“I’m sure living with a guy you hardly know, even if you are pregnant with his baby, sounds more than a little unhinged,” he tries to sound casual, but there’s a vulnerability in his words which has me reaching for his arm.
When I touch him, just like the night we met, a jolt goes through me. Bridger’s eyes snap to mine and the connection we have, the one we’ve been tiptoeing around, flares to life. I feel it pulse with every breath I take.
It would be silly and shortsighted to give into it.
“Living with you will take some getting used to, but I’m willing to give it a try. I’m not going to be selfish and enjoy all these weird pregnancy things all on my own,” I try to joke, but it comes out a little flat.
Bridger shifts slightly and my feet fall to the ground. His large hand hovers over my belly like he’s waiting for permission. I grip his wrist and bring it down until his hand covers where our baby is growing. His entire body softens, and it makes my heartbeat harder in my chest.
“Good,” his voice is a gentle rasp, “then it’s settled. You’ll stay here.” I nod slowly and he gives me a small, tentative smile full of hope and all the wishes of his past which have been broken at his feet. “We’ll go and get your stuff tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
His hand glides back and forth over my baby bump and I feel little flutters again, as if our child knows something special just passed between us. And maybe it did.
Bridger nods toward the coffee table where the books Amelia brought, complete with some flags sticking out from the edge, are sitting. “Looks like I have some reading homework.”
I giggle and nod. When he holds his arm out for me, I move faster than I have in months and snuggle into his side. Soaking up his warmth feels natural. All of this does.
We chat about nothing and everything, all those little things people talk about before they move in together and pregnancies happen. We’ve done things a little out of order, and, while I’ve been harboring shame about it for the past four months, this feels right in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Still, I can’t help but notice that we didn’t talk about what this means between us. Maybe it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Which is why I steel my heart for whatever ride we just boarded and tell myself that Bridger is opening his home, and his arms, to me for our child.
Why does it feel like a lie even as I try to convince myself that it’s the truth?
CHAPTER 11
BRIDGER
When I wake up, I’m wrapped around Avery’s back, my hand resting on her belly and her ass nestled against my dick in a way that is dangerous as hell. It was probably wrong of me, but she fell asleep last night cuddled up against my chest on the couch. She didn’t even stir when I picked her up to get her to bed.
I should have taken her into the guest room, but when I was standing in front of it, I couldn’t stand the thought of her being so far away. So, I decided to bring her into my room and put her in my bed. The moment I did, something settled inside of me, and it felt like she was right where she belonged.
It’s the same feeling I’m having now.
My phone beeps again, letting me know I have a text, but I ignore it, just like I did the first time when it woke me up.
Avery snuggles back against me, and I know the moment she wakes up because she sucks in a breath. “How did I get into bed?”
“Sweetheart,” I rasp and bury my face in her neck, “I carried you to bed.”
“And you didn’t put me in the guest room?” She doesn’t sound angry, more curious.
I’m counting it as a positive thing.
I know we didn’t talk about what is going on between us last night. I’m not ready to get down on a knee and ask her to marry me, but I sure as hell don’t want to pretend there’s nothing between us.
Sure, maybe it’s just wild chemistry, but my gut is telling me it’s more. Since she’s agreed to stay, we’ll get the chance to explore it. Hopefully.
If I can let her in.
If she can do the same.
Only time will tell. As I rub my hand over her baby bump, I realize we have some time.
The idea of a metaphorical clock counting down should make me anxious, but it doesn’t. It gives me a goal, one I need to do some reading about, but that makes it feel possible all the same.
“I tried to take you into the guest room,” I admit, “but I just couldn’t do it. It felt wrong. I have to say that I’ve never slept better than I did last night.”
