13. Knight #2
“Seriously, Horse, stick with being the lovable womanizer, or hateable in Trixie’s case.
People are confused enough with me going off and being respectable.
If you turn over a new leaf, they’ll start saying it’s the business.
Recruits will go down, it’ll lose its overall edge, and profits will go down with it. ”
I smiled at him. “Your business roots are showing. We’re in it for the rush, remember?
The money’s only a side-benefit to life on the edge.
Trix doesn’t actually hate me. We’re neighbors.
” She couldn’t hate me and ask me to get pregnancy tests.
And she’d given me her homemade cannolis. That definitely meant something. Maybe.
Nix’s smile was mean. “Oh, no. She hates you. It’s just as well. If she knew your business end, the rich, indolent bit, she’d hold you in contempt too.”
I grinned at him. It’s like he knew her. “I don’t know. I could shower her with multi-terrain tires and wrenches, maybe an assault vehicle to go with them.”
He snorted. “Yeah, that would go well.” He turned away with a slight smile on his mouth. He was thinking about something, not seducing her, no, but something.
Nix came from money, but he’d turned his back on it until he had to fulfill his true potential to save his little flower.
I still ran a global conglomerate between matches.
Nix was the fighter, the rebel. I was from both worlds and kept one foot in each.
Why not? I needed more mental stimulation than organizing a team and focusing on the Vegas show world.
Balancing both careers helped me stay sane.
My therapist didn’t agree. He thought it was time for me to put my mommy issues to bed and unite my two identities.
I didn’t hire him to lie to me, but I’d gotten my own doctorates in psychology, and my scores were so much higher than his.
Fine. I’d probably say that to my clients if I had one as messed up as I was.
Not that my clients were aware that I was their therapist. My teammates had become much more stable, so I knew that my methods weren’t incorrect.
Mac was at a meeting instead of at the bar, higher than a kite.
Candy was dating a guy who had a job and wouldn’t treat her like her daddy treated her mother.
What would I say to Trixie if I had her on my couch?
I couldn’t be objective with her. If she were on my couch, that’s where I’d be, as close as she’d let me get.
I walked into Purgatory and glanced around subtly as I walked the perimeter. The flooring had this blood-speckled on white marble thing going for it. A great place for a brawl, as Purgatory should be.
“What can I get you?” the waiter Burt asked as soon as I settled myself into a small booth, giving me a polite smile, but then he glanced over my shoulder towards a part of the cafe where I hadn’t looked.
I followed his glance and there she was, wearing real clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, frowning at a muffin that was probably closer in texture to hard tack.
She was just so beautiful, from the curve of her pouty lip, facing the enemy of deliciousness, dark lashes framing intense eyes, and that cascade of Italian curls tumbling over her shoulders like she hadn’t tried to pin most of it back.
“Burt, I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Ginger ale and a pulp muffin?”
That got my full attention. Ginger ale was code for pregnant. I was almost sure of it. I nodded absently, somehow not turning to stare at Trixie. “That’s right. Exactly what I’m in the mood for.”
I grabbed his arm. Burt had the enthusiasm of someone who trusted that he wouldn’t be a waiter for the rest of his life. Pity, because he was really good at it.
“Bring me toast. Every five minutes a new plate of toast, and some tea and sautéed vegetables, hold the seasonings, and a cup of fruit. I didn’t order it.”
“You’re ordering something you aren’t ordering? Very well, sir.” He nodded and scuttled off as I got up and took a seat at the table directly to her right and behind. I laid out my napkin and sighed with great satisfaction.
When Burt came out with the first plate, I winked at him.
“I didn’t order toast!” I said it nice and loud in case Trixie wasn’t paying attention.
She shot me a glare, so it worked. Her glare was so stunning, but why did she have such hollow cheeks?
She was too thin. Of course she was too thin.
She’d been throwing up everything she’d eaten and drunk for the past month.
She should be in a hospital on an IV. Although she had more color than during our romantic tryst in the shop’s bathroom.
“Sorry, sir,” Burt said, glancing at a blond woman on the opposite side of the restaurant. She met my eyes and smiled at me, looking me over appreciatively. “Compliments of the lady.”
He hurried off and left me with the toast. I didn’t need that last part, but it wasn’t a new role for me.
“I’m doing keto,” I said loudly to myself.
“Who sends toast with compliments?” Trix muttered, glancing over at me.
“The lady. Apparently. Do you want it?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. She could get insulted. She might sick her Chihuahua on me.” Her voice was so mocking, yet sexy.
“All right. I’ll just throw it away.” I knew that Trix hated wasting food.
She sighed and then got up, nodded at the woman across the room and then lowered herself into the seat across from me. She took the toast and nibbled on the corner. “You’re a selfish, egocentric jerk, right?”
I raised brows at the directness of the question and almost laughed, but it was a nervous almost-laugh. It felt like a trick question. “I try.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Only if you eat my toast. It’s so buttery yet crisp. I’m starting to feel like carbs might be a good idea. You know how I struggle to keep perfectly lean for the cameras.”
She gave me a flat look. “She’s pretty. You could work your carbs off with her. And no, I don’t follow your body issues. How many girls have you gotten pregnant? I mean, that you know of?”
I stared at her and shifted back. This was couch talk.
And with the ginger ale, I didn’t have to ask if she was pregnant.
She was. Pregnant. Not dying of some weird disease.
And now we could go shopping for a new maternity wardrobe!
What were we talking about? My fathering skills?
Maybe she had been trying to send me a subtle, ‘will you be the father of my baby’ message.
I cleared my throat. “Well, Trixie, if you want to know my deep dark secrets, maybe we should go somewhere we can both get a little more comfortable.” I wiggled my brows, trying for the man-whore she knew and hated.
Otherwise, if she smiled at me or asked me to be the father to her baby, I would end.
She stared at me flatly, but there was betrayal in her eyes. I’d never in a million years want to betray Trixie. Her voice was soft. “And here I thought you kept your womanizing out where anyone could see it. Why did I think I could have a serious conversation with you?”
She pushed to her feet.
Panic had me grabbing her hand, holding her there. “Once. You want to be serious? My turn for a question. Have you been to the doctor yet? You look dehydrated.”
She blinked at me and grabbed a butter knife in the hand I wasn’t holding. This could escalate quickly. “I’m not…” She bit her bottom lip and then put the knife on the table and sank back into her seat. “Is it that obvious? Am I showing already?” She looked down at her effusive charms with a frown.
I glanced down her body, because that’s what I did.
Also, I could still remember her softness against me in the elevator.
I shook my head. I had to focus. “Ginger ale, and you asked me to get diagnostic equipment. You look like the same old tough-as-nails Trixie in spite of the morning sickness. Still, you should watch out for dehydration.”
She studied me intently. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
I leaned back and studied her. What did she want?
What would get her to lay down her defenses?
“I don’t kiss and tell. I certainly don’t talk about other people’s adventures, at least not with a third party.
I still think that you should have gone home with me instead of with Blondie.
” Did I just say that out loud? She was going to stab me.
Instead, she laughed and cocked her head, her hair falling over her face as she gave me her sexiest come-hither that she had no idea was sexy or come-hither.
It made my whole skin prickly. She could kiss me, or knee me, and I’d never know until it was too late.
“You want to get drunk and stupid with me, to be the one knocking me up?”
I licked my lips. Oh yes. So much. “I like the edge. I like extremities. I like kissing you and wrestling with you, and being unmanned by you. You are exactly the kind of adventure I would love to not write home about. And think about the kind of kids we’d have.
They’d be born with hair on their chests. ”
She sighed heavily. “You’re inspiring, as always. Seriously though, does it bother you when girls tell you that you’re going to be a…daddy?”
I didn’t think through what all these statements were leading to; I just spoke.
“You want to know if you should tell him? Do it. I’ve always thought it was incredibly unfair that men have no say in whether or not they keep their child.
It’s right to tell a man so he can choose whether he wants to give her fiscal support or marry her.
” Dang. I’d said that too crisp and clear, using my vocabulary like one of the yuppies she wasn’t supposed to go to bed with.
Also, you didn’t say that to a woman who had to suffer dehydration and personal anguish when the man in question was a loser billionaire playboy who didn’t know or care about her.
I cared. If it were me, I’d die if I didn’t know that she was suffering for our child without being able to do anything about it.