Page 20 of Teasing a King

Mya waves a hand. “I’ll just meet you there,” she says. “Just text me the name of the restaurant.”

“Okay,” I say, watching with amusement as she glances up and down the hallway, trying to remember which direction to turn for the front door.

“Left,” I say.

She gives me a quick smile, not meeting my gaze. “Thanks,” she says, turning left.

“Mya?” I call out as she reaches for the doorknob. “There’s just one more thing.”

She turns back to face me. “What’s that?”

My mouth twitches into a half-smile. “I don’t have your number.”

Mya’s cheeks redden and her mouth opens. “Oh,” she says, shaking her head. “Right.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it before handing it to her. She takes it from me, careful not to let our fingers touch. Her fingers speed over the screen as she types in the number. I hear her phone ringing in her purse before she ends the call and holds my phone back out to me.

“There,” she says with a smile.

I reach out to take my phone back from her, making sure my fingers brush hers as I do. Do I imagine that little shiver? Or did the faint touch of my fingers on hers cause such a reaction? Before I can think more about it, Mya has the front door open.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” she says brightly. “Thanks for the tour.”

She rushes from the house like it’s on fire and makes her way to her car in no time. I don’t know why she was suddenly in such a hurry to leave, but it’s clear she couldn’t wait to get out of my house. Out of my presence? I play back our interaction in my head, trying to understand what had brought about the change, but I can’t figure it out. I shrug it off and try to figure out what I’m going to wear for our dinner tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

Mya

I spend the next day making the list I’d suggested to Van. In the end, it’s easier to make than I’d expected. When I think about what’s most important, it all comes down to the baby. I want what’s best for my child, even if that might not be what’s best for myself. Living with Van and giving our baby a chance at a semi-normal family is the best possible scenario. I ignore the little voice in my head that says the best possible scenario would be Van declaring his undying love for me and fucking me brainless every night for all eternity. While being excellent parents to our child, of course. But that’s not in the cards. Van and I had our fun, but now it’s time to face reality. The sooner my traitorous lady parts realize it, the better for everyone involved.

I remember the spike of excitement I’d felt when he’d asked me to dinner. It had been a millisecond of weakness, but I’d felt it. I’d wanted that invitation to be real. A real date with Van. Instead of a meeting to discuss parenting. It’s why I’d rushed out of his house so quickly. I didn’t want him to see the need I felt. If I’d stayed longer, I was in real danger of kissing him. That would have been a disaster.

I tell myself this is how it should be. We’re parents, or we will be soon. We need to start thinking of our child first and ourselves second. If I can’t be the kind of parent who puts her child first, I have no business raising a child, right? Hadn’t I seen enough of that already with my own shitty upbringing? I won’t do that to my own kid. I can’t. So, no matter how kissable Van’s lips are, I will keep things platonic. Which is rule number two on my list of dealbreakers.

The baby comes first.

Friends and parents only. No sex.

Open communication

I study the list and scratch out the line about sex, changing it to “Platonic relationship only”. I’m sure Van will understand my reasoning. Right? Of course, he will. He wants this to work as much as I do. I add another item to the list, then sit back, considering it. I don’t think any of these are things Van will argue about. But I want to have them spelled out now, so there’s no confusion. At least that’s what I tell myself as I pull out a new sheet of paper and rewrite the list.

By the time I drive to meet Van at the restaurant he chose, I’m full of nerves again. I hate feeling this way. I don’t understand why he has this effect on me. It’s not like he’s a stranger. And this isn’t a real date. There’s no reason for me to feel so nervous. I find myself wondering if I’ll always be nervous around him. I sure as hell hope not, since I’m soon to be living in his house.

I never used to be this way, even around guys I was dating. Especially around guys I was dating. I’ve always been confident, bold, outgoing. I’ve always been able to take charge of a situation and steer it to my advantage. It’s what I’d done the night Van and I had hooked up. So, why haven’t I been able to do it in our meetings since?

I try to tell myself it’s pregnancy hormones. Ever since I got pregnant, I haven’t felt like myself. I’m certainly more emotional. I could do without the random crying spells, thanks. I hope those are behind me. But then I remember that just this morning, I’d gotten teary-eyed over a cereal commercial. What the hell is wrong with me? I tell myself that my nerves have nothing to do with Van’s sex appeal and everything to do with my hormones. It sounds weak even inside my own head. I push it aside and bring my mind back to the task at hand and this evening’s dinner.

I make a vow to be confident and take control of the meeting. I’ll lay out my terms and Van will have no choice but to agree. That will be that. Simple. I take a deep breath and blow it out, giving myself one last look in the rear-view mirror before climbing out of the car and walking toward the restaurant.

As I make my way to the host’s stand, I catch sight of a pair of broad shoulders encased in midnight blue. I know before he turns around that it’s Van. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he carries himself, that I think I could pick out of a crowd from half a mile away. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I decide to ignore it like I do all the other uncomfortable thoughts swirling around my head. Van turns then, making my stomach flip and I suck in a breath. He catches sight of me, and I watch his blue eyes roam over me from head to toe before coming back to meet my gaze. Am I imagining the flare of heat there? It doesn’t matter, because we’re just friends. That’s all we can be. I answer his smile with one of my own, careful to hide any sign of the attraction I feel.

The hostess gestures for us to follow her and Van motions for me to go first. I’m glad for the opportunity to compose myself. I need to stay strong where Van is concerned. Not that he’s given any indication that he’s interested in me romantically since I came back to Oak Hill. I’m just afraid that if he did, I wouldn’t be able to say no. The trouble is, I already know how amazing sex with him can be. Been there, done that. Got the positive pregnancy test to prove it. Which is why I need to spell this out to him in no uncertain terms, no matter how awkward the conversation might be. There can be nothing sexual between us. I can do this. Piece of cake.

The hostess seats us at a small table in the corner. Low lights cast a pleasant glow over the dining room, and I can smell the mouth-watering aroma of garlic, basil and rosemary. Van waits until I take my seat to sit in the chair across from me, smiling his thanks at the hostess as she walks away. The table is small and intimate, making it seem like we have more privacy than we do in the crowded restaurant.

“You look great,” Van says, smiling at me.

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