Chapter 3 #3
One eyebrow slowly drew up his forehead in curiosity. “Hi?”
“Um … Mickey … at the bar, he told me you were back. C-can I come in?”
He moved out of the way and allowed her to enter, though even with his back pressed up against the wall, her shoulder still managed to brush his chest when she walked past him.
He couldn’t stop himself and inhaled as her hair swished past his nose.
God, she smelled good. That scent alone had haunted him for weeks, had him waking up with a stiff cock most mornings and with nothing but his palm in the lukewarm shower to satisfy the fantasy.
She toed her gray ankle boots off but left her coat on before following him up the stairs.
He led her into the living room and motioned for her to sit down on the couch opposite his La-Z-Boy.
With a groan meant for a man twenty years his senior, Brock sat back down in his chair and watched as her bright blue eyes took in her surroundings, zeroing in on the pizza.
“Want a slice?” he asked, lifting up the box and holding it out to her.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Leaning back in his chair, he brought his beer bottle up to his lips and took a sip, amused by the odd expression on her face.
She seemed so different than the other two times they’d met.
The first time she’d been this cocky cop with something to prove; the second time she’d been down in the dumps and then off her face drunk.
But now, now she seemed almost nervous, scared and unsure of how to behave.
He knew he was a big guy, and many had called him scary.
It wasn’t an opinion he chose to remedy by acting like a teddy bear.
No, fear was a good thing. Fear kept people at arm’s length and kept them from getting complacent and acting irresponsibly.
Kept them from asking him too many questions.
And yet, there was something about the little cop and the way her big blue eyes blinked at him that made him want to embrace the teddy bear side and pull her into a hug …
or tear off her clothes and carry her back to his room. Either scenario would do.
“What can I do for you, Constable Matthews?” he asked. “Beer?”
She shook her head again. “No, thank you.”
He nodded again and drained his beer bottle. “You here for a booty call?”
Her eyes flashed up to his from where she’d been staring at his socked foot, propped up on the footrest of the recliner. “What? No!”
Another smile jostled his lips before he shrugged.
“’Cause I wouldn’t say no. But I’m guessing based on the way you scurried around my bedroom, trying to silently collect your clothes, only to duck out of my house in the early morning and then walk-of-shame your ass back to the bar to get your car, you’re not interested in an encore.
” He pouted. “Shame. You know I would have driven you if you’d just asked. ”
She muttered shit under her breath.
He was about to open his mouth again and tease her some more when she cut him off. “Did you wear a condom the night we had sex?”
Now it was his turn to go all weird and awkward and quiet.
But it seemed like she’d finally found her voice and her spine. “Did you wear a condom?” she asked again.
Fuck!
He couldn’t remember. Normally it was a no-brainer.
He suited up before he fucked, but he’d had a few beers and he hadn’t been with a woman in a while, let alone one who revved his engine like the little cop.
Just before she’d dropped the condom bomb on him, he’d been thinking about grabbing her curly red ponytail and tilting that sexy neck up for a kiss.
Her lips were pouty and plump, and he could only imagine they would feel like heaven wrapped around his cock.
But he did none of that. Instead he just stared at her, trying to remember back to their hookup and whether he’d slapped on a rubber. He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember seeing one in the trash the next day or finding a wrapper on the floor.
Fuck almighty, had he really been that careless? That irresponsible?
Brock cleared his throat. “Uh, you not on the pill?”
She shook her head.
He swallowed. “I don’t remember using a condom.”
She gritted her teeth before answering. “I don’t remember you using one either.”
Fuck. He hadn’t been that drunk. More just caught up in the moment. But he’d never forgotten to use protection before. Fuck.
His mouth opened and then closed, and then opened, and then closed again. Had he blinked?
It didn’t feel like he had.
His eyes hurt.
His head hurt.
His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.
Was he having a heart attack?
His left arm wasn’t in pain. That was a good sign. His eyes focused on Krista’s little feet, planted firmly on his hardwood floor. Her socks were hot pink and green with small orange cats on them. And for some bizarre reason they made him want her even more.
With a hard swallow, he finally lifted his head. “Are you … ?”
She nodded.
“And it’s … it’s mine?”
She nodded again.
“You’re sure?”
“I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Unless you believe in immaculate conception of a non-virgin, non-practicing Christian, then yes, I’m sure. I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”
He ground his teeth together and let out a long, slow exhale through his nose. “We need to get married.”
She gaped at him. “Uh, no we don’t.”
“Yes. It’s the right thing to do.”
She let out a petulant huff and glared at him, pushing herself out of her seat to stand in front of him. Her chest puffed up. “We are not getting married!” she snapped. “That is not the right thing to do.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We hardly know each other. We’re not in love.
We are not getting married.” She plugged her hands on her hips and stuck one foot out.
Her stare was enough to melt steel. “I only told you about the baby out of courtesy. If you’re not interested in being a dad, that’s totally fine. I can do it all on my own.”
Heat flooded Brock’s face and chest.
Did she just say out of courtesy?
What the fuck.
He stood up, invading her personal space until there was no more than six inches between their bodies.
“Listen up, woman.” Sexy blue eyes slowly lifted from his chest to his face.
Her lips parted. “That’s my kid you’re carrying, my family, and I will damn well take care of it.
I will damn well be a part of its life, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me. ”
Fire ignited in those wide eyes of hers, and a flush of pink invaded her cheeks.
Oh, she was mad.
He was madder.
How dare she come here out of fucking courtesy?
“You need to move in here,” he said, cutting her off. “That way I can take care of you and the baby. Be a part of the pregnancy, too. That’s my family you’re growing in that belly of yours, and I take that shit seriously. Family is everything to me.”
Her brows furrowed, and she poked a bony little finger into his chest, pushing hard to make him back up, but not hard enough.
He didn’t budge.
“Listen, you bossy jackass, I am not marrying you, and I am not moving in here. No one, and I mean no one tells me what do to.”
The tension in his forehead was back. “Well, then, what do you want from me? Money? A trust fund for the baby? Name it and I’ll do it. I won’t be a deadbeat dad. This kid will have me in his life.”
“Or her.”
“Right. Or her. What do you want from me?”
She’d been so strong. Timid and nervous at first, but then owning her predicament and tearing off the news like a Band-Aid.
But now she seemed lost again, just as fragile and nervous as when he’d opened the door to find her standing there on his doorstep: eyes bright, cheeks rosy and hair a sexy mess, caught up in the wind.
He was still angry as fuck at her. But he was also angry at himself. How could he have been so careless? So irresponsible?
That had to change now.
He glanced down at the pizza box again, picked it up and held it up to her. “Have you eaten?”
Food. Pregnant women were always starving, right?
Exhaustion stole across her face, and with a sigh of resolution she reached for a slice. “I don’t know what I want,” she confessed through big bites, moaning from how good it was. Brock glanced at the pizza box but was suddenly too overwhelmed with the news to eat.
She licked her lips, and without thinking or asking, he darted to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water. She took it with thanks and drained it in seconds.
“I’m coming to the next doctor’s appointment,” he said, watching her wipe the back of her wrist across her mouth and then continue eating the pizza. “And any other appointments. I don’t want to find out the sex. We’ll do a prenatal class too. I’ll be in the delivery room.”
She paused mid-bite. “You’re a bossy fucker. Do I get a say in any of this?”
“Get used to it, woman.” He reached for his beer bottle and drained it. Fuck, he needed something stronger. “I ain’t going anywhere.”