Page 68 of Broken Bonds

“Then I’ll follow you there. Be careful,” he tells me, buckling my seat belt for me when I’m comfortable.

He freezes when it clicks into place, like he hadn’t meant to buckle my seatbelt. His hand brushes against my belly as he pulls back, and I can see the blush creeping up his neck again. It makes my lips creep up in another smile.

A baby kicks his hand, and he jerks back, clearing his throat when he stands up straight and backs away from my open door.

“One of ‘em kicked me.”

“Yep.” I laugh and he rolls his eyes playfully before shutting my door and walking over to his truck.

Once he’s in, I pull out and wait as he follows close behind me, my heart beating just a little bit faster the entire way home.

ChapterNineteen

RAMSEY

Thanks to Fordegetting stuck at a stoplight, I manage to make it back to the house a few minutes before him. As soon as I open the door, my eyes are immediately drawn to the mess of dirty clothes that fill the living room and hallway. Acting quickly, I kick most of the items out of my path and into one of the hallway closets.

Listen, there are three humans growing inside of me. Bending over repeatedly is not in the cards for me today. Shoved in a closet to be dealt with at an undetermined later date is obviously the only answer.

When I make sure there is nothing else that needs to be taken care of, I adjust the pillows on the couch and turn the projector on. Since Jillian and I never took down the projector after our movie night, I’ve been taking advantage of it by watching TV when I’m in the mood. It’s like having my own personal movie theater.

Seeing the headlights of his truck gleaming through the windows, I quickly change into something that’s more comfortable and throw some popcorn in the microwave to pop. The oversized AOA t-shirt I’m wearing belonged to Van and is so long it reaches my knees, totally covering the shorts I’m wearing. It’s been worn so much that it’s nearly threadbare, but it’s comfortable and it’s soft from all the wear. It’s one of my favorite sleep shirts.

I pad barefoot to the front door when Forde knocks, hearing the microwave go off just as I open the door. Forde’s expression brightens when he sees me and he grins. Gazing at me from head to toe, his eyes stop when they reach my glittery toes, prompting a light chuckle from him.

They’re a glittery neon green because I’d asked Jillian to paint my toes for me during our fun night. She’s such a shit because she painted them the brightest, gaudiest color she could find because she knew I couldn’t do anything about it. I can’t even reach my feet anymore.

I huff and perch my hands on my hips. “Not a word, Alpha. Now come in, you’re letting all my warm air out.”

He chuckles at me and shakes his head in amusement.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I step aside to make room for him to pass, but he still manages to brush against my belly as he squeezes past me. My eyes close as a warmth takes root at the core of my being, and I attempt to shake off the tingles left in his wake. I close the door behind him and watch as he heads into the living room to get comfortable on the couch while I step into the kitchen to get the popcorn and a couple bottles of water.

With all my things in hand, I carefully place them on the coffee table before taking my seat at the other end of the couch, with my legs tucked beneath me. Forde leans forward and grabs a water, setting it on the side table on his side of the couch.

“Do you want to pick the movie or me?” I ask him with a raised brow.

“That depends… What will you pick?”

“How about a comedy?”

“I can handle a comedy,” he confirms.

After browsing through a few possibilities, I eventually settle onThe Hangover.Everybody likes that one, right?

Once it’s playing, I get comfortable, moving pillows around behind my back and hips, the areas that ache the most. Then I pull the throw blanket off the back and snuggle down, my legs still curled up close even though it’s uncomfortable.

When the movie begins, I suddenly become acutely aware of Forde for some inexplicable reason. Every breath he takes. The slightest movement.

It’s distracting.

As I continue to sit curled up, my knees and back start to hurt more and more, and I shift around ever so lightly so I don’t alert Forde but also to provide myself with some relief. Which I do not do well, because about twenty minutes into the movie, he reaches over, slips his hand under my blanket, and forces my legs to stretch out. All the while never taking his eyes off the movie.

I yelp and then groan when he digs his thumbs gently into my calves. It feels heavenly and I sink deeper into the couch, my body relaxing the more he kneads into my sore muscles. I choose not to acknowledge the smirk he’s wearing, instead choosing to ignore it because I don’t want him to stop.

We watch the movie together, me accepting popcorn when he passes it to me. Mostly, I enjoy the company and the wonderful leg massage. When his hands move down to my swollen feet, Iwhimper.

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