Epilogue #2
My sexy as sin one-night stand and talented forward for the San Jose Grizzlies is back in my shop after giving me the best orgasms—yup, that’s orgasms plural—of my life…and then disappearing into the night.
With nary a call.
Or a text.
Until he showed back up the next afternoon and laid out an entire checklist’s worth of reasons why we couldn’t work.
Ever.
I rub my temples and take a deep breath.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t calm me like it normally does.
Mostly because it makes me feel queasy.
Something that’s been happening a lot lately.
Something that had me hurrying to the drug store down the street earlier today and buying a pregnancy test.
Then going back and buying four more.
Four because when the first one showed those two lines, I panicked.
And now I have five tests. Five positives. Five ways to say…
I’m pregnant.
This is a nightmare.
Because the only person I’ve slept with in the last two months…is standing out front wanting to hire me for an event.
For him and his girlfriend.
I’m going to puke.
Again.
But hiding in the kitchen, pretending to pull out some food from the oven is only delaying the inevitable.
I need to go back out there.
And I’m going to accept the job.
Because in this economy and with this much overhead, I can’t afford not to.
I suck in another breath, which draws in the scents of my kitchen again…and I’m right back to queasy.
No.
More than queasy.
“Dammit,” I whisper, clamping a hand over my nose and mouth, trying desperately to block out the smell.
But the garlic and onion odor is even stronger on my fingers and I fling my hand away, slamming it into the metal table.
A cutting board clatters to the floor, scattering chopped hardboiled egg in all directions.
I gag, search for any bit of relief.
Spotting the basket of oranges, I sprint over to them, banging my hip on the sharp edge of the table and sending more items dropping to the floor.
Fuck.
“Harper?” Leo calls, concern evident in his voice.
“Just a second,” I call back, stifling a gag as I reach for a knife, as I hurriedly cut an orange in half and all but shove it up my nose.
Fresh citrus.
Thank God.
But that relief lasts for only a moment.
Because then I can smell the onion again, the garlic, the eggs.
Bile burns the back of my throat and I slam the orange down, sprint for the staff bathroom…and barely make it in time to lose my cookies.
“Shit,” I hear mid-puke, a hand settling lightly on my back for a moment before it lifts away and Leo murmurs, “Let me get you a cool paper…”
He trails off but I’m too busy losing my breakfast—and maybe last night’s dinner to immediately understand why.
Then I hear him say, “What the fuck?”
And I know, without a doubt, that I’m an idiot.
Because every single—positive—pregnancy test is sitting on the counter next to the sink.
Thank you for reading! I hope you love Faye and Gray’s story as much as I do! The next book in the Grizzlies Hockey series is KNOCKED UP BY NUMBER NINETY. He told me it was over…then the pregnancy test turned up positive.
CLICK HERE TO READ KNOCKED UP BY NUMBER NINETY>
And are you curious about Jean-Michel, grumpy billionaire and team owner with a protective streak a mile wide? Check out a sneak peek of his happy ending below in BOTTLES & BLADES. I fell for a billionaire…I just didn’t know it.
CLICK HERE TO READ BOTTLES & BLADES NOW>
Tiff
"Your total is $23.26,” the cashier says, tapping on the register’s keyboard, the computer screen above it changing as rapidly as her fingers move.
Clickity-click. Clickity-click. Clickity-click.
She pauses, glances up.
But not at me.
At the man she’s currently ringing up, the man just in front of me. The man who reacts after a brief moment, jerking as though jarred from his thoughts and reaching into his pocket.
He’s wearing a pair of jeans stained with so much dirt that I pity his washing machine, and his tee isn’t much better, filthy and sweat-covered, plastered against a broad, well-muscled chest.
His forearms and hands are stained with something dark.
Clearly coming from some sort of hard, physical work, and on a day like today, summer clinging to the edges of a sunny spring afternoon, I envy him.
Not that I don’t love my job—I’m a nanny, and my charge is awesome, and I love that it gives me the freedom to pursue my degree.
But sometimes I wouldn’t mind playing hooky and getting out on one of the many trails around us on this side of the Bay, all rolling green hills and old-growth oaks and spring wildflowers.
“Sir?”
I blink, realize that while I’ve been daydreaming about poppies and blue lupines, the man in front of me has been searching his pockets.
And coming up empty.
“Your total is $23.26,” the cashier repeats, a little sharper now.
“Right,” the man says, patting his pockets in turn. “Just give me a second. I know my wallet—”
“If you can’t pay, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside and let the others behind you have their turn.”
Her tone is brusque and cold and—
Filled with disdain.
It slices through me, even though it’s not directed at me.
Because I've lived that life.
Because even today, I calculated my own spread on the conveyor belt—sitting behind the plastic divider—to a precise degree. I know that I have exactly the amount in my account to cover my food for the week.
Food and tuition. Medical debts and gas.
All of my expenses carefully worked out.
The man keeps searching. “I know I have—”
Someone sighs behind me—a sharp, irritated sound that zips through the air, stinging as it flies by me.
The man looks up, mid pocket-pat, and I almost gasp at the startling blue of his eyes.
They’re as bright as the cloudless sky outside the store and filled with embarrassment that has my heart squeezing.
“If you’ll just give me a moment,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing as they drift behind me, presumably toward the impatient sigher and the line that’s growing by the moment. “I have—”
The cashier starts tapping on her keyboard again, this time angrily. “I’ll have to cancel the transaction, sir.”
It’s the condescension in her tone that unsticks me.
I double tap the side of my cell, take a step toward the man with the dirt marring his strong chin, clinging to the salt and pepper beard on his jaw, his cheeks. I slip between his strong, obviously hardworking body and the payment kiosk, avoiding those bright blue eyes as I say, “I’ve got it.”
That brilliant cerulean gaze comes to mine. “No, that’s—”
But I’m already waving my phone at the machine, and it doesn’t so much as have to make contact to solve this problem.
Bleep-beep.
And it’s done.
“There,” I say softly, giving him a small smile. “Enjoy your meal.”
His expression…
Well, I’m not sure I can discern the flurry of emotions—annoyance and surprise and embarrassment and…
Gratitude.
“Thank you,” he says softly, snagging the sandwich, soda, and bag of chips from the counter.
“No worries,” I reply, turning back to the cashier, taking the receipt she passes over.
He waits there for a moment, big body still, eyes on me, so I turn and hold it out to him.
“Did you need this?” I ask, careful to not get lost in his eyes, careful to not notice how handsome he is, all strong muscles and brutal features and those gorgeous blue irises.
“No,” he says.
But doesn’t move.
Just stares at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved.
And well…no puzzle here.
Just a woman who’s barely holding her life together.
“Right, okay.” I nibble at the corner of my mouth. “You have a good day.”
Another hesitation from the big man next to me.
“You’re all paid, sir,” the cashier snaps as she starts scanning my items. “You can go now.”
I see him stiffen out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t snap back, and…he doesn’t linger.
Just gives a slight nod and walks away.
Some part of me is disappointed.
The rest…is relieved.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep—
“Wait,” I tell the cashier, as she reaches for the bottle of wine. It’s a discount brand, but I’ll have to do without it after that $23.26. “I’ll pass on the wine,” I say softly.
Her eyes come to mine and she rolls hers, silently setting it to the side before reaching for the next item.
A block of cheese.
“And that too,” I murmur, doing some mental math. “And the bread,” I add when she puts that aside, starts to scan.
More eye rolls, but my math proves to be on point because by the time she finishes scanning—minus the cheese and bread and wine—I have enough left in my account to cover everything else.
I click the button on the side of my phone.
Do another wave of my cell, hear that bleep-beep.
And ignore the surly cashier as I bag my items, gather up my receipt, and head out of the store.
I’m putting my bags into my trunk when I feel a presence behind me.
I slam it closed, spin around, and—
See the man from the store standing there, eyes flashing, body big and broad and giving more than a few Daddy vibes.
My heart skips a beat.
Warmth blooms in my belly.
Lower.
He’s too old for me.
But my mind is running away with itself anyway.
“Can I help you—?” I begin.
“Come with me,” he mutters.
Before I can protest, he wraps his fingers around my arm.
And drags me away from my car.