“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.”
Chapter Fifteen
Liam
Another week down.
Another week closer to the good life.
That’s what I kept telling myself—every time I help with the girls, every time Kensley and the girls hang out at my place, every time we have a Saturday date at the park.
I could get used to this life.
I was used to it.
Today marks eight days since mine and Kensley’s first kiss, and I have every intention of stealing another tonight.
My girls are spending the full Saturday with me. I watched them last night for Kensley, and when she got home, we made out on the couch a little before making plans for today. They were at my place by ten, with London and Guinness making a mess of one another in the backyard in no more than five minutes, and Sawyer coloring with Color Wonder markers at the table.
I’m going to get the girl real markers.
How the hell can she see where she’s coloring, practicing her inside the lines, if the ink doesn’t show up right away? I personally need instant satisfaction when it comes to my coloring, and the waiting two seconds thing isn’t good enough for me.
“I don’t want her to ruin your furniture,” Kensley says with a wince, her eyes firmly locked on Sawyer coloring away at the kitchen table.
“It’s furniture. And Crayola is washable.”
“But what about the walls?”
I chuckle and pull Kensley away from the table and into the kitchen, where we can keep an eye on both Sawyer and London. “Loosen up, mama.”
Kensley’s face is stern—but I can see in her blue eyes that she wants to smile. She wants to fold. “Hey. It’s your stuff.”
I stand against the counter and pull her close—not nearly as close as last week, though. Her baby belly is noticeably growing. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About…?” Her hands are resting on my forearms; I love her touch.
“Your stuff. My stuff.”
She stares at me blankly, and I move my hands to link at her back. Losing their resting place, she puts her hands on my chest then.
“I have this big place,” I start, but Kensley catches on quickly.
I almost expect her to physically push back against me, but she doesn’t. “It’s way too soon,” she says.
“We’re together more often than not, Kens. We do dinner together every night. I watch the girls on Friday nights, because Sharon can’t. And, please don’t get mad, but there’s really no room in your apartment for another person.”
I can see her struggling with her pride—because that’s exactly where her struggle lies. “It’s not like the baby will come out a toddler. I have a good few months where we would be just fine in our apartment.”
“But it could be better here. The girls could have their own rooms, the baby too.” Then, I try for comical and give her a half grin. “That is, unless you wanted your own room. I could deal with a roommate situation, I suppose.” Unfortunately, the joke doesn’t go to ease her, as I’d hoped.
Kensley lowers her voice, her eyes darting to the side to land on her nearest daughter. “We haven’t even slept together, and you’re talking about sharing rooms and houses.” She moves her eyes back to mine, but then, surprising me, she turns the tables. “What if, Liam… What if I decide you’re not good in bed? Huh? Why do I want to break my lease for a potentially stagnant sexual relationship?”
I can’t believe she said that.
I’m grinning wide, ear to fucking ear, and shaking my head. “I’m good, thank you very much.”
“I don’t know…”
Her smile is nearly my undoing.
God, I have loved watching Kensley come out of her shell.
“I think maybe you ladies should have a sleepover tonight,” I say, meaning every word. “Then, in the morning, you can decide if I’m a good bet.”
Her eyes don’t lose their light, but her smile does falter. Just a little. She’s looking to Sawyer again, and while I let her for a moment, I bring my hand to her face and turn her face back toward mine after a bit. “I’m nervous too,” I admit quietly. “This…you, us…them…it’s all too important to just take half-assed measures with. But I want you in my life Kensley, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to make life easier for you.”
“Alright.” She nods once, her eyes not leaving mine. Then, with a smile and a shrug, announces, “We’re having a sleepover.”
* * *
In the end, neither of us were super comfortable with Sawyer being in a regular-sized bed, not when she wasn’t used to it over the night. So, after going to dinner, we stopped at a Target to grab toddler rails.
The girls were excited to have a sleepover and Sawyer even more so to be sleeping in a “big girl bed.”
While Kensley did baths, I frantically changed the sheets on my bed.
They weren’t dirty, exactly, but I also didn’t want her sleeping in a bed that hadn’t been made in…over a week.
After, the four of us—with Guinness—hung out in the upstairs bonus room and watched Moana on Netflix, on the eighty-inch television. The guys and I had splurged on a giant LoveSac “sactional”, and when we bought it, we al
so bought a BigOne Sac.
Because I was the house that did the game nights, everyone was cool with me keeping the furniture.
And at this moment, I was more than thankful for it.
I had my girls snuggled in close on the giant beanbag chair, an oversized blanket over us.
This was what I’d been waiting for, my entire life.
If this was what was meant for me, I was absolutely okay with having had to wait longer than the rest of my family to find my forever, because this?
With Kensley resting against my side, my arm under her neck, London against Kensley’s other side, and Sawyer wedged between us?
This was heaven.
“They’re sleeping,” Kensley whispers, the movie hardly to the halfway point.
I maybe was a little disappointed. I couldn’t very well say, “Hey, let’s watch the last half of the movie,” especially as it was likely one Kensley had watched on repeat many, many times before.
How do I figure?
London was quoting the entire first twenty minutes.
When her voice stopped, I should have guessed she was nearly asleep.
“I suppose we should get them in bed,” I whisper back, and Kensley taps my chest once.
“Probably. You can finish the movie if you’d like,” she teases. “I heard the disappointment in your voice.”
“Smartass,” I mumble, but I turn my face and press a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s get the rugrats in bed, then.”
We carefully untangle ourselves from the girls, and I turn off the media center before dropping the remote back down to the Sac.
“Let me get London,” I say when Kensley bends. “You probably shouldn’t be lifting her so much anymore.”
Kensley dares to lift her brows at me, and I shrug. “You’re like, six months pregnant, Kensley.”
“I’d argue with you, but it’s not worth the energy.” She’s not looking at me, but down at her daughters, but I know she’s smiling. A smartassed comment is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it slide.
This once.
When Kensley moves past me so she can scoop up Sawyer, I brush my hand over her belly before leaning in to kiss her lips once. “Thank you,” I tell her.
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