Page 42 of Breeding Clinic

Right?

I’m practically a saint

And Gabriel says it’s basically doctor’s orders

Gotta keep that uterus happy with daddy’s pheromones

It’s carrying precious cargo

And I love when you say my name as you come

Even more when you scream it

I have a surprise for you too

What is it?

You’ll have to wait to see it

I’ll come by after I get some work done

See you soon

See you soon kitten

Don’t keep daddy waiting too long

It’s hard to focus on my work, but I make myself go through my ARC reader’s feedback. I fix typos they’ve found and make mental notes of what they liked, what they didn’t, and what needs to be adjusted. A few hours later, I set the edited manuscript aside for formatting later.

Standing, I stretch my stiff body, then play with Waffles a bit. “Sorry I’ve been gone so much.” He meows and flips his belly into the sunbeam, blinking lazy eyes at me. It’s too hard to resist the temptation. I pet his fluffy belly until he gets annoyed. Then I scatter some treats around the house for him to find while I’m gone and grab my stuff.

The pub is packed for a Thursday night. I see why once Istep inside. There’s a sports game playing on half the TVs mounted around the room.

Liam sees me almost instantly, his face splitting into a big smile. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of him looking at me that way. He’s wiping a beer glass dry. The moment he gets a full look at me, he nearly drops the glass. Fumbling, he catches it before it can shatter on the floor.

I dug a fitted pink dress out of my closet today because it’s tight. It shows off how big my breasts have gotten and the definite roundness of my belly that now looks like something more than bloat. I’m finally showing.

“Move over to a booth, Sal,” he says to an old regular.

“What for?” Sal protests. “I haven’t finished my pretzels.”

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to stand for pregnant women? Here. Take a beer on the house and your pretzels with you. You can watch the game over there.” He pulls a beer and sets it in front of Sal.

“Hmm?” Sal seems more interested in moving now that he has an incentive. He slides off his stool and gives me a onceover. “Oh. Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing? If I were forty years younger…” He smiles wistfully, then takes his beer and pretzels and shuffles off.

I take Sal’s seat and wait for my ginger ale. It’s become our tradition. This time he puts a little cherry syrup and some bright red cherries in it to spice it up.

“Well, my surprise doesn’t seem nearly as cool now,” he says, setting the drink down on a napkin in front of me. He leans on the bar.

I grin and accept the drink. “I don’t know… It sounds really good. I’m starving now no matter how much I eat.”

“That’s good. Means things are going right.” He taps an order into the screen, then gets pulled away by a group of college guys. I think it’s a little crazy that the pub’s owner isacting like a bartender. But he said he misses it and that tending bar was always his favorite job. So he does a few hours here and there and fills in when someone’s out sick.

I watch him work while sipping on my cherry ginger ale. He chats with regulars, clears off dirty glasses, and pours fresh drinks. He’s right. It’s mostly a beer and food place. They have more kegs on tap than bottles of liquor. Although no Irish pub is complete without a proper selection of whiskey.

One of the waitresses brings out my food from the kitchen. “Hey, Amanda.”

“Hey, Kat. Oh my God! You’re finally showing.”

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