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Not mine.
Ithought she was beautiful, pregnant or not. She was the other half of my soul, so how could she be anything else?
The answer was that she couldn’t.
I carried her down the hall, settled her into bed, tucking her massive body pillow around her before swishing the blankets over her, making certain she was comfortable as possible…considering she was that eight million months pregnant.
Then I went downstairs.
It was almost Christmas.
The team was on a break.
But as the GM—the general manager—of the Baltimore Breakers, it wasn’t easy to turn off my job. Not when we were full swing into the season. Not when there was more work to do. Not when the search for the Cup was never ending.
We’d won two under my tenure.
So, we were hungry.
We wanted another.
And then another and another and…another.
Names etched into a stack of silver rings, forming sports’ most preeminent trophy—at least, in my opinion.
Which was clearly the best.
But that wasn’t the point.
And I had work to do, games to watch from the other teams in the league who were still playing.
I was good at my job. I put in my time. I had a grasp of most of the players in the league because a GM could never be one hundred percent certain when a player might become available, or if they might need to be used for a multistep trade.
Having my finger on the pulse was only one part of my job.
I was a glorified HR manager, controlled the roster (with plenty of input from our coaching staff), got scouting reports, came up with a strategy for the team’s direction, and paid attention to the salary cap.
But I didn’t do all of that alone.
My team was great.
I couldn’t manage without them.
But that didn’t mean I could slack off.
I felt her before she touched my back, rounding my chair and curling up against me. “Did I fall asleep with Noah again?”
I wrapped my arm around her, drew her down into my lap sideways. “Like a rock.” A brush of my lips over hers. “Did I wake you when I got you to bed?”
Her head dropped to the side, settled on my shoulder. “No.” A beat. “My bladder did.”
“My poor baby,” I murmured, rubbing my hand up and down her side.
“Which one,” she said tartly. “The one in my belly, or your wife?”
I placed my palm on said belly.
She narrowed her eyes.
