Page 7 of Baby I'm Yours

“The pregnancy won’t be fake,” I remind her, needing to make that perfectly clear.

“No, just everything else about our relationship.” She stretches her legs out, and I definitely don’t notice how that dress rides up her thighs. Those thighs that felt so damned good wrapped around me while I rode her like it was the last, best thing either of us would ever do… “Have you considered a surrogate? There are women who do this kind of thing for a living, you know.”

“I prefer a more…personal touch.”

“Ah yes, nothing says ‘personal touch’ like asking a stranger who you ghosted months ago and haven’t spoken to since to have your baby.” She downs the rest of her drink with a gulp and holds out the glass. “I’m going to need a refill to finish this conversation.”

I get up to pour us both another round. “I would hardly call us strangers. If memory serves, we got to know each other pretty well during those three days in your apartment…”

“If memory serves? Oh, please. We spent more time coming than we did talking. And it was…phenomenal.”

I set the glasses on the bar cart and glance over my shoulder to find her nibbling her bottom lip in a way that makes me ache to do the same. She’s right. Itwasphenomenal, and I’m not the kind who uses that word lightly.

She sighs as she adds, “That’s probably something we should consider before we sign on the dotted line.”

“Consider in what way?” I ask, adding an extra dash of vermouth to her drink.

“With chemistry that intense…” She trails off as I cross the room, accepting her fresh martini before adding, “I just don’t want you to get confused by your rampaging hormones and fall madly in love with me. You’re an okay guy, I guess, but I’m notinterested in forever with you, Hunter. No hard feelings. You’re just not my personal ‘forever’ flavor.”

I smile, my first genuinely amused grin of the night. She’s as much of a smartass as I remember, a thing I find more attractive than I probably should. “Your thoughtfulness is touching.”

She grins, her eyes flashing. “Yeah? Are you touched? You look touched.”

“Deeply,” I deadpan. “If I’d had any doubts about the strength of your character, they would be thoroughly assuaged.”

“Assuaged.” She takes a sip of her drink, savoring it before she swallows. “Did I ever tell you that your big, fat vocabulary is sexy?”

“No, but thank you,” I say. “I once had a girlfriend tell me I sounded like a thesaurus.”

Elaina snorts. “Did she mean that as a compliment?”

“No, I’m pretty sure, it was the opposite. We were in the middle of an argument at the time. She also said that she suspected I was on the autism spectrum and would benefit from applied behavior analysis or cognitive behavioral therapy. But I explained to her that I was just a stone-cold asshole and gave her an hour to pack her things and get out of my apartment.”

Elaina makes a woofing sound beneath her breath. “Wow, thatwasan asshole move. And I agree with your assessment. All the people I know with autism arewaynicer than you. More in touch with their emotions, too.” She cocks her head. “But therapy isn’t a bad thing, you know. It might help you process whatever has you so spooked that you’re afraid to have any contact with this child you feel compelled to bring into the world.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say. “I’m realistic. At this point in my life, I’m well aware of my strengths and weaknesses. I’ve thought through this decision carefully and won’t be changing my mindabout the way in which I intend to move forward. All that remains to be decided is if you’re amenable to my terms.”

She hesitates a beat before setting her drink on the coffee table between us and extending her arm, fingers wiggling. “Fine. Contract. Let me look at it.”

I rise, fetching the paperwork from my briefcase on the entryway table before delivering it to her on the couch.

She takes it, but only squints at the top page for a beat before tossing the contract onto the cushion beside her.

I arch a brow.

“I don’t have my reading glasses,” she says, sticking her nose up in the air when I smirk at the confession. “And yes, I need reading glasses, but that’s not because I’m old before my time. I’ve always been far-sighted. I just haven’t had my eyes checked in forever, so I use reading glasses instead of a prescription.”

“Why haven’t you had them checked?”

She shrugs. “Vision isn’t covered by my health plan, and I always have something better to spend five hundred dollars on. Like my mortgage or cute dresses and vintage jewelry.”

“Or cats,” I say, with a curl of my upper lip.

She shakes her head, seemingly amused. “How can you hate cats? They’re literally the best thing ever. Especially Captain Crunchypants. He’s the sweetest little guy, and heloooovedyou.”

I fight a shudder at the reminder of her ancient gray tabby, the one with hip dysplasia that contorted his way across her apartment like something out of a horror movie. Hedidseem to have a “thing” for me. Every time I slipped into Elaina’s place through the back door, he instantly appeared, purring as he rubbed gray fur onto my black suit pants and rolled over to present his belly to be scratched.

“Which reminds me,” she says, motioning toward me with her drink. “If we go through with this, I’ll need you to agree tocover my mortgage on the cat café for a year, as well as salaries for a full-time baker and an extra person to work the counter. I don’t want to sell the café until I know things are moving forward with the baby. After all, we might not be able to get pregnant, and then I would have given up my safe place in the world for nothing. I can’t afford to do that. I’m the only one watching my back. In a worst-case scenario situation, I have to make sure I’m protected.”

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