Page 141 of Downpour

He gave me a sheepish smile in the reflection of the dressing room mirror. “A little nervous.” His eyes were soft. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

I slid onto his lap and laughed as I poured a little more oil into my hand to coat his chest. “Of course I’m okay with it.”

“Brooke—”

I rolled my eyes. “Remember that time we went out to Maren and I took my top off and rode that mechanical bull? You’re still clothed.” I glanced down at the snug pair of men’s briefs he had just put on. “Well, mostly clothed.”

His eyes dropped to my cleavage. “Trust me. I remember everything.”

The last six months had been filled with falling into a routine and figuring out our new lives together, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“How’re you feeling?” he whispered as he slid his hand up my shirt and rested it on my stomach.

I let out a shaky breath. “A little nervous about tonight.”

Two pink lines had caught us both by surprise a few weeks ago. After the initial shock had worn off, excitement and anticipation set in.

Ray was going to be the best dad.

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “They’re gonna be fucking ecstatic for us. Have you eaten?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes. I’ve eaten today and thrown it up.”

“You better watch your attitude, Sunnyside,” he teased. Ray tucked a curl behind my ear. “Want me to send Marty to get you something to snack on?”

“I’m good. I threw a granola bar in my bag before we left the house.”

Ray reached for his phone. “I’m gonna have him go get?—”

“Babe, I’m fine. Today’s about you.” I eyed the stuffed thing on the dressing room vanity. “Are you really supposed to shove that thing in your underwear?”

He laughed. “Yeah. It’s no big deal. I’ve done it before.”

My baby daddy—the underwear model.

Ray stole one more kiss before wheeling away from the mirrored vanity with me on his lap. “But I don’t think I’ll need it today.”

I laughed and slid off of him. “You better think some cold shower thoughts, or you’ll be flashing everyone when your dick gets hard and pops out of those underwear.”

“I can keep it under control,” he promised.

“Really? Because you did this.” I pointed at my stomach.

Ray backed me up against the vanity with his wheelchair and slowly lifted the hem of my shirt. “Yeah I did.” Pride and satisfaction filled his voice as he dotted butterfly kisses across my stomach.

A knock sounded at the door, startling us both.

“Mr. Griffith, Andre is ready for you on set,” an underpaid yet chipper lackey said from the other side of the door.

I grabbed the robe that was hanging on the coat hook.

“Thank you,” Ray called out as he put the robe on backward so he didn’t have to lift out of his wheelchair.

Like everyone, Ray had good days and bad days. He still went to physical therapy a few times a month, but had started doing most of his exercises at home. He had outfitted his truck with hand controls and drove himself around most of the time. Therapy, both physical and mental, had helped.

There were still days filled with storms of anger, but sunshine always followed.

I followed Ray onto the photoshoot set and politely elbowed the assistant out of the way when she reached for his robe.

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