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There are worse things than getting knocked up by your best friend. Right?
Kiersten won’t make excuses for living her very best life. But being the life of the party has its downsides—like waking up naked next to her best friend.
Ever since Nathan’s wife died a few years ago, he’s avoided commitment. He went from living the family life to a one-and-done mentality. Until Kiersten breaks the news.
She’s pregnant with his baby.
She shoves him back in the friend zone. But there’s no return to normal when he’s already falling in love with her.
Convincing her that his affection runs deeper than their new reality isn’t an easy feat. Not when her lips are his addiction, and her touch is a brand. He’s determined to become more than friends.
Kiersten wants to play it safe, but Nathan is ready for risks. The problem is relationships can go south fast.
And they might learn the truth about what’s worse than getting knocked up by your best friend.
Losing them forever.
1
Kiersten
Hand me a fun-size bag of M&M’s and there wouldn’t be enough candies to count the number of one-night stands I’ve had in my life. Hell, make it two bags, and I’ll gladly eat the leftovers.
I won’t ever apologize for the woman I am. Thirty-seven isn’t one foot in the grave, and nearing forty while single isn’t a death sentence.
However, at this exact moment, I regret some of my rambunctious actions of the past twenty-four hours. I feel the need to seek penance from Our Holy Creator in exchange for a little reprieve from the throbbing in my head and the ache in my joints.
There’s plenty of truth in saying we get less limber as we age, and I knew a backbend while I rode cowgirl was a stupid idea, but the vodka screamed yes! and my vagina backed that bitch up with a hell, yeah!
I bent and warped and cracked.
Nearly crippled myself all in the name of rough, wild sex.
Reality smacks me in the face this morning. I’m no longer a twenty-year-old spring chicken, proven by the pain rocketing through my back, and dammit, does that make me sound like an arthritic grandmother.
Groaning quietly from a pillowy cocoon of black sheets I don’t recognize, I wait for the hazy film obscuring my vision to recede. Squinting against the harsh sunlight—who doesn’t own freaking bedroom curtains?—I scan my surroundings, stop, and do a double take on the set of fantastic toned buns peeking from beneath the top sheet. And I’m not talking about bread.
Who would have thought Nathan hid all that beneath his white button-down and navy medic pants? Certainly, not I. I’ve only witnessed brief glimpses of taut skin over abs and rounded biceps from time to time.
The aroma of him, woodsy and smoke, permeates the air around me from the sheets snug beneath my chin. He smells like fantasies and tequila-fueled bad decisions.
My fingertips curl around my neck as I prop myself up on my elbow. I ogle the man who screwed my brains out last night. His lats ripple along his back as he releases a stretch and turns his head toward me with a lazy grin on his face.
“Mornin’, stranger,” I grunt. My voice belongs to a sixty-year-old chain smoker, not a sexy thirtysomething. Now that it’s out in the open, I roll with it.
Nathan’s expression morphs into a puckered mouth and downturned brows as he regards me.
Ah, to hell with this awkward morning after.
“What’s the matter, Nate? Don’t I look as pretty this morning as I did last night?” The sheet slips from my fingertips to expose half of my chest. Whoops.
His gaze immediately follows the movement and locks onto the puckered nipple he had his mouth all over last night. A full-body shiver envelops me from all this unhindered attention, and the puckered little traitor tightens even more under his stare.
“You’re beautiful,” he declares, clearing his throat and removing my nipple from his eyeline by rolling to his back. His actions reveal he finds the ceiling prettier.
I hum noncommittally and extricate the rest of my nakedness from his gazillion sheets. Crawling lithely but, in reality, looking more like Gollum than a sexy tigress, I hover my bare torso over his with an intentional brush of my nipples against his chest. The light dusting of hair across his pecs deliciously grazes my skin.
“It was fun, lover
boy, but I have things to do today. Thanks for last night.” Bending down, I plant a hasty smack on his plump lips.
Nathan jackknifes, supporting his weight on an elbow. Before I can slink away, he snakes his other hand behind my neck and deepens my quick smooch goodbye. His tongue dips into my mouth slow with long strokes, much the same way it explored other places last night. He doesn’t release me until we’re both panting.
“What’s the rush?” he murmurs, gaze flitting back down to my lips. Good lord, for a guy labeled as a “nice guy,” he sure knows what he’s doing. The need to fan the flush on my cheeks intensifies with his heated stare. I scramble from his body and stand on trembling legs beside his bed. My hangover kills in this position and begs me to return to horizontal stat.
“Uh…” My mind blanks of the many, many excuses I normally have stockpiled for situations such as this and locks onto the most logical one. “Because it’s called a one-night stand for a reason.” A sexy smile at the end softens the rejection even though I’m sure my lips resemble a dried pepper. “And I need food,” I tack on lamely.
“Kiersten.” My name stated firmly sends my stomach into a tizzy unrelated to the copious number of shots still sloshing around. “Get back in bed.”
God, shit. God.
When he says it all hot and commanding, ugh, everything below my belly button tightens as if being squeezed in a fist. I’m certain I make a face, and I’m definitely breathing deep. Contemplating his request is laughable. When have I really ever said no to sex with a hot, naked dude who isn’t a creep?
