Page 79 of Pregnant in Plaid
"Patrice—"
"I need to know," I whisper. "I need to feel it. Not just the words. Not just the promises. Show me."
He's quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. The fire crackles in the background, and I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly. "Because if we do this, if we cross this line again?—"
"We crossed it seven months ago," I say. "We're just... following through."
That makes him smile, but there's still hesitation in his eyes. "I don't want you to regret this."
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you." I reach up and cup his face, feeling the slight stubble on his jaw. "But I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of pretending I don't want this."
"What do you want?"
"You." The word comes out steadier than I expected. "I want you. Even though it terrifies me. Even though I don't know what happens next. I want this. Right now."
He leans in slowly, giving me time to change my mind, to pull away. But I don't. When his lips meet mine, it's gentle at first—tentative, like he's afraid I might break. But then I kiss him back harder, and something shifts between us.
The kiss deepens. His hand slides into my hair, and I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. It's been months since that night in June, and my body remembers. My hands remember. The way he tastes, the sound he makes low in his throat when I bite his bottom lip.
"Patrice," he breathes against my mouth. "We should—bedroom?"
"Can't make it that far," I say, which would be sexier if I wasn't genuinely concerned about my ability to walk down the hallway right now. "Couch works."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and there'sheat in his eyes but also something soft. "I don't want to hurt you. Or the baby."
"You won't. The baby's fine. I'm fine. I'm just very, very pregnant and very, very done talking."
That makes him smile. He kisses me again, slower this time, like he's savoring it. His hands move to my waist, careful, and I can feel him hesitating.
"Trace," I say. "I'm not going to break."
"I know. It's just—" He looks down at my stomach. "This is different. You're different. I want to do this right."
"There's no right way. There's just—" I take his hand and press it against my belly. The baby kicks, and his face lights up. "There's just us. Figuring it out."
He nods slowly, then helps me adjust on the couch—which is less romantic and more a logistical puzzle involving throw pillows, my expanding belly, and the sudden realization that spontaneous passion is significantly harder when you're shaped like a basketball.
"Okay, so this position isn't working," I say, trying to shift without falling off the couch entirely.
"Hold on—" He grabs my arm to steady me. "Maybe if you lean this way?"
"That makes my back hurt."
"Other way?"
"That's worse. And now my hip is going numb."
We both freeze, staring at each other, and then I start laughing. Really laughing. The kind that makesmy whole body shake and probably isn't helping the position situation.
"This is ridiculous," I gasp.
"This is pregnancy," he says, but he's grinning. "Okay, new plan. Bedroom. Actual bed. More space to work with."
