Knocked Up

by Stacey Lynn

  “I’ve had enough,” I say. I pull Cara with me until we’re at the door to her apartment, scooting around them. She’s frozen in my arms, her body chilling like they’ve doused her with an ice bath. My only concern is her. “Get the hell out. Don’t call Cara, and never drop yourself at our doorstep until you can apologize. Your daughter is pregnant, giving you a grandchild. That’s what she’s doing and we’re doing it together. If you can’t support her when she needs it, then she doesn’t need you.”

  “Please,” her father scoffs. “Like you can handle it.”

  I have the enormous urge to explain exactly what I do, the mid-six-figure salary I make, and point him in the direction of my condo. “As a matter of fact,” I sneer but Cara pats my stomach.

  Whispering in a voice so hoarse it sounds like she’s been screaming, she says, “Don’t. Just don’t, Braxton.”

  “I can make this better.” And, good Lord, why do I give a shit about trying to?

  “It’s not worth it.” Tears swim in her eyes and she blinks, looking back at her parents. “They’re not worth it. This is why I haven’t told you, because I knew you’d be cruel, I just didn’t think you’d be this cruel. Jimmy would be disgusted with you and you know it, and I don’t want to look at you.”

  “That is highly inappropriate,” her mother says, and I bark out a laugh I can’t contain.

  “Are you kidding me? She’s inappropriate? Your entire visit is off the charts.”

  “Young man,” her dad says, “I expect respect from you, some…” He waves his hand out toward me, like he can’t even imagine what to call me. “Braxton” would be nice, but I’m certain they don’t remember my name.

  “Give respect to your daughter and I’ll show you respect. Until then, get out of her home. She doesn’t need this stress from you.”

  I’m barely holding back the fury that’s boiling my veins. My head might explode, my brain is so damn hot.

  Cara sniffs and her entire body is trembling in my hold. Fuck them for making her cry.

  “Just go,” she says, sniffing again and wiping her cheeks. Her parents barely spare her a glance. “Just go. Perhaps once you’ve let this news settle, we can discuss it further.”

  “Yes,” her mother says, glancing at the dainty and elegant Rolex on her wrist. “Let’s do that. We really must go.”

  “Do the right thing,” her dad says, and they turn, her mother’s dress swirling in a cloud of shimmering black at her feet as they leave, closing the door behind him.

  “Funny,” Cara chokes out. “I thought I was.”

  She turns into my chest, cries, and I wrap her tightly in my arms, resisting the urge to slam both of their stuck-up faces into a wall until they see sense.

  Chapter 17

  Cara

  “I ordered pizza. Should be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks.” I’m in absolutely no mood to eat.

  Braxton sits down on the couch next to me and hands me a bottled water. Reluctantly, I remove my hand from where I’ve been resting it on Lucy’s head, which she has perched on my lap, and take the water. I have no idea how long I’ve sat here, curled in a ball on the corner of his couch, staring out the windows at the darkened view of Portland, but it’s been long enough the sun is now long gone and the skyline is dotted with lights from buildings and cars and a few boats on the river.

  I’ve barely paid attention to Braxton moving around his condo, but I’ve registered the sounds of him making multiple trips in and out and the sound of my luggage clunking through the space as he takes it somewhere.

  At some point, he took Lucy on a walk and when he brought her back in, she ran to me, licked my face, and settled in her spot on the floor in front of me, peering up at me with sad lonely puppy dog eyes that must be a mirror image of what is in my own.

  My parents really, truly suck, and it sucks more that they’re the only parents I have.

  Who treats someone horribly and nastily? I still can’t fathom everything they spewed tonight and how horrifically embarrassing it is that not only did Braxton witness it, but he was the object of so much of their trash.

  I’ve been painfully reminded how little my parents truly care about me.

  “It’s not like I expected a ticker-tape parade or anything,” I say aloud, more to myself than Braxton, who’s sitting next to me. His arm is draped over the back of the couch, his hand fiddling with my hair on my shoulder.

  His presence is relaxing despite his lack of response. He’s angry, that was evident from the moment they left and he swept me into his car, mumbling and cursing, maneuvering through the streets of Portland like he was leading a high-speed chase.

  “I mean,” I continue, not even knowing why I’m bothering, “I didn’t expect excitement and for my mom to begin planning a baby shower or anything of the sort. And I’ve obviously been avoiding telling them, but at no point in time did I think it would go like that.”

  “Perhaps you took them by surprise. They did show up at your apartment worried about you.”

  I huff a laugh and twist so I can look into his eyes. Eyes so dark even he can’t hide the taste of his lie. “Cute.” I smile for the first time in hours. “It’s cute you’d give them that much credit.”

  “Who’s Dr. Sherman?”

  “My dad’s best friend. In a perfect world, in their perfect world, I’d marry his son, Graham. Miles Sherman and my dad went to prep school together. He’s also the CFO of the board at Portland General. Doesn’t make sense how he even saw my name as a patient, but I have no doubt he knows exactly why I was there. It’s only slightly impressive he didn’t tell my parents everything and spill the beans.”

  Braxton is silent, although his jaw is working, telling me has plenty to say, but I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to talk about it.

  Today has been exhausting. I rest my head back on his arm, settling in to him as his arm wraps around my shoulders and he holds me against him. Closing my eyes, I inhale the rich scent of him, and blow out a long, calming breath. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I just want to forget about everything that’s happened so far today.”

  Even as I say it, I think of Stella and the words she hurled at me. I haven’t told Braxton and I have no desire to. She’s important to him and she might be right. I might be absolutely no good for Braxton, but it has nothing to do with where—or who—I came from. It has much more to do with the fact I’ve essentially saddled him with a family and a child long before either of us wanted it.

  “I don’t want to forget everything about today,” Braxton says, and even through my closed lids I can tell he’s smiling. He has that teasing tone in his voice he uses when something sexual is about to follow. “I really, really liked that kiss.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.” I open my eyes, smiling, expecting to see him grinning down at me, but instead there’s a heat in his expression. He might be teasing, but he’s dead serious.

  His hand slides to the back of my head and he dips his, tilting at the last moment before his lips press against mine. There’s nothing powerful about the kiss. It’s the exact opposite of when I slammed my mouth to his earlier and essentially staked my claim on him, but it’s so…so much better.

  The gentle brush of his lips on mine gives me just a hint of his taste and the restraint he’s using not to push it further. I sink into him, into his scent and his touch and the brief skim of his lips over mine. A shiver rolls through me, sparking pleasure in the tips of my fingers and toes.

  This man. He just does it for me in myriad ways.

  “Braxton,” I whisper, leaning in.

  “No more,” he says, pulling back. He smirks. “No more until after we eat, and then, I promise you, I’ll take away all the horrible parts about your day and replace them
with good ones.”

  “What bad parts?” I ask.

  He laughs, tucks me into his shoulder and kisses the top of my head. Then he kicks his feet up on the coffee table, flicks the television on and pulls up Netflix. We watch mindless television until the pizza arrives.

  * * *

  —

  Lips brush against my neck, followed by a flick of a tongue and a slight bite of teeth. “Mmm.” I shift back. I really like this dream I’m having.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” Braxton says. “I need to get Lucy outside.”

  Hm. In my dreams, Braxton does and says a lot of things but he never talks about his dog.

  “Cara,” he says, as I press back again. This time he chuckles, his hand slides to my stomach. “As much as I’m liking this sleepy side of you, we need to get moving.”

  He doesn’t sound like he wants to move. He doesn’t feel like he does either, not with his erection pressed up against my backside.

  “Honey, you have to stop that, as much as I’m enjoying it.” Now he’s groaning, in a not so pleasant way. And since when does he stop me? Which means…

  I flip my eyes open and flinch. “Um. What?”

  His breath is at my ear, tickling me. “Good morning.”

  I wipe the sleepy haze from my mind and blink. Oh God.

  We’re in his living room, and it’s now bright out. Netflix isn’t on and the fire he turned on last night after we ate and I took a shower isn’t on anymore either.

  “Braxton?” I ask, still frozen, still feeling him along my length of my body, his arm is still at my stomach, beneath my long-sleeved shirt. The fact I even say his name is ridiculous. Who else would I be sleeping with?

  Oh no. We slept together? On his couch?

  “Good morning,” he says again, and as he does, his arm beneath my head slides out. He shifts, until he’s practically on top of me and I’m on my back. Wow…he looks really, really good in the morning.

  I reach out my hand and slide it against his cheek. It’s been days since he shaved and the coarse hairs tickle my palm. “Hey. We fell asleep?”

  His eyes dance back and forth between mine and he grins. “You did. I didn’t want to wake you up by moving you so I settled down with you.”

  My eyes pop open. “What?”

  “Told you I wanted to sleep with you again.” He grins shamelessly as I roll my eyes, then he moves, and when he does, my eyes widen further.

  He settles himself on top of me, and my knees— traitorous body—open for him, allowing him to lower until his erection is at my center.

  “Oh.” I can’t suck in the breath before it escapes me.

  “Yeah,” he says, moving closer. With his nose, he presses my face to the side, and trails kisses across my cheek, to my jaw, back to my ear. “And I’m really, really liking where this might be going, been wanting you in the morning just like this for a long time. But I really do have to get Lucy out.”

  Who gives a crap about the mutt? “Not yet.”

  I slide my hand from his cheek to his shoulder, down his arm, to his side. God, I’ve missed this, and with him so close, pressed against me, I really, really want it.

  “Come with me? We can get you some juice and take Lucy somewhere to get some breakfast.”

  I really don’t want to walk the dog in the morning chill.

  I really don’t want Braxton to move off me.

  I really want to stay right where we are, doing something other than talking.

  “Okay,” I mumble instead but I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

  Braxton bites my shoulder playfully and grins against me. “I like where your mind is at though. But I’d prefer to take you when I know you won’t throw up all over me.”

  Awesome thought.

  “How are you feeling?” he says, as if we’re both thinking of the real reason I’m here.

  It only takes me a second. “I need crackers and my meds.”

  “I’ll get them for you.” He slides off me, rolling to his feet, and my hands drift away from him. “Then we’ll get Lucy.”

  “How about I stay here, get some more sleep, and you wake me up when you get back from your walk?”

  “I would, because I like that sexy tone in your voice,” he calls out, walking away from me. “But when I take you again it’s going to be in my bed where Lucy can’t bother us and like I said, when I know you aren’t going to puke. So get up and let’s get moving.”

  My mind wanders to his bed. I haven’t seen it yet or his room. He’s only shown me the guest room where I slept before.

  I don’t even know what’s gotten into me. Morning sex isn’t my thing—all that stale breath has always grossed me out.

  “Fine.” I didn’t even brush my teeth last night before we passed out on the couch. I have to smell disgusting and if Braxton kisses me, I don’t want remnants of last night’s pepperoni and sausage on my breath.

  “Gross,” I mutter and push to a sitting position as he walks back in and sets down my typical breakfast. Juice, crackers, and medicine. I nibble on some crackers while he watches, and when I feel steady on my feet, I stand.

  “Good?”

  “Not rushing to the toilet quite yet.” It’s so awesome that my vomit is such an important discussion topic. “But I do need to use the restroom.”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble, slowly making my way down the hall to the guest room.

  I’m just about to round the corner when I hear Braxton call out, “I take it you’re not a morning person.”

  I give my answer in a one-fingered salute, to which he laughs.

  Chapter 18

  Braxton

  The disdain of Cara’s parents’ disapproval from last night hangs over her through the morning, through our walk with Lucy and well past that until she pushes up off the couch and declares she’s going to go to work for a few hours.

  We haven’t talked about their surprise arrival last night. I definitely didn’t want to push it after seeing her so shaken up, and I’m hesitant to do it later this afternoon after she returns from work.

  Unfortunately, her parents being dicks isn’t something that’s going to disappear overnight either.

  I can, though, find a way to bring her through this conversation in a way that might upset her, but can bring her relief afterward too, so while she’s at work, I make a phone call. Once that’s done and plans are confirmed, I haul my ass to a liquor store to pick up whatever empty boxes they have. Then I go back to her place and carefully pack up her remaining art supplies and canvases.

  She’s fucking talented. I flip through her completed canvases, stopping every few moments when one of her urban pieces hits me in the gut. I don’t know if she’s traveled all over the country in order to paint some of these, if she looks at photos and imagines better or different lighting, or if her mind is just that beautiful of a fucking place to be, but none of her completed pieces belong stacked inside a shitty studio apartment.

  They’re way better than Marco what’s-his-face’s psychedelic bullshit from the showing two weeks ago.

  Which only leaves the question if she’s shown them to anyone, if Luca knows how talented of a painter he has working for him.

  Hell, some of these don’t even look like paintings, but photographs, they’re so crystal clear.

  I take extra care with her unfinished pieces, packing things up as best I can, trying to set it in boxes how it’s grouped all over her floor and in some bins she already has stacked to the side of her easels.

  When I get back to my place, the concierge, Pete, assists me in bringing everything upstairs.

  By the time I hear the front door unlocking, Cara using the key I gave her before she left for work
, I’m almost done setting everything up in the room I showed her last week could be hers if she did move in with me.

  Lucky me it only took food trucks and two weeks for me to get her where I want her.

  Grinning, I wipe dust off my hands and head out to the living room. Like always, Lucy has greeted Cara and Cara’s ass is to her heels as she bends down, rubbing the dog’s head and petting her.

  I’ve had Lucy for months now, and while a few people seemed interested at first, the longer I have her, the harder it’s getting to want to let her go.

  Plus, now that she’s all about Cara, I don’t even know if I want to give her up. She’s a mixture of fierce-looking and dopey, but she’ll be a big damn dog in just a few months and a good protector to have around when I’m not here.

  On the other hand, I’m also getting ready to have a baby. What asshole raises a kid and a massive dog in a penthouse apartment?

  But what else am I supposed to do? Give up the view I’ve always wanted? The view I promised Irvin I’d have?

  “Hey,” Cara says, snapping me out of my runaway thoughts.

  I push them to the back of my mind. “How was work?”

  “Good.” Cara stands, laughing lightly as Lucy bumps her thigh. “It was slow, but it helped to stay busy.”

  “Have you eaten?” Usually when she gets busy she forgets.

  She rolls her eyes, dropping her purse on the couch. I’m not a neat freak, but I like shit put away. I’m quickly learning Cara tosses whatever she has wherever it can go. But there’s something about her purse on my couch, her black boots kicked off onto the floor near the entryway, that doesn’t bug me.

  I like her crap strewn about my place.

  “Yes, I ate. Luca insisted and bought me French onion soup and a salad.”

  “Good. Come here.” I hold out my hand, waiting as she gives me a curious look and heads my way. We’re at the mouth to the hall and her new art room is just past where I’m standing, but she still has a glimpse of a smile tugging on her lips as she makes her way to me.