Page 77 of Books and Hookups

“You’re usually the one sprinting out of here in the morning. This is the first morning for two weeks, since the day after your birthday, that I’ve had time to make you coffee before you ran off.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

I swallowed the bite of banana. “I told my boss, Mario, about the pregnancy on Friday. He didn’t take it well.” That was an understatement. He’d ranted about having to cover for me on short notice. And he had a point. I should have told him earlier, but I’d been afraid he’d find an excuse to fire me. I’d been careful with my book advance, and if I had to, I could live on that, assuming I could deliver the book on time. But it was more than a paycheck I was afraid to lose. It was the difference I made, the good I did in the world through my reporting, that I’d miss if I lost my job.

“Shit, Lucie, I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward to kiss my temple. “What can I do to help?”

I clutched at him. “Make me late for work?” I whispered in his ear.

He shivered. “I’d love to, but that sounds like it might hurt your relationship with your boss.”

“I don’t give a shit.” The baby kicked my side like she’d heard me lie. I sucked in a breath.

Danny leaned back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Your goddamned progeny just roundhouse-kicked me.”

“Yeah?” He stared at my belly through my shirt. Well, his shirt. I’d stolen it to sleep in.

“Want to feel?”

The look on his face was like Oprah had given him a new car. “Can I?”

I rucked up his shirt to expose my abdomen. Grabbing his hand, I held it to my side. A second later, she did it again.

His mouth dropped open. “That’s her?”

“That or there’s something seriously wrong in my large intestine,” I joked.

“That’s…that’s amazing.”

“Sometimes I forget there’s a baby in there, doing baby things, like stretching and sleeping and sucking her thumb. Then she reminds me by stomping on my bladder.”

He chuckled, then his expression went serious. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

I nodded, afraid I’d say something too vulnerable. Too encouraging.

On my birthday, he’d told me he loved me. He hadn’t meant it. He’d been caught up in the moment. And even though I was the one carrying the baby, I likely wasn’t the only one whose hormones were fucked up about it.

Even if he had meant it, I couldn’t let this develop into more. A dozen years from now, when I was in my fifties and in a menopausal rage and our kid was exactly the kind of bitchy, hormonal adolescent I’d been, he’d regret letting me trap him into a relationship during this pregnancy.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said. “Mind if I take my toast to go?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “The ace reporter’s got scandals to uncover and wrongs to right.”

God, I wished I were half the person he thought I was.

He set the tray aside and held out a hand. I pulled on the stretchy maternity pants I’d worn here last night and grabbed my tunic off the floor.

“It’s, um, it’s Monday,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be working late. Want a key so you can let yourself in tonight? You can make yourself at home and go to sleep here if you want. You did say you sleep better in my bed.”

I hated to saddle him with that responsibility. Knowing him, he’d think it was his job to be my body pillow, but I was too weak to resist.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” I said. “Promise you’ll wake me up when you get here?”

He put his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. “Promise.”

27

Something Needs Drilling

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