Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
CHASSIS
I wanted Dare… Amos to keep kissing me this morning, but he didn’t, and I missed his warm body almost instantly. A body I have no right to want, miss, or have for myself.
Marriage or not, I know what this is.
He can have his fun at the clubhouse, and I can discreetly have mine. We agreed to that on our wedding day, but what happens when the only fun I want to have is with him?
Turning the shower water off, I can’t stop thinking about Amos. Waking up beside him, smelling him, feeling him, it was almost too much for me. Had I known I could feel this way about a man, I don’t think I would have even given Samuil a second glance.
Sure, he was good-looking, but there was a coldness to him. He was trying to seduce me, and now that my head isn’t all wrapped up in him, I can see that. It was all him trying, but also me feeling like I wasn’t enough.
I would have done anything to keep his attention. And little did I know, it was all a game, manipulation tactics. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I fell for it all, hook, line, and sinker.
But this, Amos, is nothing like that, and I find myself wanting more of him. It could just be curiosity, but that doesn’t mean I’m not supremely inquisitive. I am. I want to know what he feels like and what he tastes like. I don’t think that want is going to be quelled until we’re together.
And I don’t think we’re going to be together.
But that kiss… it wasn’t just a friendly, respectful kiss. It may not have been deep, but it was electrifying—owning. I want more.
So much more.
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I focus on getting dressed for my appointment. I use my hot waver tool to put some messy beachy waves in my hair, then put on some light makeup. But my clothes…
I wince at what I have to wear. Yesterday, I wore the only jean shorts I could fit into, and that’s using the term loosely, because I didn’t button or even fully zip the zipper. But today, I have to see the doctor, and there is no way I’m going there with half-zipped shorts.
My only other alternative is a pair of longer-length biker shorts and a sports bra, both of which are thankfully stretchy, but then my belly hangs out, and I don’t really think that’s public-appropriate.
Especially since I just look like I ate a few too many carbs and I don’t really appear pregnant yet.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I let out a heavy exhale. What the actual hell am I supposed to do? I look terrible. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I’m actually pregnant, and there is no hiding it any longer.
A knock on the bathroom door is my gentle reminder that I’m on a time budget. Letting my exhale out in a whoosh, I turn away from my reflection and walk over to the door. Turning the knob, I tug it open and tip my head back to see Amos standing in front of me, his lips curved up into a smile.
“You ready for your appointment and breakfast?” he asks.
My eyes widen at the thought of going out to eat with no actual shirt on. I shake my head back and forth a couple of times, then motion my hand to my chest and bare torso. “I need to figure out a shirt.”
His eyes shift down to my top, then my stomach, and I watch as his brows rise before he shifts his attention back to meet mine again. “You do need a shirt.”
Letting out a frustrated exhale, I shift past him and walk into the bedroom. He follows behind me, but I only notice because I can hear his footsteps mirror mine. He stops at the entrance to the bedroom as I continue inside.
“I have about two tops that fit,” I announce as I throw open the closet door.
Well, I slide said closet door open with gusto, and it slams against the jamb and bounces a little before it settles.
My clothes stare back at me, and I wonder what the hell I was thinking bringing any of this with me.
I’m never going to be able to fit in any of this again.
I was in a complete state of shock and delusion when I packed my things to move here.
“There’s nothing in here,” I state.
I am starting to feel hot, and not in a fun way.
I can feel the tears well behind my eyes.
I blink them away in hopes they won’t fall and ruin the small amount of makeup I’m wearing.
My chest rises and falls as I try to gather myself, and in that moment, I feel Amos’s warm hand against the small of my back.
“Skel,” he mutters.
I sink my teeth into the flesh of my bottom lip as I think about that name. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about it, but I can’t deny that I love the fact he’s got a little nickname just for me.
Just for me.
I don’t think anyone has ever had a nickname just for me, except maybe my brothers, who called me spoiled brat, princess, or annoying as fuck… all in good fun, most of the time. So I don’t think that really counts.
Samuil didn’t call me anything other than suka, something I looked up after everything happened between us, and I found out it means bitch in Russian. So he was calling me a bitch, which just about tracks with him.
“What about this one?” Amos asks.
I watch as he reaches for a shirt in my closet.
He did well. It’s one of my largest shirts.
But it’s still going to be too tight. It’s still too small.
I know it is. Reaching for the shirt, I take it off the hanger and pull it over my head.
I slip my arms inside and tug it down as far as I can.
A strip of my belly hangs out from beneath the hem.
Turning to him, I can’t hold the whimper when it escapes my lips. Amos chuckles as if he thinks this is something funny. He reaches out and places his palm against my exposed belly. He’s so close that I can practically taste him.
“It’s perfect,” he murmurs.
It’s not perfect, but it’s very sweet of him to say so.
A few moments later, we’re sitting in my car.
Me in the passenger seat, because he’s declared that he’s a man and he’s driving.
He reminds me of my father and brothers.
I don’t think I’ve ever driven with any of them, except maybe when I was trying to practice for my license.
“Let’s go, Skel.”