Knocked Up (Fearless Protectors #2)

Chapter One

Grace

My favorite indie country band is playing at the bar tonight, and despite the fact that I’m currently alcohol free and waddling like a duck, I refuse to miss them play. Buck Dalton is even making a special appearance, which I think will become a more regular thing now that he lives up here.

Sipping the virgin daiquiri I ordered ten minutes ago, I do another check for my friend Zoe but it’s hard to see through the crowd of people drinking and dancing. I’m gonna miss nights like tonight when I’m stuck inside with a newborn. People keep telling me that the second I give birth, my entire life will shift focus, but I can’t fathom it yet. Maybe that means I’m going to be a terrible mother.

God, I hope not. The world doesn’t need another kid raised by a rotten parent.

A man passes by my booth with a tall foaming beer and a tray of hot wings. I stare, though I’m not sure if I’m ogling the bearded giant or the tray of hot wings. Lately, my hormones have made me both insatiably horny and hungry, so my reason for staring is anyone’s guess.

He passes by quickly, leaving a manly, woodsy sort of scent that I let go straight to my clit. Thinking this will be the most exciting moment of the night, I let a little fantasy play out in my head of the man backing up to ravage me in the corner of the booth with everyone watching.

His big hands on my throat, his warm breath in my ear, his giant muscles flexing and—

“Excuse me,” a deep voice shakes me out of my straw-stirring fantasy.

Glancing up, I see the man who’d just passed by a second before.

Oh God, why is he back? Why is he talking?

“You mind if I sit for a second? The bar is full, and I can’t eat wings standing.” He holds up his beer and the wings in both hands as though he’s proving how difficult a task it’ll be to finish his food standing in the crowd of people right in front of the small stage.

Maybe I’m still fantasizing. I mean, that’s a real possibility here. My hormones have been having strange effects lately. Last week, I stayed up past midnight to sneak into my neighbor’s strawberry patch and raid the good stuff before morning. I’m sure if I’d asked, she’d have let me have as many berries as I wanted, but that wasn’t good enough. I needed the biggest, juiciest berries right then and there.

I don’t know what got into me.

I grin. “Hmm… it seems we’re at an impasse. You want to sit, and I want your hot wings.”

“Yeah?” he says with a smile. “You’re more than welcome to share.” I don’t know how the universe spun to make this moment happen, but when a tall, muscular, bearded dude with tattoos sits next to me with a plate of hot wings, turns out, I get all kinds of turned on.

“Okay,” I nod, “let’s do this.”

He slides into the booth and tugs a few napkins from the dispenser at the end of the table before taking a sip of his beer, grabbing a wing, and glancing toward me. “Help yourself. Oh, I’m Cyrus, by the way.”

“Grace.” I grab a wing and devour it in a single bite. It’s a trick that my sister taught me where you slide the entire wing into your mouth and clean the meat before pulling out the bone. We really are refined people.

“Damn.” Cyrus grins and licks the tip of his finger before grabbing his napkin. “What’s a girl with tricks like that doing sitting alone?”

Is he flirting with me? I’m pretty sure he’s flirting with me.

Grabbing my own napkin, I wipe my face with a smirk I think is cute, but most likely looks creepy as hell. “I’m waiting for a friend. Plus, I’m not technically alone.” I rub my hand over my stomach. “I’ve got this guy to keep me company.”

“Oh shit. Are you pregnant?”

I nod. “Eight months.”

I decided a while back that I would never hide the fact that I had a kid. Not for a second, and not for anything or anyone.

“And you feel like being out at the bar?” The man strips a few of his own wings, speaking between bites. “My sister had a baby not too long ago, and she was a wreck by eight months. She said she felt like an alien had taken over her body.”

“Something like that. It’s… not so bad. I’ve had an easy pregnancy, thank God. I couldn’t imagine doing it alone if things were difficult.”

“Shit, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“No, please. This is on me. I knew my ex was cheating, but I kept my head stuck in the sand… then boom, pregnant. Don’t worry, I left. I’m not raising a baby in that kind of environment. Apparently, he didn’t want anything to do with us either because he signed his rights away last month.”

The bearded giant eating wings narrows his brows. “What the hell? So, this whole thing is your responsibility, then?”

“It’s okay. I’m ready for it… I think.” I sip the virgin daiquiri and watch a young couple make out in the corner of the bar. “I mean, I’m gonna miss all this action, but I’ve got other things to look forward to. If I’m being honest, I just thought it would be different, ya know? I thought when I eventually got pregnant, I’d have someone to share all this stuff with. That I’d have a partner to see ultrasounds and feel kicks and,” I rub my hands down over my face, massaging my cheekbones, “I don’t know.” Tears threaten their way onto my skin. “Oh my God, I’m not trying to cry. I’m so sorry.” Grabbing a napkin from the dispenser, I cover my face. I think I’m trying to disappear, but it’s not working.

Imagine that. A napkin over your face doesn’t make you disappear.

A second later, I feel the weight of a giant man sitting next to me, sliding into the booth. “Can I hold you?” Lord, he smells good. Whatever it is, I’m conjuring images of a man with an axe chopping into a piece of wood.

Also, did he just ask if he could hold me?

“If it’s weird, I can go back to my side. I just… you’re crying and I… yeah. My mom always taught me to comfort a person when they cry, but maybe it’s strange right now.”

Oh my God, how sweet is this man? My heart does the squishy thing while I make a mental note to teach my son how to comfort people when they cry.

As sweet as all this is, I’m really tired of these hormones. In the past eight months, I’ve grown an affinity for sliced pickles mixed with chocolate ice cream, I steal strawberries from fields, I masturbate at least three times every day, and I’m always emotional. Really, really, emotional. I gather it’s that combination of my newest personality quirks that has me laying my head against this stranger's chest, feeling the warmth of his strong body, and melting against his touch.

“Thank you. I, ugh, this is nice. Really, really nice. Lately, I’ve been wondering if there should be a cuddling service.”

“A cuddling service?” His voice reverberates against my ear. “I could see that. There are some nights I’d love a good cuddle, but I think I’d get attached.”

“You?” I lift my head and glance toward him. “A great big lumberjack of a man is afraid he’ll get attached?”

“Why is that hard to believe?”

I lay my head back on his chest as his hand wraps around my shoulder and rubs the outside of my arm. “I don’t know. You look tough, like you spit nails and throw axes. I can’t imagine you being the cuddle and attach type.”

I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Sure, but when I’m done with all that tough man stuff, I like a good cuddle. It’s one of those things I usually save for personal relationships, so a cuddle for hire kind of thing would confuse me.”

“So, this is probably weird then?”

He snuggles me closer. “It’s also pretty nice for me, too. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah?” I rest my head against his solid chest as though I’ve been here a million times before. It’s at this moment that I leap off the edge and conjure fantasies of him raising the baby with me. It’s not a simple fantasy either. I go all out. I picture the dress I’ll wear to our wedding, what kind of suit he has on. No… jeans . He’ll wear jeans and a crisp, white button-down. There’ll be horses and wildflowers, and the biggest buffet of cakes and chocolate-covered fruit. We’ll have this baby, then another and another after that. They’ll have the same letter first in their name, like Owen, Oscar, and Oliver.

That’s so cute.

We’ll go to church on Sundays, then we’ll plunk down by the river with a picnic, and we’ll fish and watch the kids run around while we talk about how perfect our life is just having each other.

Oh God, I need to snap out of this. I clear my throat before saying, “Why do I find it hard to believe that you haven’t snuggled in a while?”

The rough pad of his thumb brushes over my wrist with a tickle. “I’m one of those workaholic guys. I’ve got a welding business that keeps me busy. Too busy, to be honest. I wish ther—”

“Sorry I’m late!” Zoe tosses her purse down on the table. Her cheeks are red, and her hair is tousled as though she’s had a hell of a time with something. “I was talking to this guy I met online and then I got stuck trying to find parking. I think everyone on the mountain is at this bar tonight.” She glances toward the man with his arm around me, then toward me mischievously. “Oh, who’s this?”

“I’m just leaving,” Cyrus says, sliding away from me at the table before turning back. “It was lovely to meet you, Grace. I wish you all the luck. Maybe I’ll see you around again.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone and connected so quickly. It feels like we’re old friends meeting up again for the first time in ages. That, and I just fantasized our entire lives into reality.

He can’t leave now.

That said, he didn’t ask for my number, and I can’t blame him. I’m eight months pregnant. Who wants to get tangled up in that? He was probably just making me feel better in the moment. That’s what nice people do.

“Yeah, I hope so.” I swallow hard, a pang of sadness in my chest as the goliath of a man walks back into the crowd of people and disappears.