Page 8 of Knocked Up

She hums under her breath. “We just talked about weirdos last night. Most of them don’t tell you they collect teeth.It’s a secret.”

I laugh as I stir the sauce in a pot on the stove. “You’re ridiculous. Cyrus does not collect teeth, and tonight is just about sex.” I grin as I say, “I mean, paint. It’s about paint.”

“Oh my God…Grace!”

“Anyway,” I lay out with sarcasm, “why are you obsessing about me? Don’t you have a date tonight?”

She sighs with dubious judgment. “We’re FaceTiming at dinner and playing a trivia game together. It’s got all these questions that are supposed to help us to get to know each other.”

“You sound nervous.”

“Not nervous.” She sighs. “Maybe this long-distance stuff is a bad idea. I mean, I like meeting people from different places, but I miss the date nights where he brings you flowers, and you can touch.”

“Well,” I rub my hand over my stomach as the baby kicks, “I tried a touching date night and look what happened to me.”

Zoe laughs. “Is tonight a date? I mean, in your head?”

“No. It’s a painting thing. I told you that.” I pop the plates of pasta into the oven to keep them warm as I talk.

“I’ve never made apainterdinner before,” Zoe says, adding some sarcastic garnish on top of her already annoying sentence.

“Neither have I, so I picked dinner up from the diner. Like I said, if this painting thing comes with a side of cock, I won’t push it off my plate.”

Her tone is somber as she says, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You’ve already got so much drama with Jason, and you get attached easily.”

The door knocks. “I’ll be okay, Zoe, and so will you. Call me later. I want to hear all about your date.”

“Love you.Be good, please!”

“We’ll see. Love you.” I disconnect the line and check my reflection in the microwave. Ugh, I look like shit. My hair is a series of fly-aways and there’s already sweat dripping from my forehead. I need to install some kind of air conditioner in here before the baby comes or we’re both going to cook this summer. I think babies are supposed to always be at the perfect temperature, or maybe that’s puppies. I should look it up.

“Hey,” I say, my voice lifting as I open the door to greet Cyrus. He looks fantastic. I mean, he’s wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black cap with the symbol for Rugged Mountain Ink on the front. It’s nothing fancy, but it shows off the dark ink that streaks up his bulging biceps and the gray in his beard. He’s hot as hell, and I need to get a grip.

Yesterday I swore off men for the next eighteen years. It’s literally been less than twenty-four hours. I can’t un-swear them already.

He strokes his hand down over his beard, handing me a pastry box from the bakery in town. “I thought you and that boy of yours would like some cake. It’s a sampler box. I wasn’t sure which flavor you liked best.”

“My favorite flavor is all of them, so you did well. Thank you.” I lean forward for a hug, unsure if it’s an appropriate move, given that he’s here to help with work. “Thank you.”

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I’m still tipped onto my toes with my arms around him. I’m still breathing him in, our bodies still intertwined.

Dear God, I need to let go.

Unwillingly, I release the hug and avoid eye contact. I shouldn’t have held the hug so long.

“Smells good in here.” He kicks his boots off by the door, and still, he dwarfs the small cabin. Hell, he dwarfs everything around him. The chairs at the table, my couch, the kitchen, me…and it’s not easy to dwarf me at the moment.I’ve always been curvy, but right now, I’m extra, extra curvy.

“Thanks.” I settle the food on the kitchen counter and stare up at him, clit throbbing, desperation seeping from every pore in my body. My heart slams against my chest, my thighs ache, and though I know I should settle at the table and relax, my body decides on some kind of frantic pre-dinner lunatic approach. “You’re, ugh, you’re thirsty, right? I have water, milk, tea, and coffee. I think I have like half a ginger ale, and a few bottles of Dr. Pepper Zoe left here the other night. But if you’re looking for something else, I have root beer in my car. It might be flat, but it’s something. I mean, I could go to the store or maybe my neighbor has some—”

He grabs my arms and holds me in place, swiping a strand of hair from my vision. “Water sounds good. You okay?” I swear to God this man’s eyes are the most incredible eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re blue and green with flecks of yellow on the surface. “You’re talkin’ an awful lot about drinks.”

“Yeah.” I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead as I stare up at this much older man that I should most definitely not be attracted to.

There’s a pause. I paused! It’s me. I paused, and I stared, and now I’m looking away. Oh God, I’m looking down again! I’m staring up at him. My lips are parted. Why the hell are my lips parting? Could I look any more obvious?

“Sorry, ugh, I’m… sorry.” I blow out a breath as my clit swells and my panties soak.

This has to be the most embarrassing side effect of pregnancy ever. I’m not this girl. I don’t get super horny and desperate for men. Hell, the only dude I’ve ever been with is Jason and I never felt like this with him. Not once.

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