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Carter shakes his head, his eyes glistening with overwhelming happiness as his hands come back to my waist. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering there as though he’s been craving it just as much as I have. “Let me take you to dinner.”
My brows furrow and I look back up at him, trying to figure out his angle. “No.”
“Brianna,” he says more firmly. “Let me take you to dinner.”
“Absolutely not. I know I’m not exactly your favorite person after keeping this pregnancy from you, but that doesn’t mean I owe you my time.”
“Let me try this again,” he says, taking his time as he crowds me, walking into me and forcing me to back up until my spine is pressed against the wall and he hovers over me, making my breath catch in my throat as my hands fall to his chest. “Go get your stubborn ass dressed, Brianna. I’m taking you to dinner whether you fucking like it or not.”
I swallow hard, so unbelievably affected by this man. I start melting into him, needing him to hold me, needing him to love me so damn fiercely he could never let go. “Fine,” I finally whisper, needing him to back up before I cross a line I won’t be able to save myself from. “But only because I’m hungry and too tired to cook.”
“Noted,” he says with a triumphant grin, stepping back and allowing me space to breathe.
I hastily slip around him and hurry down my hallway, peeking back over my shoulder only to see his hungry gaze still locked on me. “Jackass,” I grumble before disappearing into my bedroom.
I throw on some clothes, not even caring if I look good, too irritated by this whole situation, but what am I supposed to do? He’s right, these children are his, and I would never keep them from him. Since the second I fell pregnant, our lives became intertwined. Getting along with Carter Waters is just something I’m going to have to learn how to do . . . preferably without throwing myself at him in the process.
Running my fingers through my hair and trying to control the mess, I hear my phone buzz on the bedside table and make my way across my room, scooping it up to find a text from Cass.
Cassie – Is everything okay?
I scoff as I start typing out a quick reply.
Bri – Your brother is an ass.
Cassie – Yeah . . . he is. Love you xx.
Grabbing my purse, I make my way back up the hall and stop by the kitchen to scoop my keys off the counter, then without sparing him a single glance, I storm to the door while sensing him following behind.
After locking up behind me, we make our way out of my apartment complex, and I feel his stare on me the whole way out to his truck. Being the gentleman he is, he opens my door for me, and I bypass his hand as I try to get up into his truck on my own. “Come on, babe,” he says, watching me struggle. “Let me help you.”
I ignore him like the child I am and struggle to hoist myself up, a firm believer that pregnancy isn’t a handicap. “This is so fucking wrong,” Carter mutters, watching the show.
He thankfully keeps his hands to himself, and the second I’m settled in his truck, he closes the door and makes his way around to the driver’s side. The truck smells just like him, and I want nothing more than to burst into tears, too overwhelmed by everything that’s going on. Why am I doing this? I should have kicked him out.
Carter gets in, and just as he goes to start the engine, my eyes widen, and a gasp sails between my lips. “What now?” he mutters.
“You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be driving.”
“I’m not drunk,” he argues. “I haven’t had a single drink. I’ve been pacing my fucking living room all afternoon trying to give you space.”
I scoff. “Wow, let’s hope our children don’t have your lack of self-control.”
Carter rolls his eyes, and after taking a calming breath, he starts up the truck and pulls out onto the road. “What do you feel like?” he asks, referring to dinner.
I shrug my shoulders and he groans, knowing this routine a little too well. We drive in silence, and as he flies through the beautiful Denver city, my gaze falls to his hand on the gear shift. I want to reach out and hold it like I used to. In fact, I want to throw myself across the console and ride him like a fucking cowgirl, but that seems a little inappropriate. What can I say? This pregnancy has me horny as fuck.
He finally pulls into one of the many restaurants he knows I like, and I can’t keep the snide comment from flying out. “Are you sure this is where you want to eat?” I question. “We wouldn’t want to get right to the door only for you to change your mind. I know how you struggle with such big commitments.”
