Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Hunter
Twenty weeks pregnant
M y knife sticks in the cutting board slightly with the unnecessary vigor I’m chopping these vegetables with. I put the knife down, grip the countertop, and hang my head. I want to wring that doctor’s neck for not only his irresponsible bedside manner, but for the lasting impacts it’s had on Michelle’s mood. I know the confident, strong woman is in there, but I don’t know what to do to help bring her back out. My tattoos bring their own sort of biases with them, but I know enough to know it’s different.
Michelle comes out from the shower more relaxed than before it, but she still isn’t her normal self. She sits across from me, a more genuine smile on her face than the bullshit she tried to pass off earlier. Still, her eyes are dimmed, her shoulders more sagged.
“So, tell me more about this Penzeys spice thing?” She’s giving a masterclass in deflecting right now, keeping the conversation flowing in a direction opposite of her feelings .
I continue to play along, like I have all meal. “A client who signed up for one of the spots I’m keeping open while we wait for the app works at the Arlington store. She mentioned it to someone, so they sent me some spices to try out. They’re interested in a meeting to see if we can work out a deal to have the spices default to theirs when the selected store sells them.”
“Hunter, that’s amazing.” Her energy picks up to the highest it’s been since she left this morning.
I shrug. “It’s pretty cool, and their stuff is high quality. We’ll see. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“Well, I think you should let those hopes climb a little bit. But I didn’t know you were doing clients here? I thought that would wait until the app launched.”
Shit, I forgot I planned on not telling her about taking on clients now.
“Just a few—I used referrals from my clients back in Holly Ridge, so I could keep it limited. Duncan keeps telling me to use some of his investment money for other expenses, but I’m trying to keep it limited to the app and company.”
“Do you need more money from me for groceries? Or adjust our rent split? I paid the whole rent before you moved in, and you’re saving me food money from my takeout habit, so?—”
“ No ,” I say, with more force than I mean to. “I mean, no, I’m okay. I still have my savings and what I got for my bike. I want to be sure I have a good amount of emergency savings.” I’ve also been putting out feelers for kitchen subbing gigs as I get more connected with the food scene in DC, but I won’t mention that either. I don’t want Michelle to worry she’ll be left on her own too much—I’m sure I can figure it all out.
She opens her mouth, ready to protest again about money, I’m sure. “Want anything for dessert?” I ask, grabbing her bowl that’s been empty for a few minutes now. I set them in the sink, debating whether I should do the dishes now or carry on with Mission Raise the Mood. I turn around and catch Michelle’s glum expression before she can fix her face. Mood mission it is .
“Want to watch a movie?” I ask.
“Oh, sure. I guess so.” She moves over to the couch and covers herself with a blanket. To keep the humidity down, the AC is at a frigid level, especially when you’re under a vent.
“Your choice,” I say, sitting at the other end of the couch. After handing her the remote, I swing her feet so they’re in my lap but still tucked in the blanket. Our dates the past few weeks have made us more comfortable with casual touch. One thing I’ve learned is Michelle loves a good foot rub, but hates her feet being cold. I worry she will pretend she doesn’t want a foot rub, trying to make herself as unbothersome as possible. Ridiculous, she couldn’t bother me if she tried.
“Oh, look, the movie with the Christmas stripper show to save the small town is in the top ten. I didn’t get enough Christmas in July time in,” she says, perking up again. After navigating to the movie in question, she presses play and nestles deeper into the pillows propped behind her back. Her feet wiggle in my lap, her signal she’s ready to take advantage of their proximity to my hands. I smile and rub my hands together to ensure they’re nice and toasty before sliding them under the blanket and working the arches of Michelle’s foot.
We lose ourselves in the story. There’s something comforting in the formula of boy meets girl, girl needs boy’s help but doesn’t want to ask, boy makes grand gesture to win girl’s heart, and they work together to save the day.
“Mmm,” Michelle says as the Christmas Revue scene begins.
“Is that noise sponsored by my excellent foot rubbing skills? Or that handsome man on the screen right now? Answer carefully,” I tease, my tone light. In reality, I’m glad to hear her make a happy noise.
“Why can’t it be both? I’m getting one thing I need from you, and something else I need from Mister Handsome up there.” She juts her chin to the screen.
“Psh. I can do that.”
The first laugh I’ve heard from her all day escapes. “You. Can do that ?” She points to where the actor is essentially humping the floor, held up by one arm, before jumping right into a standing position.
“You wound me.” She laughs harder. “Okay, I’m not sure I can do that exactly. But I’ve got moves.”
“I’m sure you do,” her voice teasing, but still laced with doubt.
“Okay, fine. You brought this on yourself.” I snag the remote from her hand, pause the movie, and hand her my phone. “You can choose the music. I need to prepare myself.”
I slide out from under her feet and stand up, moving the coffee table out of the way.
“Hunter, what?—”
“Less scoffing, more song selecting,” I say, directing her attention to the phone screen as I move one of the dining room chairs into the area I opened in front of the couch.
She scrolls, biting her lip in that way that drives me wild, before releasing it to laugh in triumph, the perfect song chosen. “Ready?” she asks. Her tone tells me she still thinks I’m bluffing. Little does she know the most convenient group exercise class for my schedule some days at the Winterberry Glen fitness center was Pole Dancing. My moves are for real.
Smooth saxophone starts to come out of the speaker. “Seriously?” I ask.
Michelle’s whole body is shaking with giggles. “It’s called ‘Santa’s Sexy Package.’ I can’t make this up.”
After a few more beats, I decide to lean into it. “All right, we can work with this.” I walk around the chair, sticking my ass out and shaking it in her face.
“Woo,” she half yells. “Shake that money maker!” Laughter coats her voice. In this moment, I know even if I’d never danced with a chair in my life, I still would have found myself here because it’s making her so happy.
I complete another circuit around the chair and drop into it. I roll my abs as I unbutton my shirt, shrugging it off. If Brad Matthew Whatever gets to be shirtless, so do I.
Michelle’s eyes widen as they trace my skin. “He . . . he doesn’t have those tattoos.” I watch her swallow. “It’s a real missed opportunity on the part of the costume department.”
I roll myself up out of the chair and Michelle pulls the blanket up to her cheeks with a squeak. I stop, dropping the act and plopping back into the chair. “What? Too much?”
She shakes her head no, then changes her mind and nods. “But in the best possible way. I . . . I thought it would be silly. Like on the TV. But fuck . . . you’re hot.” The rasp in her voice is one I haven’t heard since March, since that first night. Shit, I think I went too far.
I lean down to pick my shirt up off the floor. “No!” I stop, bent in half. “I mean, if you want to keep going, I . . . I think you should.” She looks down at my phone, types something and a familiar R&B beat starts playing instead.
The air changes. It ripples with something more . Something real. Something dangerous. I pause before reading the earnestness in Michelle’s expression. I didn’t want her to be sad anymore, right?
I come around from behind the chair and swing her feet to the floor. She lowers the blanket to her waist before whipping it off completely. I start to move in beat to the music, working myself closer and closer. I want to be sure she has plenty of time to say stop if she needs to.
Her eyes trace over me, heat rising in them. Teeth work her bottom lip, and without realizing I’m moving, my hand reaches out to gently pry it free.
She lifts her hands like she wants to touch me, but stops partway to my skin. Lost in the fantasy. “At our place, you have full permission to touch,” I say. She runs her fingers down my abs, sending a shudder through me. Putting her fingers in my belt loops, she brings me down, straddling her legs.
“Oops,” she says, not looking sorry in the least. I shift so more of my weight is balanced on my knees, but her legs still press against the inside of mine. She traces the artwork on my arms, just like she did that night.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, and in a moment, we’re back to us. Bonnie and Clyde. Michelle and Hunter. Something that’s felt out of rhythm for the past five months rights itself. But before I follow that instinct down ...
I grab her chin, bringing her gaze to mine. My grip is firm enough so the words she hears in the next moment will carry their weight. “You are beautiful.” As I expected, her eyes start to cloud over. “No. Listen. You are gorgeous. Captivating. Enchanting. Beguiling. God, I wish I had a thesaurus so I could give you more words. And there is nothing more in this moment I want to do than show you how much I mean this. But if you’re not ready to hear it, to feel it? I want you to tell me. Because this day has sucked so fucking much and all I’ve wanted to do all day is give you whatever I can, whatever you need. So, tell me. Say the word and I’ll start the movie again, rub your feet, whatever you want.”
A moment passes and I worry once again, I’m too much. But then?—
“Kiss me,” she breathes, and in the next instant, my mouth is on hers. A groan escapes one, or both, of us as I sink my legs further into the couch cushions. Our tongues tangle, and I pour every instant I’ve spent wanting her since I last had her mouth into this kiss. I hope I’m reading the same from her.
Her hands travel down my back, into the waistband of my jeans. As her fingers grip my ass, my hips thrust forward involuntarily. “Mngh.”
She sucks air in, pulling away. I see discomfort on her face.
“Fuck, what is it?” I scramble so I’m on my knees in front of her, removing my weight altogether.
Her face grows red. “Uh, your friend down there”—she nods toward my crotch—“pushed Cumulus right into my bladder. Ugh, so inconvenient.” She covers her face in her hands .
“Hey,” I say, pulling one hand down to hold in mine. She pops an eye open and meets my gaze. “We can pick this back up anytime you want. Straddling a pregnant woman probably wasn’t my best move.” I slide over so I’m out of the way.
“You’re so nice,” she says as she pushes herself up out of the couch. I offered to help last week and thought my dick would wither off from the look she threw my way. “Bodily functions really take the wind out of the sexy sails.”
She takes care of the situation my rogue cock created, and I put myself and the living room back together. The same way I felt things heading somewhere, I know the moment has passed.
Michelle appears a moment later, standing against the wall where the hallway opens to the living spaces. “Look, Hunter . . . I think I’m crashing from everything that happened today, and ...”
“You don’t have to apologize. Not stopping the train to sexy town earlier, after the day you’ve had and when we haven’t really talked about it, is my bad.”
She bites that lip again. “You definitely got me out of my head there. Would you want to come and lay in bed with me? You don’t have to stay all night if you want your space, but I think I’ll fall asleep easier if you’re there with me.”
I step up and cup her face. “I’ll be there all night long if it helps you sleep five minutes more.” You’re getting better at this, Brandt. But it’s not a line. I mean every word. “Do you need in the bathroom?”
She shakes her head no, dislodging my hand.
“Okay. I’m going to duck in there, and I’ll be right with you.”
I stop in my room to change into a T-shirt and gym shorts. The less opportunity my cock has to go rogue again today, the better.
The scene waiting for me in Michelle’s room makes my heart stutter in my chest. The same soft bedside lamp on for light. She’s on her side, eyes closed, with the blankets pulled up to her chin against the cold air from the window unit. I bought and installed it after the third time she woke up sweaty. These old buildings don’t have the duct work to support even AC distribution. She protested about the environmental impacts, so I promised we’d donate it to a women’s shelter after this summer and buy some carbon credits. Worth every penny when I see firsthand how comfortable she looks.
I turn off the light and then walk around to the other side to slide in. My hip touches her backside, and I freeze, unsure how to proceed.
“Are you wearing shorts?” she murmurs, still facing away from me.
“Uh, yeah. I changed before I came in.”
“I thought you couldn’t sleep with clothes on.”
When the fuck did I tell her that? “Can’t sleep is a strong phrase. Plus, I want you to be comfortable.”
“It would make me comfortable to feel your skin on mine. C’mon, big spoon.”
I sit up to pull the shirt over my head and lift my hips up to slide the shorts off. I say a prayer to the God of Hard-ons to keep things PG. Well, as PG as it can be when you’re almost naked in bed with someone else who—my bare legs brush against hers as I press myself against her back—is also almost naked.
“Hmm.” She hums, sounding so content, it makes me wish I could tattoo a sound onto my body to keep it with me forever. Her breathing evens out almost immediately. I lay there in the dark wondering at what point my luck changed to bring me Michelle. And at what point I’ll inevitably fuck it up.
Mentally shaking myself, I do my best to push those dark thoughts aside. Instead, I try to think of what I can do for Michelle to thank her for letting me be a part of this. As I listen to her breathe, an idea comes to me. Relief courses through me as I think through the plan, certain I’ll remember it tomorrow because it’s not for me. It’s for Michelle. My Michelle. My eyes close, and I drift off.