Page 42 of Playing It Forward

I motion to the bottles. “Except the bottles aren’t ready. They should be filled with sand and have ribbons tied around them.”

“I can stuff sand in bottles. I probably have sand in unmentionable places from the last time I was on the beach.”

I grin. “Gotta love the beach in the summer.”

He grabs a bottle and scoops some sand. He tries to pour the sand into the bottle, but most of it ends up on the table.

“The sand is supposed to go into the bottle.”

He frowns. “These bottles are tiny.”

“They’re decorative.”

“Can’t they be decorative and bigger than a roll of athletic tape?”

I giggle. “They wouldn’t be cute then.”

“Wouldn’t want them to be useful instead of cute,” he mutters.

I throw a pinch of sand at him. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“Romantic?” He wags one of the bottles. “How do humans fit messages in these?”

“Normal-sized humans manage without any trouble.”

“Are you saying I’m not normal-sized?” He puffs out his chest.

I ignore how my hands itch to touch his chest. To feel how strong his muscles are. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You seemed to enjoy my size when we were in the closet.”

My nipples pebble and my core tingles at the reminder of our tryst. A tryst that resulted in my pregnancy. A pregnancy I’m not ready to reveal to the world.

“Nolan,” I hiss. “You agreed to keep the pregnancy quiet.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I wasn’t referring to the pregnancy. I was referring to us.”

“What us? There is no us.” And there never will be. I know better than to get involved.

“You’re as stubborn as a linebacker playing through a concussion.”

I sigh. “Nolan. You’re not obligated to be with me just because I’m pregnant with your child.”

“What if I want to be with you?”

I wish I could believe it. I wish he wanted me, but I can’t trust his feelings. He thinks he wants me when what he wants is the baby.

I nod to the bottles. “These aren’t going to fill themselves.”

Hurt flashes in his gorgeous blue eyes – I hope our child gets those eyes – before he blinks and it’s gone.

“I’ve got this.”

He begins filling bottles with sand like it’s a competition.

“Slow down.”

“But I’m winning.”