Page 74 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

I’m coming, Lucy.

I pull off my shirt, ready to shift, when someone screams behind me. I jump in shock, turning around so quickly, I almost fall down.

“What the fuck?” I yell.

“What the fuck?” Jen yells right back. “What the hell are you doing, boy?”

“I’m going to see Lucy, so I can explain.”

“You’re going like that?”

I glance down at my tattered pants and bare feet.

“Well, I’ll be naked when I get there. It’s a long run, and I—”

“Jesus, child,” she grumbles. “What am I going to do with you? Get back in here right now and let me help.”

“Help?” I echo, then shake my head. “Why?”

She grabs my arm and drags me back to the hall. When Fiona and Rider hear about the situation, they both turn different shades of white.

“Let me lend you some clothes,” my brother says. “And take my truck.”

“You’re not going to make me wear those tight pants, are you?” I ask warily.

“It will pay off,” Fiona says firmly. “Trust me.”

“If you say so,” I agree reluctantly.

Half an hour later, I’m in my brother’s truck, heading towards Silver Meadows in a pair of stupidly tight dress slacks and a fitted shirt. On the seat next to me, I’ve got a basket of fresh fruit, a box of artisan chocolates, and a bunch of roses from Fiona’s garden.

I feel fucking ridiculous. This better work!

The roads are perfectly clear now, and the drive doesn’t take that long. When I park in front of Lucy’s house, I feel like I’m in a strange, unfamiliar world, not pulling up to a place I actually lived in for a couple of weeks.

Okay, tough guy. You’re here. Now what?

My heart is hammering, and my mouth is bone-dry as I walk up the path towards the door. I’m desperate to see her, but at the same time, I’m terrified to talk to her.

Standing in front of the door, I take a few deep breaths, then knock firmly before I can change my mind.

It takes a few minutes for Lucy to come to the door, just enough time for me to suffer a complete lapse of confidence but not enough time for me to bolt. I hear her footsteps, and when she finally opens the door, I’m frozen in place with my mind blank and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

For what feels like a full minute, we just stare at each other. Lucy’s hair is tousled around her face. She’s wearing rumpled pajamas, as if she just woke up.

“Peter,” she whispers.

“Lucy,” I say, hearing my voice come out as an awkward squeak. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No, that’s okay.” She eyes my gifts and looks me up and down.

“I brought you something,” I say, holding out the basket. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Her eyes widen, and she takes a step towards me.

“I’m sorry for running off the other day. It just happened so suddenly, I didn’t know how to react. I want to talk to you about everything… about us.”

“Us?” she echoes. The way she repeats everything I say gives me the unnerving feeling she’s not fully awake, that she might be dismissing this encounter as a very vivid dream.

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