He had no idea the can of worms he was opening up there. “Dude, last night I wanted pickles at midnight.”
“That’s not so bad. Pickles aren’t full of sugar or anything.”
“I wanted to dip them in tomato juice.”
“Also not bad for you.”
“The sodium in tomato juice is through the roof. That’s neither here nor there, though. I didn’t just want the pickles and tomato juice. I also wanted a full red velvet cake to go with them.”
Genuine horror twisted Rex’s features. “Like … all at the same time?”
I shrugged. “I thought people were lying about pregnancy cravings. It turns out they were right.”
“Well, how about this?” He brushed his thumb over my cheek, and it was like an electric shock jolted through me. There was something so gentle about the motion that it touched my heart. Unfortunately, he was so good looking that it jolted something else inside of me too.
Yeah, that was another problem. I was starting to be plagued by yearnings of a different variety. When Rex had scratched that initial itch, I thought I was fine for the foreseeable future. Then I found out I was pregnant and there were other things to worry about. Now, though, I suddenly could think of nothing else.
Crap. A lot of the books I’d read said that pregnancy hormones caused horniness too. What were the odds that I would be hit with the food and fornication urges at the same time? Like … how good did drinking tomato juice while riding Rex as if he was a rodeo bronco sound?
What was wrong with me?
“What?” I blurted when I realized he was still talking. Had he realized I’d taken a flight to Never Neverland while he’d been carrying on as if this were a normal conversation?
“I just suggested that maybe, since we have regular meetings for planning the future of our little princess, that we turn them into lunches,” he continued, obviously oblivious to what was going through my head.
That was for the best. It really, really was.
“You can text before noon every day and tell me what you’re craving,” he said. “I’ll pick it up. We’ll eat together, make plans for what’s to come, and we’ll both be happy.”
My forehead creased. “How does that make you happy?”
“Because you feel better when you mark things off your list. It’s simply who you are. I feel better when you feel better.” He laughed at my ridiculous expression, then tickled my expanding stomach. “And Rexanne feels better when both of us feel better.”
I was absurdly touched by the sentiment. I was also completely focused on those pillowy lips of his. Why did he have to be so attractive? I should’ve had a one-night stand with a guy who had thin little lips, no muscles, and back hair or something. At least then I wouldn’t be lusting after him, thus putting the tenuous relationship we were embarking on as friendly parents at risk.
“Stop making Rexanne try to happen,” I ordered. I needed to put a bit of distance between us. He was too warm, too easy going. I couldn’t breathe when he was around me sometimes. “I’ll die before I name our daughter Rexanne.”
“See, I think it’s growing on you.” He released me—I immediately missed his warmth and the scent of his cologne—and crossed back over to the chair. Now that I was no longer crying, he likely figured that he didn’t need to coddle me. He grabbed his container of food and opened it. “If you don’t like Rexanne, what names do you like?”
I had been waiting for this opening. Plus, well, if I could focus on a list, that meant I wouldn’t be trying to remember what he looked like without his shirt on. I remembered the sight being glorious, but it had been wasted on a hungover me. Therefore, even though it was early, talking about potential names was a nice distraction.
“Well, since we only have girl names to look at, it’s been easy to put together a list.” I grabbed my notebook from the table and immediately went back to my food. “What do you think of Betsy?”
His frown was immediate. “Are we giving birth to a senior citizen?”
I made a face. “That’s not a name for old ladies.”
“I would never use the term ‘old ladies’ because then I would die behind the slot machines and my body wouldn’t be found for days. I would become a strange smell that everybody tried to track down.”
I laughed despite myself.
“That name is a bit dated.” He chose his words carefully. “What about Athena?”
I almost choked on my prawn. “That’s a stripper name.”
He balked. “I met a showgirl with that name two days ago.”
“That’s not any better.”
