Page 107 of Roughing the Player
“No. This is fine. Just don’t say the ‘F’ word. If you have to e-a-t, don’t do it in front of me.”
He smiles that grin that rocks my world. “I can do that. You want to watch some TV?”
“Yes, please.” It’ll take my mind off my stomach, which is still pissed off at me.
“What would you like to watch?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What about your baking show?”
I shoot him a death glare. Or try to anyway. Too weak to really achieve it. “You’re a cruel, cruel man, Brock Parker.”
“Sorry.” Going by that grin, he’s not the least bit sorry.
He pulls up one of the premium channels. “Sleepless in Seattle” or “Notting Hill?”
Two romantic comedies. He knows how much I love them. But both those movies have dinner scenes. “Nope. Isn’t there some nice musical where people don’t eat?”
“Ooh, tough one. How about “West Side Story?” “The Sound of Music?” “My Fair Lady?” I drift off again while he runs through the list. Hours later, I wake up in his bed. How I got there I have no idea. But one thing’s for sure, I’m starving.
He’s curled around me which is going to make it tough to slip out of bed. At a snail’s pace, I inch away from him, until I’m finally free. Grabbing my cell so I can check for messages, I head toward the repository of all food—the kitchen. Hopefully something there will spark my appetite. Sure enough, the fridge is chock full of food, from the barbecue, from his drop-bys. But only one thing grabs my attention.
He’s got to have peanut butter to go with it. He loves that stuff. I go searching in the cupboards for a jar. On my third try, I find it. And it’s the crunchy kind too. My favorite.
Parking my fanny on a kitchen stool, I open both jars. Pretty soon I’m spearing the peanut butter with the tasty treat, sucking the salt off my fingers, licking them too.
When steps approach, I realize it’s much too late to hide what I’m eating. I’ll have to brazen it out.
“You’re eating?” Brock asks, semi-awake. Semi-hard too. But then why wouldn’t he be? It’s already morning.
“Yep. Got hungry.” I swipe the brine off my lips.
“That’s good.” His sleepy gaze drifts to the jars. He blinks a couple of times before his eyes flare. “Peanut butterandpickles?”
“My favorite.” I grin.
His brows knit. “Since when?”
I play it off like it’s no big deal. “Since always.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve never eaten that combo before.” Wide awake now, he crosses his arms against that broad, bare, lickable chest of his.
God. I can’t get horny right now. Not when I need all my working brain cells. “Yeah, I have. You just weren’t around.”
His gaze narrows. “When Sandra dropped off the food, she asked me something.”
“Oh?”
“She wanted to know when the baby was due.”
