Page 98 of A Little Secret

“I’d go to your doctor’s appointment even if what’s in your pants wasn’t on the table,” I counter. “You know that.”

“I do,” she agrees. “And that’s why I’m inviting you.”

I capture her mouth with another kiss, lost in the feel of her against me and the way her lips move with mine. This girl. This fucking girl.

When she pulls away and licks her bottom lip, I rasp, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Fin.”

Another warm smile spreads across her face. “Good. Now, are these your only dance moves? Or?—”

I spin her around, then pull her closer, dipping her over my arm. When her long, black hair nearly touches the floor, she laughs. “Whoa there, mister.”

“Sorry, but it sounded like a challenge.”

Twirling her around, her tinkling amusement mingles with the music until the moonlight filters in through the windows, and it’s like everything else with her.

Fucking perfect.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

FINLEY

My knee bounces as I sit on one of the red cushioned chairs. We’re late. Three minutes, to be exact. Maybe the doctor is going to reschedule? It isn’t unheard of. Although I would feel bad wasting Griffin’s time and all, but he’s a big boy, and it’s not like he was doing anything anyway, so it’ll be fine. Completely. Totally. Fine.

“You nervous?” Griffin asks.

Jumping at the sound, I twist my hands in my lap and glance at the receptionist’s desk. “I can’t decide.”

He smirks. “You can’t decide whether or not you’re nervous?”

“I mean, I’ve already heard the heartbeat,” I point out as the memory of my emergency room visit not so long ago rises to the surface. Man, it feels like a lifetime ago. I shake it off, adding, “So, it’s not like they’re going to tell me anything too crazy, right?” My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek. “Although, I did go down the rabbit hole a couple of days ago about everything that can go wrongduring a baby’s development, and it didn’t exactly give me any warm fuzzies, so...”

Griffin reaches for my hand in my lap and squeezes softly. “So that’s why you’re anxious.”

I shift toward him in my seat. “Am I so obvious?”

“The bouncing knee gave it away.” His grin softens. “You and the baby are going to be great, Fin. All the neurologist is going to do is make sure you and your brain and your baby are all in perfect condition. It’ll be fine.”

When his lips brush against my forehead, I hum, “Mm-hmm,” though I’m not entirely convinced. Not yet. And now that I’ve officially had some time to warm up to the idea of being a mom, the idea of losing the opportunity kind ofreallysucks.

“Finley?” a nurse calls. “Finley Taylor?” She must be new because I don’t recognize her. I know everyone at my neurologist’s office, thanks to my consistent visits since I was a baby. Dr. Reed and Dr. McDougal kind of split their duties as my primary neurologist thanks to moving in middle school, then winding up back here a few years later. Pretty sure both of them know me as well as my grandparents do, and that’s saying something. But the nurse? The nurse is new, and it feeds my anxiety. Short, curly silver-blonde hair. Baby blue scrubs. Probably my mom’s age. I’m sure she’s nice, but what if?—

Stop. Obsessing. Over. Nothing.

My legs wobble as I stand. Griffin joins me on my feet, keeping our fingers threaded together as we walk toward the nurse. She smiles, her eyes flitting over our hands, and she guides us to one of the rooms at the end of a long hallway. Doors line each side, and she stops at a scale, motioning for me to step onto it.

Once the numbers are recorded, she leads us to the lastroom, takes my vitals, and asks about any changes in medication and if I’ve had any other ER visits. Picking at my nails, I answer each and every question as the nurse makes notes in my file.

Satisfied, the nurse adds, “Dr. Reed will be right in.”

“Thanks.”

As she closes the door behind us, Griffin takes a seat on one of the vacant chairs and rubs his hands along his thighs, his eyes scanning the exam room with unrestrained interest.

I climb onto the large leather chair in the center of the room, cross my legs, and lean back on my hands. “Like what you see?”

“Just curious.”

“About what?” I prod.

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