Chapter 18 - Dani
Dani
Icouldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous about a date.
Which was ridiculous, considering the man in question had already seen me naked— many times.
And yet somehow, this felt different. More important.
Like everything we had been dancing around for months was finally coming into focus.
“Stop chewing on your lip. You’re going to ruin your lipstick.” Nessa flicked my chin lightly, a makeup brush clamped between her teeth as she dug through the mess on my bathroom counter.
I groaned, tipping my head back against the doorframe. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror, sharp and smug all at once. “Because I’m the only one around here who knows how to do a proper cat eye, and because you’d show up in sweatpants if I didn’t intervene.”
“I can’t help it if ninety percent of my clothes don’t fit right now.”
Sweatpants had become my second skin during the past month. More specifically, Brooks’s sweatpants. The same pair I had borrowed—well, stolen because I had no intention of giving them back—the first night I’d stayed over at his place.
And thank fuck for them because somewhere between weeks twenty-one and twenty-two, my belly had popped.
That meant no more hiding beneath oversized sweaters, no more fastening my jeans with a paper clip, and no more pretending like the only reason I had put on ten pounds was because of my daily bowl of ice cream.
I was pregnant—visibly, undeniably pregnant.
Every time I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror or one of the windows at the Roasters’ facilities, I did a double take.
Sometimes it scared me, the way my body was changing faster than I could keep up.
Other times, I rested my hands against the swell, waiting, hoping to feel my little girl kick—according to the books, it would be any day now.
When nearly everything made me sweat, itch, or break out these days, Brooks’s sweats gave me comfort. Even after two washes, they still smelled faintly like his detergent. Sliding into them at night made me feel like he was wrapping me up, holding me close, even when he wasn’t there.
And maybe that was why I was so nervous.
Because for all the comfort I had found in his clothes, in his house, in the way he made me feel safe, tonight was special. Tonight was about stepping out with him in public, just the two of us, a declaration without saying a single word.
Brooks was taking me out. On a real date.
Cue inner teenage girl squeal.
And of course, he had done it the most Brooks way imaginable: blunt, decisive, and with zero room for argument.
It had started with a text exchange two days ago:
Brooks
Do you have plans Friday night after the game?
Me
Other than a pint of ice cream and the new ID docuseries about those kids who murdered their parents, not really.
Brooks
Record it. We’re going out.
Me
Out where?
Brooks
On a date.
Me
Like a date . . . date?
He had followed that one up with the detective emoji. I didn’t know what had been more surprising—the fact that Brooks wanted to take me on a date or the fact that he used emojis.
Me
Since when do we go on dates?
Brooks
Since I pulled my head out of my ass.
I’d stared at the screen for a solid five minutes, trying to figure out if he was joking. But then another text had come through:
Brooks
Wear something warm and comfortable. I’ll take care of the rest.
It hadn’t been flowery or over the top—it was just him—and yet, that had been all it’d taken to light me up. And it had had nothing to do with the pregnancy hormones.
“This is cute,” Nessa said, holding up a green-and-pink floral-print maternity dress I had found on sale last weekend. It was a tad SpongeBob SquarePants with a pinch of The Brady Bunch, and something about it had called out to me. “Not too fancy, not too casual.”
Nessa had been rooting through my closet like a woman on a mission for nearly an hour.
“He said to dress warm.”
“Fucking Oregon,” Nessa grumbled. Having been born and raised in Rose City, she knew the Pacific Northwest weather better than the rest of us. “Show me the rest of your new maternity wear haul.”
I pulled a dozen or so hangers off the rack. “Don’t laugh, I went full suburban mom chic.”
Nessa’s eyes lit up as I held up a pair of dark-wash maternity jeans with the stretchy belly panel. “Oh, those are hot. Look at you, already leaning into mom jeans. But like, slutty mom jeans.”
I snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what the marketing department had in mind.”
She plucked a clingy knit top from the pile, holding it up against me with a thoughtful hum. I tried not to squirm under her appraising stare, but my cheeks still warmed.
“I’m pretty sure Brooks won’t care,” she said, wagging her brows.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
It was getting harder and harder to take things slowly with him.
Every time his hands slid over my stomach—casual, reverent, like he couldn’t help himself—I felt more wanted, not less.
Like the extra softness, the new fullness, the growing curves only made me more magnetic to him.
Irresistible. And when I caught the hunger in his eyes when I changed into pajamas, it was enough to undo any insecurity I had been clinging to.
She tossed a chunky sweater onto my bed. “Girl, it doesn’t matter. You could show up in a potato sack and that man would still look at you like you hung the moon.”
My cheeks warmed. “You really think so?”
“Take it from me,” Nessa said, her voice softening before she leveled me with a look. “When a man like that sets his mind on treating you like a queen, don’t fight it.”
I scoffed lightly, more out of habit than conviction. “I don’t need a man to validate me.”
“Exactly,” she shot back without missing a beat, jabbing the sweater at me like a weapon.
“You don’t. You’re still the same badass bitch who takes no shit and runs circles around half the people I know.
You can be strong and independent and let someone spoil you at the same time. One doesn’t cancel out the others.”
Her words landed sharp but steady, and I felt something in me loosen—the part of me that had always been afraid of losing myself if I leaned too hard on someone else.
I stared at the collage of colors draped across my bed.
They were all too safe, sweet, something you might wear to brunch with your parents.
We can do better than that. Tonight, I wanted to own every curve, every softened edge of me.
I wanted to make Brooks sweat, to remind him who he had been chasing all these months.
And I knew exactly what outfit would do it.
I slipped past Nessa, digging deep through the hangers until my fingers found the fabric I had shoved out of sight weeks ago. When I pulled it free, the hanger clinking softly against the rod, Nessa let out a low whistle.
“Well, shit,” she said, eyes going wide, a grin curling slow and dangerous across her face. “Now we’re talking.”
I laughed nervously, pressing the fabric against me in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
She scoffed. “Dani, that dress is too everything, and I mean that in the best way possible.”
“Too everything,” I echoed, smiling wide. “Just the way I like it.”
I smoothed the material against my skin, imagining Brooks’s reaction when he saw me in it. Tonight, he was going to get a lot more than his kitten. He was going to get the whole damn lioness.
A knock rattled my front door, sharp and certain, and for a heartbeat I just stood there, palms clammy against the smooth pleather of my jacket, trying to remember how to breathe.
When I finally opened the door, Brooks was standing there in dark jeans and a steel colored button-down that did sinful things to his shoulders, his hair still damp from a shower. But the way his gaze swept over me—slow, deliberate, hungry—left no doubt as to who had been knocked off his axis.
His mouth opened, then closed again. He blinked hard, like maybe I’d gut-punched him.
Just the reaction I’d been going for.
“Holy shit.” The words left him roughly, reverently. “Kitten.”
Heat climbed up my throat, but I lifted my chin anyway. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe I had had the nerve to ask him something so offensive. “You’re killing me. That dress—” His voice cracked low, like gravel sliding across stone. “It should come with a warning label.”
I glanced down at myself. The electric blue, ribbed body con dress had just enough stretch to hug every curve, from the slope of my tits down to where my belly rounded out. The hem hit mid-thigh, giving way to my tattooed legs, sparkly black socks, and platform sneakers.
Not exactly my warmest outfit, but what was a little frostbite in the name of foreplay?
When I looked back up at him, I couldn’t help but smirk—he was still staring. And because I was feeling extra bold, I summoned my inner lioness, went up on my toes, and pressed my lips softly to his.
“You’ll survive,” I breathed.
His laugh was half-groan, half-growl. “Not sure I will.”
He reached for my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles as he tugged me close. “And for the record, that blue—” His gaze flicked up to the streaks in my hair, then back down the line of my body. “You’re beautiful.”
Something fluttered low in my chest. Not nerves this time.
Power.
I could feel the weight of his gaze, hot and heavy, lingering on the swing of my hips as we walked back toward his SUV. By the time he reached around to open the passenger door, my cheeks were already flushed.
“Such a gentleman,” I teased, slipping past him. But the heat radiating off his body as he steadied me by the waist made my breath catch.
Once inside, I barely had time to buckle my seatbelt before he was sliding in next to me, settling his broad, warm hand on my bare thigh like it belonged there.