Page 18 of With A Little Luck
He owes me this, anyway.
When I first found out about Quincy’s pregnancy, I asked Harrison to lend me his omega so I could take those classes people take when they’re preparing for a baby.
Sasha, his omega, was down.
She thought it was sweet that someone finally caught my eye, but my stingy-ass brother refused.
He can kick me out.
It’s really the least he can do, now that I think about it.
Does it count as harassment to show up at an employee’s house unannounced after the sun has set?
Fuck me.
It probably does.
I brought dinner under the assumption that she actually lets me in. Maybe a little to woo her with mozzarella sticks, burgers, and everything else I could fit into two bags without it being weird. It makes it complicated to knock on the front door, but hopefully the bags hold.
My boot taps against the concrete as I wait.
Shit.
What if she was so exhausted that she came home to take a nap, and I’m about to wake her up? I know she doesn’t get much sleep these days.
I peek through the thin windows that run vertically next to the door. They’re barely six inches wide, but I should buy her some curtains. Anyone who stands here can see right down the entry hallway.
I’m probably being a pushy dick.
No, there’s noprobablyabout it.
I’m three seconds away from being reported as a stalker.
My heartbeat picks up to unnatural levels when Quincy comes around the corner into view. Jumping back from the window, I focus on looking normal as the bags slam against my knees.
Quincy peeks out the window and frowns.
The door pops open three inches a second later. “Hart?”
“Hey, so, I brought dinner.” I lift the bags, giving them a solid shake. Hopefully the smell wafts to her nose, and she actually lets me in.
“Okay.” She frowns, stepping back and opening the door. “Come in. I’m so confused. Sorry, I just woke up from a nap.”
“I can tell.” I chuckle. “You’re all rumpled and sleepy looking, but in the cutest way possible.”
Goddammit, I’m doomed.
That slipped right out.
I’m going to end up on a creepy boss watch list somewhere.
“It’s clear you’ve been tired lately,” I say, stepping inside the doorway. “I thought maybe I could catch you before you started dinner.”
Quincy smiles, but even that can’t cover how tired she looks. “Oh, yeah. I knocked right out after work. I haven’t even thought about dinner yet. Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
I grin, winking. “Can I sweet-talk you into letting me stay so we can eat together? I’m starving.”
She must have changed into her pajamas when she got home from work. The spaghetti-strap, sleep-dress thing stretches over her stomach like it might burst if she moves wrong. She’s wearing thin pajama pants under it, but I’m betting that dress was long enough to wear on its own before the belly stretched it out, taking several inches from its overall length.
