Page 77 of Not Ready

“Yes,” he says without batting an eye. “Also, your clothing arrived from the boutique. It should be in boxes and bags in the primary bedroom closet. What would you like me to do with your belongings from your apartment?”

My cheeks flush, remembering how he yanked out my drawer of sex toys. “I don’t know. Is there space somewhere out of the way?” I don’t want to clutter up his house.

“I can have them unload the boxes in the bedroom you started out in. Or we can have it placed in the main bedroom. It’s completely up to you. Although, either way, I’d like you to rest for a few days before diving into unpacking.”

“You’re very sweet, but up until a week ago, I was working two jobs—sixty hours a week and on my feet for thirty-five of those hours.” I smile, patting his thigh. “Sometimes forty. You’re spoiling me terribly.”

“Oh, love.” He chuckles, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. “We haven’t even gotten started on the pampering.” He licks my lips, turning even farther into me as I part my lips, so he can kiss me senseless. His bookish scent makes my nostrils flare as I try to get enough air to be able to continue the sensual kiss forever.

Who needs air?

Breathing is overrated in comparison to the way Mercy makes my heart thump. He slides a hand up my neck and into my hair at the base of my skull, giving it a little tug.

A shameless moan escapes my lips into the kiss. The curve of his smile against my mouth as he pulls back makes me grin at him in return.

The three of us eat together, but Mercy heads down to the command center after. I still don’t know if that’s what they really call it, or if he was being funny. Sometimes I can’t tell when he’s joking versus being serious.

He warned that he might be a bit late, but I’m bummed when I take a nap, wake up, and make it out of the shower to see he’s nowhere to be found.

There’s big stuff happening with their careers.

I can respect that.

I mean, I do.

My spoiled and overly needy impulses, not so much, but I do. He did say to call him if I needed him.

I really don’t.

Not for any reason, outside of loneliness, which isn’t a good enough reason to call someone away from work.

Holt is supposed to be around here somewhere, but I have no idea which room is his. My stomach aches as I waddle down the stairs. I’m pretty sure I turned thirty-five weeks pregnant today, but there’s been so much going on that I haven’t checked my pregnancy tracker.

Holt isn’t in the living room when I head through, nor is he in the kitchen. The closer I get to the pantry, the louder the sound of music is.

What the hell am I even doing?

Seeking him out is going to make me look ridiculous and possibly a little pathetic, considering how wishy-washy he’s been. Though, it’s not like I can fight my instincts as they pull me toward the gym. There’s no guarantee, but I’m pretty sure that’s where he’ll be.

If I don’t find someone in this giant, lonely house, I’m afraid I’ll do something selfish, like text Bishop to make sure he’s okay.

Now that I know more about his job, it makes sense why he’d be available to talk most nights, but then randomly, there would be a few days, always in a row, where I’d only get sporadic messages.

A smile crosses my face.

Even as busy as he was, he never went completely silent on me.

My hand falls to my stomach.

Bishop is the complete opposite of Aurora’s dad.

God, I still don’t like thinking about all that. On one hand, I do feel a little guilty that he’ll have a child he won’t know about. On the other hand, if he had left me some way to contact him, I would have told him.

Thinking about that whole debacle makes me feel so…not vulnerable, because I was a willing participant. Maybe I feel a little taken advantage of, even if it doesn’t make rational sense.

I’m not sure if that was his intention from the get-go, but it just seemed like he wanted more than a one-night stand.

Or maybe I misread everything because I desperately wanted it to be true.

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