Page 19 of Knocked Up
“What do you need?”
“Privacy.”
She moans, and I can’t help but bite back a laugh. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
My hand runs up and down her back slowly, hoping to soothe her, and eventually she pushes off the toilet and rests on her heels.
She’s still gripping the seat with her hands, but with every movement, she seems to grow more confident that she’s done.
“Okay?”
“Besides humiliated you’ve seen me puke again, yeah, I’m okay.”
“Come on.” I hold out my hand for her to take, and when she puts her palm in mine, I lift her to her feet. “I was bringing you a drink and crackers. Perhaps if I’d thought about it sooner, you wouldn’t be here.”
She turns and gives me a tired, worn-out smile. “I agree. This is your fault.”
Not exactly what I meant, but I’ll play along if it means she keeps smiling at me. “Of course it is.”
I settle her on the bed. While she nibbles on a cracker, I go back to the bathroom, clean up the floor and counter, and bring her the antinausea pills. “Have you taken this yet?”
“No. And I’m sure if I had, it’d be flushed by now.”
She’s barely looking at me. Stupid. She has no reason to be embarrassed around me. I’ve seen more of her body than she probably has. “I’ll let you get ready. Is there anything you need?”
“Pants to wear home? Have any women’s yoga pants lying around?”
Her smile tells me she’s teasing, but I’m not stepping on that trap. If I want to keep my dick, the answer to that question is alwaysno.Fortunately, I’d be honest in saying it too.
“I have some sweats you can wear.” They’ll swim on her, though.
She must be thinking the same thing because she says, “That’s not necessary. I can wear the jeans I had on yesterday. They’re just uncomfortable.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, but thank you.”
She nibbles on another cracker and I wait until she’s taken her pill and sipped her drink and she still hasn’t looked at me.
Being embarrassed is one thing.
Avoiding me is something else and it burns something painful in my gut.
I can chalk it up to us being mostly strangers, but I’ve heard enough about her over the last couple of years to get the general idea that’s she’s pretty damn cool.
That was the opinion I had of her at the wedding as well—down-to-earth, slightly crazy in a good way, full of fun. She was definitely sexy as hell. Yet, since she walked into MadInk she’s had one hand up, like she wants me involved in this pregnancy but doesn’t want me getting too close.
Well, too damn bad for her. I haven’t fought my way out of the slums only to become successful enough to open a half-dozen-and-counting tattoo parlors, some of which have been shown on cable network reality shows, to stop fighting for what I want now.
—
I find a rare spot of street parking and pull to a stop in front of Cara’s worn-down old building in the Pearl District. This makes no sense. She alluded to her family’s wealth yesterday talking about her dad’s career, but Dan has also mentioned her parents are crazy rich. And she’s living in a crumbling apartment that looks barely habitable?
The questionYou live here?burns on my tongue but tastes sour in my mouth.
She said it to me yesterday, and I refuse to talk to her the same way or risk throwing it back in her face. The ride was quiet, filled with stilted conversation until I turned on my Jazz Rock playlist. Usually it helps calm me, but there’s been nothing calm flowing through my veins.
