
?”
I snicker and lean in, brushing my mouth against hers.
“Hmm, cookie dough and Gilly,” I say, licking my lips as I pull away.
“Stop distracting me by being ridiculously sweet.”
“Now, that I have no control over.” I shoot her a shit-eating grin, loving the way her eyes drift over my face. Bringing both hands up between us, I frame her face, making sure I’ve got her attention.
“I can’t screw this up. Not with you. I don’t want to. One date. Just one. Whatever happens doesn’t change us or me doing right by you and the baby. I want to see whether what we have now can be more. Will you try with me, Gilly?”
“You had me with the onesie.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief and lower my hands back to her waist. My lips tip up. “That’s all it takes to win you over?”
“And you cook a mean chicken stir-fry.” She snuggles into me, resting her head on my shoulder and pressing her face into my throat. “And I already know you put out. I just prefer knowing why you’re cock-blocking yourself rather than wondering if it’s me.”
“Definitely not you. You’re fucking phenomenal. You always have been. You hooked me with that first glance of your lace-top stockings across a packed bar.”
She giggles and presses her lips to my skin. “Lucky I went back to my room to put them on then, huh?”
“You did that for me?” I ask, my voice huskier than before.
“Oh yeah.”
“And the striptease in the hallway today?”
“I was pulling out the big guns.”
I run my hand up and down her back in slow glides. “I want to do this right. Dazzle you with my charm and personality first, then move on to the bedroom.”
“So… soon then?” she asks, sounding ever so tempting as she wiggles her hips against my pelvis again.
“Yes, baby mama. Soon.”
“Okay, then let’s date, Mr. Baker,” she says, her mouth curving against my skin before she slowly sits up and meets my eyes. “But I’ll have you know I’m not easily impressed.”
“I had you with a baby onesie.”
Her eyes flash with amusement. “Ah, yes. But that’s winning over the hormonal, cry-at-the-drop-of-a-hat mother-to-be in me. Winning me over on a first date requires skill, charm, and a high level of scintillating conversation.”