Page 77 of Fall Love

Store us in my mind’s eye.

Last night was certainly something.

Tate wakes with a gasp, and I quickly draw back my hand, like I accidentally touched him. Like I took some privilege I shouldn’t have.

He rolls his head toward me, then rolls it away. “What time is it?” His voice is morning-rough and confused. Like he’s as surprised I’m still here as I am.

“I might be as big as a sundial, but I’m not one yet, so I have no idea.” I chuckle, shifting to glance over my shoulder. My best guess is we’ve slept in. Maybe eight o’clock.

“And if you were a sundial, I’d follow you in any direction.”

When I turn my head back to face him, he has his phone in his hand, typing away, like he wasn’t aware of what he just said.

“That was . . . sweet.”

He drops his phone on the bed next to him and shifts to face me.

“Really? I thought you might consider that cheesy.” Our eyes meet.

I dig my teeth into my lower lip, fighting a smile, as I shake my head. “I might like cheesy sweet.”

We stay quiet a second. Eyes lingering on each other.

“Hi.” That sleep-rumbled voice travels right down my center, pooling between my thighs.

“Hi,” I whisper back, taking the liberty to finally touch him and push back a thick lock of hair that fell over his forehead.

“All good?” I nod, implying the phone he dropped behind him.

“I need to meet Jake for breakfast.”

The thought of food has me blurting, “I could go for pumpkin pancakes right now.” This man worked up my appetite, and I run a hand over my belly before what Tate said registers.

“Oh.” Oh. Breakfast. With his brother. The idea of Tate spending time with his brother shouldn’t pinch at my chest, but it does. “You mean Jake and Lisa.”

I hate how I emphasize her. I hate the idea of him being near her. A woman who hurt him.

He scoffs. “No. Just Jake.” Tate rolls to his back and lays the back of his hand against his forehead. “He’s going to ask me to be his best man.”

“How do you know?” I ask, hushed and surprised, as I press up to my elbow.

He gazes back at me. “Because he’s my brother.” He rolls again, reaches for my face, and runs his fingertips down the side. Then he tickles his fingers over my lips. “I want to make you pumpkin pancakes in bed, but I’m already late.”

“Oh. Of course. Right. Yes.” I tug the sheet tighter over my breasts while struggling into a seated position and strangely feeling the familiarity of this situation.

Tate and I aren’t a one-night stand. At least, not this time, and I know logically he has morning plans. As do I. But I can’t shake the sudden rush of emotions. Of the conflict between past positions and my current one. Tate isn’t kicking me out of bed any more than I want to leap out of it, but I still feel off.

“And making pancakes in bed would definitely be messy.” A joke is the only way to stem the sudden ache I shouldn’t be feeling.

Tate follows me, sitting upright as well, and chuckles at my quip, before saying, “I’d love for you to stay. Linger in bed a while. Get some more rest.”

He leans forward and stamps a kiss on my shoulder. The touch is almost too tender, when I’m suddenly feeling unnecessarily raw and overly awkward. I’ve not only spent the night, but I’m naked in his bed, and very aware of how pregnant I am. Despite all the reassurances last night, I can’t shake these feelings, maybe because this new position is so foreign.

He’s asking me to stay.

Which he confirms when he says, “You could stay.” His voice drifts quieter, almost coy. “Wait right here for me.”

I hear the innuendo but my tongue leaps into action.