Page 91 of Slapshot Baby

But that's the noble version.

The real reason is uglier. Telling him means handing him the power to leave.

Right now, in this warm kitchen with Biscuit snoring and our groceries mingling on the counter, I have him.

The moment I say the words, I become the woman who hid a pregnancy for months. He becomes a father who didn't know. And whatever fragile, terrifying thing is growing between us gets crushed under the weight of it.

I'm not ready to lose this. Not yet.

"It can wait," I say.

"You said it was important."

"It is. But tonight isn't the night."

He watches me with those steady brown eyes that miss nothing.

"Okay."

I close the laptop and stand. "I'm going to clean up and change. Stay."

In the bathroom, I wash my face and stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed. My hair is tangled from running my hands through it while we talked.

I strip and step into the shower. The hot water loosens my shoulders but does nothing for the ache that's been building low in my belly since Kai's hand wrapped around mine.

I towel off and open the bottom drawer where I keep the pajamas I never wear.

The set I pull out isn't pajamas. It's a dare I made to myself months ago in a boutique I had no business entering.

Midnight blue lace bralette, nearly sheer, with a matching thong and a silk robe so short it barely reaches mid-thigh.

The lace is fine enough that the dark circles of my nipples show through the pattern. The robe ties with a single ribbon that would come undone if someone breathed on it.

I've never worn it for anyone.

I put it on.

The mirror gives me back a woman I almost recognize.

The bralette cups my breasts, which are fuller than they were a month ago. Heavier. The lace strains against skin that's become exquisitely tender.

My nipples are darker than they were a month ago, visible through the sheer fabric, stiff from the air.

I turn sideways. The robe falls open. There’s a curve below my navel that the thong does nothing to disguise.

It’s more than that. I’ve added a lot of pregnancy weight. Hopefully, Kai will focus on the lingerie and not my tummy.

I retie the robe, adjust the lace, smooth the silk. My hands shake.

You're wearing lingerie for a man who is having the worst day of his life.

I walk out to the living room anyway.

Kai is on the couch, his hand resting on Biscuit’s back, rising and falling with her breathing.

He looks up.

His eyes start at my face then travel down slowly to the shadow of my nipples seen through the sheer fabric. The length of bare thigh below the hem.