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We say our goodbyes, and I enter the gym where my trainer, Ryan, is tapping his watch. He’s an intimidating man, even for me.
“Sorry, Cavanaugh and Rice called me.”
He doesn’t bother acknowledging my excuse for being late. “Start with the sled pushes as a warm-up,” he says and walks away with his protein shake to sit in the chair and watch me.
I’m there for three hours, then head back to Adeline’s to shower. I go over to the paint store after that. With the help of the guy who works there, I grab three buttery yellows. Back at her house, I put paint samples on the wall of her second bedroom.
Where is she going to put everything in here? I look over the small space that will fit a baby, but what about when the child gets older? I try to be optimistic—she’s told me how much she loves this house and that she and her dad did most of the renovations—but there’s no room for her to grow here.
I remind myself it’s none of my business. We’re not a couple, and the decision isn’t mine. I know Adeline will be an excellent mother, and she doesn’t need all the space I had growing up in order to do that.
While I have the time, I decide to try my hand at the stroller again and the pack-n-play, each one having caused me grief over the past few weeks. They make the damn things so complicated.
I arrive at the middle school at four o’clock and walk into the gym. The girls are warming up, and I scan the area. Adeline is huddled with some teachers in one corner of the gym. She gives me the one-minute finger, and I find a seat high in the bleachers so no one can sneak a picture of me without me seeing them.
That douche Henry is at her side, smiling as he tells her something. Her head falls back in laughter, and my chest gets tight. I want to head over there and tell him to take his hand off her forearm, that I’m the one who makes her laugh. That I’ll be taking her home tonight.
Shit, what is wrong with me? Unfortunately, I can pinpoint the last time I felt something like this. It’s been years, probably since Greta, but I can’t deny it—I’m fucking jealous.
No wonder I’ve avoided caring about someone for so long. This feeling sucks balls.
Chapter12
Adeline
“This baby is never coming out, I swear.” I’m in the teachers’ lounge, staring at my enormous belly.
“You’ll just have to sleep with him,” Sami says. “Doctors say it’s a method to spur on labor.”
“I’m not sleeping with him.” I look around, thankful we’re the only ones in here so far.
“Come on, he’s been living with you for weeks. Have you had one of those ‘just out of the shower’ moments where you watch the water drip down his body and all you can think of is how you want to lick it off of him?”
“Jeez, Sami, go get laid,” Isla says.
Sami ignores Isla’s biting comment. “No close calls? Almost kisses or intimate touches? A little tango in the doorway?”
I laugh at Sami. She’s a lover of romance, like me. “He moved in to be nice because of the press. But as attractive as he is, I don’t want a guy to love me because I’m having his baby by accident.”
Isla rolls her eyes. “She still believes in fairy tales.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” I frown across the table at her.
“Nothing.” Sami pats my arm. “Nothing at all. You wait for that fairy tale, but in the meantime, screw your baby daddy to start labor. There’s no harm, and you can’t get pregnant again. Win-win.” She sips her iced coffee, grinning at me.
“Ugh.” I lower my chin to my chest. “My forehead can’t even fall to the table because of my belly, and you want me to sleep with him,” I whine. “I’d prefer he remember sleeping with the thin version of me, not the one with a swollen belly and stretch marks.”
“Definitely not a good plan. Have you ever thought about sleeping with Henry? He’s into you.”
I stare open-mouthed at Isla, then Sami. “She’s kidding, right?”
“He’d be gentle and sweet, and he’s always liked you. I bet he’d even take care of you after the baby’s born, and boy wonder takes off to chase pussy.”
“Isla!” Sami yelps. “He’s done nothing for you to judge him like that.”
Isla rolls her eyes. “Can I remind you that you never slept with the real Damon Siska? You slept with someone who pretended to be him.” She shakes her head, leaning back in her chair, drinking her coffee. “You protect him like you have a connection to him.”
“I’m not protecting him because I feel like I slept with him. Jeez, Isla, you’re a real joy-killer. I’m protecting him because he’s here. He’s living with Adeline, painting the baby’s room, making dinners, driving her to and from work. He’s doing everything a boyfriend would do.”
