Page 59 of Rematch
“Text me your address?” she asked.
Preston picked up his phone and did so immediately. Chelsea’s eyes widened a bit. She knew the area where he lived. It was an upscale neighborhood on the waterfront.
“We’ll be there at one,” she promised.
“I can’t wait. Come on. I’ll walk you out.” Preston reached down, helping her out of the booth, a shiver of—God—desire snaking down her spine when he placed his hand on the small of her back. She hadn’t had sex since their one night together, and she hadn’t felt a drop of arousal since then. Granted, she’d been sick for three months—morning sickness was no joke—and then big as a whale during the final trimester. After Lennon’s birth, an exhaustion that went bone deep took over, more powerful than anything else.
Preston, with his simple, innocent touch, had reawakened the dragon, and she was suddenly salivating for more.
He walked her all the way to her car, the two of them standing next to it on the curb. She turned to face him, glancing up at her big, friendly giant just as he bent his head down to her.
She drew in a surprised, thrilled breath when he placed a soft kiss on her lips. It was slow and sweet and nowhere near enough. Chelsea was tempted to grab his shoulders, drag him back down, and show him how to do it properly, because that attraction she felt for Preston last year had only grown in the twelve months since. Grown until it was nearly as large as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters.
Fortunately, her brain kicked in just in the nick of time, and she pulled back, instantly sorry when she saw…disappointment?…flash in Preston’s eyes.
She shoved that regret aside because they were about to begin co-parenting their son. That had to take precedence over everything else, including her raging hormones. Things between them right now were nice and peaceful and friendly, and she had to make sure they stayed that way.
Chelsea hated that her mom’s negativity was worming its way in, planting poisonous seeds in her thoughts.
But how nice would Preston be if they gave in to the sparks that were clearly still there, and things went south? Would he fight her for Lennon? The word custody was powerful enough to cause her to take a big step back.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, hating how thin her voice sounded.
Preston frowned, studying her face, sensing the change in her. The man was too damn observant for her good.
“You’re welcome. Good night, Chelsea.”
“Good night, Preston.” She climbed into her car on unsteady legs, her stomach cramping as uncertainty and fear reared their ugly heads.
Until she and Preston were on steadier ground, she needed to keep her distance from him physically and emotionally. Which meant no more hand-holding and no more kissing and no more dreams of picking up where they’d left off last year.
Because it was her son’s future on the line.
Chapter Nine
Preston had just finished wiping down the kitchen counters, tossing the sponge into the sink, when he heard a knock on his door. He gave his condo—which had never been cleaner—one final glance before crossing the large open-design living room/kitchen/dining area to answer it.
He was more excited than a kid at Christmas.
Swinging the door wide, he quickly darted forward, grabbing one of the oversized bags Chelsea carried.
“Why didn’t you text me from the car?” he asked, taking a bouncy baby chair and second bag from her. “I would have helped you carry all of this up.”
Chelsea was lugging enough stuff he wondered if she was planning to move in, not that he’d complain about that. Once he’d relieved her of everything except Lennon, who was sound asleep in his carrier, he led her into his condo.
Her eyes widened when she saw the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Inner Harbor. “Wow. That’s some view.”
Preston placed the bags on the floor, then reached out for Lennon’s carrier, peering down at his son. He’d been less than worthless the past two days, every spare moment spent staring at the photos and rewatching the videos Chelsea had shared with him. She had sent more yesterday, while he was on the road, keeping him in the loop on Lennon’s past thirty-six hours. It had been awesome.
His teammates, once they’d overcome their shock, were happy for him. First, because he’d found Chelsea again, and secondly, because of Lennon. However, he couldn’t help but feel like some of the happiness they directed his way was premature. Because while he’d found Chelsea, he by no means had her back.
The other night at Pat’s Pub, he’d considered asking her about the man on the street countless times, but something had stopped him.
No. Not just something.
Fear.
He was afraid of finding out the man meant something to her, that she was in love with him. Their dinner at the pub had been little more than two old friends reconnecting, and while it was nice, it hadn’t been enough for him.
