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Maybe he was still drunk. Because that was the only way he could explain to himself why he wasn’t freaking the fuck out.
After they’d both come, Gianna had fallen facedown on the bed, exhausted after too many orgasms, and his cock had slipped out. He’d reached down to pull the condom off…and that was the moment when the bottom should have fallen out. Not only on the night but on his whole goddamn life. Because marriage and kids weren’t something he’d ever thought about. There hadn’t been time. He’d been too focused on hockey, the game, the records. He loved his career to the exclusion of everything else. So much so, he’d missed over a decade of family time, and he’d never given his heart to any woman because his was already spoken for, claimed by hockey when he was just a young boy.
Now there was a chance he’d gotten Gianna Duncan pregnant.
So why wasn’t his heart racing, his chest tight? Why wasn’t he panicking, swearing off sex forever, making deals with God to get him out of this?
None of that was happening. Not now, and not even last night when he’d calmly asked her about birth control, then talked her off the ledge.
Though, in hindsight, he didn’t think she’d been on any ledge because he hadn’t sensed a great deal of anxiety in Gianna either.
When he’d walked into the bathroom, he’d expected to find her sobbing, devastated, terrified, not standing calmly in front of the mirror. He’d gone in there ready to offer comfort, a shoulder to cry on.
Hell, he probably should have been shedding a few tears of his own.
Instead, they’d hugged, crawled back into bed, and then he’d pushed off the “what-if” conversation, proclaiming they could have it after they knew for sure.
Elio suspected that probably wasn’t the smartest decision. This was a big fucking deal, so they should definitely sit down and spend some serious time talking about it. He’d initially pushed it off because they’d still been under the effects of the tequila. He could broach the subject today.
But he wouldn’t.
Because what he’d thought last night, and what he was still thinking today, was so fucking foreign to him, he couldn’t make peace with it…
If she was pregnant, he wanted to marry her.
Wanted to marry a woman he barely knew after spending two nights stuck in a cabin with her.
Those words had been on the tip of his tongue when he’d hugged her in the bathroom, and they were the reason why he’d shut up so quick.
He’d figured sober Elio would come to his senses.
He hadn’t. Which meant he wasn’t talking about what happened last night until he’d gotten the hell back home and managed to get his head screwed back on straight.
Gianna stirred again, and he recognized the moment she woke up. She stiffened slightly in his arms, then, to his delight, she went soft once more. He gave her breast a squeeze to let her know he was awake too.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep as she turned over to face him.
He smiled, then moved forward, giving her a quick kiss. Her brow creased, with confusion or surprise. Had she expected him to stop touching her? Kissing her?
God, he hoped not.
“How’s your head?” he asked, wondering if she was hungover.
“Fine. I think we burned off most of the alcohol before we fell asleep. Nothing like orgasms and panic to sober a body up.”
Elio got hung up on the word panic.
“Are you panicking?” he asked.
She considered that, then shook her head. “No. Which is weird because I should be.”
“I feel the same way. Feeling the urge to clean the entire cabin?”
She gave him an adorable grin. “Nope. Not yet anyway. Ask me again after a cup of coffee.”
They lay there for a few minutes, neither in a hurry to get out of bed.
Gianna was the first to break the silence. “So, you’re going to have to explain the morning-after protocol for one-night stands. Does it involve breakfast? Awkward conversation?”
