Page 48 of Make it a Double

“Good to know,” Beckett said, picking up our plates and rounding the table. He set mine down first, then placed his next to mine. His hand landed on the back of my chair, breath fanning out against my shoulder as he leaned in to ask, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Water’s fine.” I scooted closer to the table as he filled a cup with ice and ran it beneath the tap. It was weird watching him like this. So domestic and unlike the man who smooth-talked his way into my panties.

But what did I really know about him other than the fact that he was good in bed—at least, from the one night of experience I had—disasterously good looking, and richer than he had any right to be.

“That’s probably for the best. You lost a lot of fluids when you decided to recreate that scene from The Exorcist,” he said, a smile forming on his lips. “Excellent production value, honestly. It would’ve had SFX artists everywhere clamoring to know your secrets.”

My groan was low and long, devolving into chuckles as I hung my head in my hands. “Too soon! Please don’t remind me. I’d like to forget that ever happened. As it is, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to set foot in a Chili’s ever again.”

He arched one perfect brow. “And that would be a bad thing?”

Leaning forward, I narrowed my eyes. “I knew you’d never experienced the greatness of a Triple Dipper.”

“Guilty as charged.” He set my glass down before joining me at the counter. “The food hasn’t sent you running for the hills yet. That’s a good sign, right?”

“It’s better than immediately wanting to put my head in a toilet,” I sighed, stabbing my fork into the pasta and twirling it around the tines. Beckett’s gaze was cautious as I took a bite and chewed.

“What’s the bean’s verdict? Do I need to clear a path to the bathroom, or…?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “In the interest of making sure your already huge head can fit through the door, I’ll admit it’s okay.”

“Right,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms, “and what’s the truth?”

I paused, the fork halfway to my mouth. “Fishing for compliments?”

He just shrugged, lips smugly pursed. “Call me confident.”

I never really believed that confidence was all a person needed to be sexy, but that was before I met Beckett Montgomery. Even if the man wasn’t ridiculously handsome, it wouldn’t take much more than a smile to fall into his arms and into his bed.

I would know, after all.

“Fine. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Is that what you wanted me to say? Are you happy now?”

Beckett beamed as he watched me take another bite, utterly transfixed by watching me shovel food into my mouth. “Incredibly so.”

After dinner, I curled up on the giant sectional taking up the majority of Beckett’s living room while he cleaned up. It wasn’t my choice. No matter how much I offered to help with dishes, he refused. After my third time asking, he wordlessly strode over, scooped me up, and deposited me on the couch with strict orders to stay there unless I absolutely needed to move.

I wasn’t used to being cared for like this. On the rare occasion I was home for a meal, I was the one cooking dinner and then cleaning up while Grams looked on. She was a damn good cook who taught me everything she knew when I was growing up, but her arthritis made food prep difficult, so it had become a natural part of our routine.

“I’m pregnant, not useless, you know,” I called.

I was met with the honeyed sound of Beckett’s laugh. He rounded the corner, wiping his hands with a dish towel. “And you know you’re horrible at letting someone take care of you, right?”

It was silly to argue with him because, at the end of the day, he was right. But I refused to give up the fight. Beckett needed to understand that I hadn’t told him I was pregnant to be doted on, nor did I expect to be treated like a princess incapable of lifting a finger. I gestured around us at the stupidly fluffy blanket he’d draped over me and the water on the coffee table. “This is too much.”

Beckett’s expression was one of weary exasperation. “No, Sawyer. This is less than the bare minimum. I’ve done nothing but cook you dinner after you got sick and force you to sit down.” He walked over and took the seat beside me. “I don’t know what asshats you dated before, but they clearly sucked.”

This was the bare minimum? It sure as hell didn’t feel that way. All of his constant doting made my skin crawl. I’d done nothing to deserve it. I mean, I threw up on the man in a public restaurant and told him I was pregnant. He should be running for the hills.

“It’s funny you think I have any freaking clue about how to act right now,” I laughed, running my fingers over the blanket.

This was as good a time as any to tell the truth. The dishes were done, dinner was put away, and we were sitting here, staring at one another, knowing there was so much to say but not knowing where to start.

Beckett settled against the cushions, draping one arm across the back of the couch as his gaze settled on me. “I don’t really know what to do either, Sawyer. There’s not really a brochure that gives instructions for this sort of situation. The best we can hope for, at least to start, is being honest with one another about how we’re feeling. How does that sound?”

I nodded, blinking away tears that threatened to fall. I’d always been more in tune with my emotional side. Grams said it was because I was a Cancer, but I’d never explored much about star signs to confirm or deny. What I did know, though, was that being pregnant was sending my hormones into overdrive, and it hadn’t gotten better as I headed for the finish line.

I couldn’t imagine how much of a nightmare I’d be by month nine.