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I scoff. “My womb in return for what?”
“As you know, by fulfilling the terms, I gain access to not only my Mimi Jean’s house but also a monetary inheritance.”
“Good for you,” I deadpan.
“Consider it yours.”
I balk. “What?”
“The inheritance. It’s in a few different accounts. I’ll add your name to the account, making it as much yours as mine. You can spend every cent on helping your family.”
Jesus. It almost seems too good to be true. When I hesitate still, he tacks on, “And Colton will represent your dad, gratis.”
Again, I ask, “What?”
West nods, picking up steam. “Yeah. Yes. Just have my baby, and your financial worries will be over. And it’s not a handout,” he adds emphatically. “Win-win.”
It takes me a minute to find words. Because what he’s offering is insane. Then again, I was willing to do porn and was working in a topless steakhouse, so how is this any worse? Other than the fact that a child is a lifetime commitment. And an actual person with actual needs and not something to drag into the hot mess of my life.
“Listen, I appreciate your willingness to help me. And I want to help you, too. But being a single mom at twenty-two doesn’t exactly sound like my idea of a good time. Plus, you’re my best friend, West—well, one of—and my roommate, and I don’t want to ruin either of those relationships by muddying the waters. The very last thing I want for us is to be at one another’s throats because I’m stuck at home with our kid, resenting the very air you breathe, while you’re out with your latest flavor, living it up.”
“It won’t be like that, Stacia. I swear it.”
“How?” I ask him. “How can you make such a bold promise?”
“Because I fucking love you!” he growls before clamping his lips together. West’s eyes are wide with panic, and his breathing is erratic. From the looks of it, his shouted admission surprised him just as much as it did me.
“You love me? What—as a friend?”
He opens his mouth and closes it. Then again, like a fish on dry land.
“West.” I whisper his name, and his eyes fly to mine, as if tugged by a string. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
He shifts closer to me, bringing us toe-to-toe. Cupping my cheeks with his hands, he peers down at me, his blue eyes brimming with emotion. “I mean it,” he murmurs. “I didn’t realize it until here and now, but I fucking mean it. And even if you don’t agree to having a baby with me, I’ll still spend my days showing you exactly how I feel.”
I try to shake my head, but his hands on my face prohibit the movement. Everything about him screams that he’s telling the truth, but at the same time, does believing him make me gullible? Am I so desperate for an easy out that I’m willing to believe that he loves me?
My lips part, but no words come out. His confession seems to have robbed me of my ability to speak. “West.” I say his name again, as no other words will form on my tongue.
He shushes me. “You don’t have to answer me tonight. Sleep on it; we can talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then,” I reply softly. It’s not even half-past nine, but I feel like I could sleep for days. I’m emotionally exhausted.
West leans down and presses his lips to my forehead in a lingering kiss before we both retreat to our respective bedrooms for the night.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stacia
For as bone tired as I was last night, sleep sure didn’t come easy. I tossed and turned, with the events of last night and dreams of motherhood spinning like a hamster on a wheel.
It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. Objectively, I know if this were happening in a book or on a show, I’d be shouting for homegirl to have his baby and to let him love her right. But…this isn’t either of those things. It’s my life. My very real life, where my family—and apparently my heart—are on the line.
The question, at this point, comes down to whether I am even remotely ready to be a mother. Would I be a good mom?
West says he loves me, but I’ve never been in love. Liar, a small dark part of my brain shouts, but I ignore it.
Seriously, is it normal to be twenty-two and to have never loved anyone outside of family and platonic friends? Am I even capable of maternal affection or is that part of me broken?
Frustrated and overwhelmed, I pull the pillow from the other side of the bed over my face and scream into it.
“Rough morning?” West asks, humor tinging his voice as it penetrates my pillow sanctuary.
“Ugh!” I groan, pressing the down-filled cushion harder onto my face.
West chuckles, and the deep timbre zips straight to my clit. The bed dips, and he rips the pillow away and tosses it to the floor. “Brought you something,” he says as the scent of fresh espresso fills my nostrils.
