Page 22 of With A Little Luck
Chapter Seven
Quincy
Ithought it was weird that Pete started calling me. I assumed someone told him that I’m pregnant or maybe he saw me out and about around town.
He had every right to ask if the baby is his. He had no idea how pregnant I am, and I would honestly find it strange if hedidn’task.
Still, it’s very on par with my life that he would show up to have that conversation while Hartley was present.
It’s already weird enough that Hart showed up with dinner to hang out and watch a movie, but I’m not complaining. I never realized how lonely it can be to live by yourself.
Not that I’ll be alone for that much longer.
“Aren’t you supposed to have your legs up?” Hart asks, startling me out of my thoughts. “They shouldn’t be dangling toward the floor if you want to combat swelling, right?”
“Are you volunteering to move to the uncomfortable chair?” I ask with a laugh.
“Nah, but you can rest your legs on the other side of the sofa.” He leans back against the corner of the couch, lifts his feet up onto the coffee table, and pats his chest. “You can toss a pillowon me, and I bet you’ll be way more comfortable all stretched out.”
My confusion is reaching an all-time high.
Then again, Hart is an alpha.
A delicious-smelling, pheromone-covered alpha.
If getting a little closer to said pheromones could help me and the baby, then who am I to refuse him?
Is that sneaky?
Maybe.
I also don’t care.
I’m much more comfortable with him than I would be with random alphas.
Snagging the throw pillow from behind my lower back, I toss it at Hart, who catches it with a laugh.
If this is a dream, it’s the weirdest one my brain has conjured in a while, but I think I’ll soak it up while I can.
I wake up on the couch the next morning, groggy and confused about what year it is. My ringing phone sits on the coffee table, and I snatch it up, answering and making a mad dash for the closest bathroom.
“H-Hello?”
“Good morning,” Hart says. “Sorry to call so early. I didn’t know if you had an alarm set, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you up before I left last night.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, stepping inside the hall bathroom. “I do have alarms set, but I would rather be up a few minutes early than to oversleep and be late.”
“Damn,” he whispers. “I was hoping to pop in and save the day.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, Hart, but I’ve got to go. My bladder is about to explode.”
“All right, sweetheart. I’ll see you in an hour.” He hangs up, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I don’t know where him calling mesweetheartcame from, but I like it a little too much.
Dammit.
Wasn’t having access to alpha pheromones supposed to help me feel better?
