Seven.
Maci
Duke peels out of his parents’ driveway, hitting the gas a little harder than necessary. I watch in the side mirror at—what I’m assuming is—his mother, trying to wave him down from their gorgeous, rustic farmhouse porch.
Seriously, this place is out of a magazine it’s so breathtaking. Wrapped in classic Christmas décor—from the wreaths on every window to the white lights intertwined in garland—I’d love a picture if we weren’t barreling in the opposite direction.
“I think she wants you to stop,” I say, turning to Duke.
He grumbles under his breath, his hold on the wheel gripping a little tighter. I find myself staring at him with a flood of need between my thighs for not the first time today.
What is it with rugged men like him who can look sexy doing just about anything? They have no business turning women on with their competency. The way they use their palm to turn the steering wheel or stretch their arm over the back of the passenger seat when going in reverse.
Competency porn is real.
And my panties have been melting since last night.
Lay me out to dry if I ever see this man take out the trash without having to be asked.
“I’ll see her tonight.”
“Is it because of me?” I blurt out. Subtle, Maci.
I’d feel awful if I was causing a problem for him. I’m beyond grateful that he’s the one who stopped to help me. Last night and this morning. He’s one of the good ones. At least, from what I’ve seen. I trust him, I realize.
And the thought alone is enough to sober me from the stark fear of it. I haven’t trusted anyone in a long, long time…
Duke rubs his face roughly, gaze darting between me and the road. “Do you want me to lie to you?”
“If you expect the truth from me, then I expect the truth from you.” Where’d that come from?
He takes in a deep breath, blowing it out with his words, “Then yeah, it’s because you’re in here with me.” My heart does a sad little dip despite myself. “It’s nothing against you,” he quickly adds, “I just know how she is, and there’s been a few things going on… I don’t want her reading me the riot act.”
I raise a brow. “You left in a hurry because you didn’t want to get yelled at by your mom?”
He scoffs. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“How old are you again?” I laugh.
“What the hell does my age have to do with it?” He chuckles. “You’ve never gotten your ass chewed out by Julie Montgomery. Trust me, it ain’t a pleasant experience.”
His cell phone rings, and he checks the caller ID, then promptly ignores it, placing it on the center console.
“You’re digging your grave deeper by pulling that move,” I tell him.
“Hey, I’m driving.” He grins. “Gotta keep my focus on the road, right?”
I yawn. “True.”
“You holding up over there?” he asks. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“I got some.” I curl up on the seat, and cover my mouth to another yawn.
He eyes me, concern written all over his face. Same as earlier today. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone worry about me this much in my entire life the way he has in the last day.
“You’re welcome to sleep if you want,” he says. “I’ve got a few more things to take care of. I told Rhett to call me when he’s done at the motel.”
I smile weakly. “I thought I was your tag-along.” I admit, it’s been fun riding around with him. Probably the most fun I’ve had in months.
His dark eyes linger on mine. “Get some rest, Maci. I’ll be right here.”
My breath hitches. Why was that…exactly what I needed to hear? “Okay.”
The high-pitched ding of a door opening rouses me from a heavy sleep. Slowly peeling my eyes open, the fog clears to Duke getting into the driver’s seat, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Thanks, Rhett. I appreciate it,” he says quietly. “No…I don’t know, man. I don’t want to talk about it. Yeah, so who told you to try? I figured as much.” He sighs heavily. “I don’t need everyone tiptoeing around the subject. I was caught off guard last Sunday, that’s it, all right? I don’t know how many times I have to say that. No, I haven’t been ignoring anyone. Jesus Christ, man, you’re worse than Ma.”
He finally glances over at me, noticing I’m awake. A slow, handsome smile spreads across his face. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up as I sit up with a stretch. “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
I roll my neck, feeling the unfortunate late afternoon nausea setting in. “You didn’t. How long was I out?” I ask, reaching for my phone on top of my purse.
“About an hour,” he grunts. “Did you want to get a bite to eat before I take you back to your room? Rhett said it was heating up quick, but I’d like to give it a bit longer to warm the place up.”
I rub my temple. “Um, yeah, nothing too heavy though. I’m a little nauseous.”
He nods, taking the truck out of park, and leaving the gas station he stopped at. “I’ll drive down main, and if you see anything that looks good, say the word.”
I smile, secretly loving how doting he’s being. But I already know what I want, and he’s not going to like what I have in mind…
“Maci,” Duke bites out, following me out of the grocery store with my single jar of peanut butter in hand. “You need to eat something. This isn’t a meal.”
“It is when you’re pregnant,” I sing-song, carrying my prize across the parking lot.
He scowls, helping me into the passenger seat. “You need a real meal. Not fuckin’ fruit, chips, and peanut butter. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
I roll my eyes. So dramatic. “No, Duke, I’m not a vegetarian. I eat meat. I just want some peanut butter. The baby wants peanut butter. And I’m not going to deny my baby what it wants.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re so full of shit. The baby doesn’t want peanut butter, you do.”
I giggle. “Okay, we both do. But still. I am craving it, so it counts.”
I can tell he’s trying hard to be annoyed at this, but the twitch at the corner of his lip screams otherwise. Closing my door, he jogs around to the driver’s side and jumps in. “All right, well, what else is the baby craving then?”
I scrunch my nose. “You’re not going to like the answer…” I trail off at the sound of his irritated huff. “You can’t be mad at me. I’ve been getting a little late afternoon morning sickness the last few days. It’s hard for me to eat anything when I’m nauseous,” I admit. “I’ll order something later for dinner.”
Duke lets out a long, aggravated sigh as we head to the motel. He’s eerily quiet on the way—quieter than he’s been all day. He can’t really be mad about the peanut butter, can he?
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
“You mean besides texting you a picture later as proof of me ordering myself dinner?” I say, trying to lighten the strange air between us that’s come out of nowhere.
He chuckles deeply. Mission accomplished. “After that.”
I shrug. He knows I don’t know anyone in this town—in all of Montana—and I’ve been riding around with him all day.
“I’d invite you to dinner, but it’s for my brother’s fiancée’s birthday,” he starts. “But, uh, after, there’s a band playing at Tavern Nine. It’s a local bar. Anyway, yeah, the party—if that’s what you’d call it—is moving there afterward. Didn’t know if that’d be something you’d be interested in or not.”
I raise a brow. “What time?”
“Band usually starts around eight,” he says, turning into the motel parking lot. “It’s country night, so it’ll probably be pretty packed.”
I nod, biting my lip and wondering if this is a friendly invite or a weird, Montana way of asking me out. Do I want him to ask me out? You’re pregnant with someone else’s baby, why would he? I’ve quite literally got baggage growing inside of me.
And now I’ve hurt my own feelings.
He parks the truck. “Anyway, if you’re interested, let me know beforehand and I can swing by to pick you up.”
“Okay,” I say as he gets out and comes around to my side.
When we step into the motel room we’re greeted with a warm gust of air and a solid working heater. Duke stays close to the door so as not to track snow in the room. I feel his eyes on me as I kick off my boots and set my purse and jar of peanut butter onto the table.
“Thanks for tagging along with me today,” he says.
I laugh, facing him. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.” I smile. “But thanks for letting me come with you. It was fun.”
He watches me for a long moment, studying me in a way I get the sense he’s…looking for something. He clears his throat. “All right, well, I better get going. If you need anything—”
“Let you know. Yes, I remember.”
He grins wide, dark eyes alight with humor. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says, leaving with a close of the door behind him.
I plop onto the bed, a bundle of nerves and butterflies.
What am I doing?
I can’t be doing…whatever the heck this feeling is. I need to focus. I’m only here because my car broke down on my way to a new job and a new life. I need to regroup and work out my next move.
Besides, a guy like Duke doesn’t want a damaged, needy, pregnant woman up his ass. I can be his friend, though, like he said. Because that, I do need. One person I can turn to when I need to vent, or…bounce life-changing decisions off of other than a growing bump.
Gosh, I sound depressing.
Don’t you mean lonely?
It’s nearing six when I finally place an order for a grilled chicken wrap and fries from a local pizzeria. That’s when I start to weigh my options. And the more I do, I realize I might only have one. Because when I tried to search for a transmission to fit my car…I came up short. Flipping through sites using words like ‘backorder’ and ‘out of stock.’
A ding from my phone brings me back from a near mental breakdown.
Duke: You were right.
I smile at the message as the next one comes through.
Duke: My mom is chewing me out tenfold for ignoring her earlier.
Me: I hate to say I told you so, but…
Duke: Very funny.
Duke: I’m still waiting on my picture of your dinner.
Me: It should be here any minute. I ordered from some place called Perry’s.
Duke: They’re pretty good. What’d you get?
There’s a knock at my door a second later. I pay the delivery guy, tip him, and take my food with gusto, not realizing how hungry I was until I smell the mouthwatering aroma of fresh food. I set the containers on the table and snap a quick picture. I send it to Duke as I sit down to eat.
Duke: Looks good. How was your peanut butter?
Me: We loved it. I even ditched the spoon and used a few chips as scoops.
Duke: That actually sounds pretty good.
Me: How’s the birthday dinner going?
Duke: Fine.
Me: Sounds riveting.
Duke: Just more bullshit.
I fight the urge to ask him to elaborate when a thought comes to mind…
Me: How much do you think I could get if I decided to sell my car?
Duke: Not much with the problems it has unless you plan on trading it in. Why? You thinking about ditching it?
Me: Maybe. Just trying to weigh out my options.
Duke: That might be your best bet.
Duke: Like I said before, I’ll do my best to get you up and running, but there’s gonna be a wait.
Truthfully, I didn’t believe him before. Now, after a few Google searches later, my unlucky streak has yet to break.
Duke: So, you thinking of buying a new car then?
Me: Sorry to bother you with this. You probably want to be focusing on dinner with your family rather than texting me about car stuff.
Duke: I’d rather be texting you about anything than be a part of whatever conversations are going on around me.
Me: I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble again.
Duke: She is kind of glaring at me…
Me: Better put the phone down before you don’t have any thumbs.
Duke: Fine, but if I send an S.O.S. in the next hour, I expect you to call me acting like something horrible has happened and you need me to come to your aid straight away.
Me: That bad?
Duke: Yes. Can I count on you?
Me: Always.
I eat half my dinner before I decide to take a hot shower. I keep my hair tied up in case I decide to go to this ‘Tavern Nine’ Duke invited me to.
When I looked it up online earlier, it seemed like a popular spot. A lot of five-star reviews mentioning this ‘Saturday band night.’ Everyone in the pictures appear like they’re hunting for a date—all done up and dancing.
He did say it was country night, and I do have something I could wear that wouldn’t look horrible. But a pregnant chick going to a crowded bar only to drink non-alcoholic beverages and start yawning by nine? I don’t know…
Granted I’m not necessarily showing quite yet, and I know over the next few weeks, I’ll start to show. This might be my last chance to go out without getting strange looks.
Crap. It’s after 8:00 PM though, and I haven’t heard anything from Duke after our text conversation. The bar isn’t too far—walking distance, in fact. I could make it there in fifteen or twenty minutes. I peek out the curtains. It’s a clear December night, no wind, and just under freezing. A stark contrast to last night’s storm.
“Screw it,” I whisper, glancing down to my belly. “Let’s go party hardy, baby.”