Chapter 17
DEXTER
Days go by. True to her word, Holly doesn’t ask for another night with me.
We still meet most evenings after work. Dinner, conversation, the usual. She thinks she’s pregnant. We have a few days to wait before she can take a test. According to the pharmacist around the corner, it could read positive after ten days.
In the meantime, we entertain ourselves with wild guesses about what the kid will look like. She’s betting on blonde hair, says it runs in her family. I remind her that my genes are just as stubborn: I’m betting brown hair, brown eyes. They’re dominant traits, after all.
“Just my luck,” she teases. “I finally have a baby, and it turns into a mini you.”
“That’s the risk you took when you asked me to do this.”
“And here I was hoping for a cute baby. How do I get out of this?”
I lean in, just enough for her breath to catch. “You don’t. No refunds. You made a deal with the devil, and now he’s staying for breakfast.”
“And for dinner, too!” She grins, kicks her feet up on my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She drops her voice low, eyes glittering. “Beware, mortal. You’ve summoned the great and terrible Dexter Thorne. Hear me growl. Sign here in blood, woman, and pass the toast.”
I shoot her a look. “Not even close.”
She grins. “Bang on, actually.”
We talk more crap, eat too much, throw out ridiculous baby names just to make each other laugh.
When we’re not at my place, she orders fried tacos almost every time.
I don’t touch them. She still dumps half on my plate.
When we are at my place, it’s all lentils, grilled veggies, and whatever clean recipe I pull together.
She rolls her eyes, eats a couple of bites, and goes straight for my pantry, hunting for chocolate I don’t keep.
We haven’t slept together again, but things aren’t the same. Whatever line we crossed that night, it didn’t fade away. The space between us feels different now, tighter. Closer.
Whatever this is, it’s starting to feel like something.
Could be something.
Could be worse.