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Good thing, because I didn’t know quite what to say.
So, I just didn’t say anything at all.
I swallowed a groan as my soon to be little girl tried to eject one of my ribs. I rubbed circles on the spot, careful to keep things under wraps beneath the bar. I just had to make a winning argument for getting hired—even if I’d be ready to pop in a matter of weeks.
If Mason Brooks would land somewhere for five minutes, dammit.
I couldn’t astound him with my quick wit and winning personality if he didn’t freaking talk to me for more than ten seconds. Even I wasn’t that good.
Speak of the devil.
Mason came through the sliding door to the outside patio. He was flushed with his wheat-colored hair sticking to his temples, showing off a bit of a red undertone where he’d been sweating. He turned back to talk to someone on the patio and I caught a smattering of freckles along the nape of his neck.
Okay, no looking at the boss’s freckles, girl.
I did not need to scope out the boss, even if he was a nice long, tall drink of water. I’d already gotten myself into enough trouble by sleeping with the head of the drama department, I certainly didn’t need to add boss of the small-town establishment I wanted to work for to my resume.
Then again, no one was looking to sleep with me right now.
My equipment was on the fritz anyway. Carrying around a basketball tended to take care of any and all sex drive I previously had. That and the random people who kept trying to touch me. As if a pregnant belly had magical properties or something.
Mason turned back around and we locked eyes for a moment and my deceased libido stirred fractionally.
And that was definitely a problem.
Not on my radar in any way.
No men.
Not now, and possibly not ever. Okay, ever was a stretch. I really did like men on the whole and I certainly liked sex, but abstinence for the next three years or so sounded about right. Perhaps then I’d have my body back and would have made peace with the stretch marks.
Possibly.
I shut my eyes against another twinge. This one not a kick, but a rippling fire up my spine.
Not now, Braxton Hicks. I do not have time for you.
The phantom labor pains had been plaguing me for over a month now and I was so very over it. The first time, I’d called my doctor from an Uber in a blind panic as I raced for the ER in Kensington Square. Seven months along was far too close for comfort, thanks.
Now I knew they were my new normal.
“Just your body getting ready for the baby, Emma!”
I could hear my chipper doc’s voice in my head. Well, physician’s assistant. Which was fine by me, I liked her better. Most of the time. Except when she put herToy StoryBarbie voice on. That often incited a murderous reflex that I had to squash.
I dug the tips of my fingers into the underside of the bar as another wave crept around my belly.
When I looked up, Mason was behind the bar staring at me with a worried face. “Are you all right?”
I smiled tightly. “Fine. Never better. Probably shouldn’t have had the fries without gravy,” I added weakly.
He laughed. “You should have our poutine. Even better.”
I groaned. “Don’t tease me.”
“I can get you an order to hold you over.”
I shook my head. The idea of food right now made me want to evacuate what was in my stomach right then. “No, but I know what to get next time. Hoping there’s a next time anyway. If the interview works out.”
