Page 81 of Sugar
And I realize what’s happening. “It’s not Kasey’s,” I hurry to say. “It’s, uh—I was already pregnant. Big reason why I came home.”
Shock slips over her face. “Wait. Does heknow?”
“Ofcoursehe knows, Layla.”
She seems relieved, though her frown deepens.
“I told him before the wedding. I wouldn’t have . . .” I pause. “I made sure he knew.”
She nods. Pushes her hair behind her ear, like she’s trying to choose her words. “I know it’s none of my business, but it seems like you two are . . . close, again.”
“Yeah,” I draw out. “Guess so.”
“And you just admitted to sleeping in his bed.”
“Yep.” I nod, forcing a smile.
“What does he think about—” Her eyes dip to my stomach again.
Sugar, I don’t think I’ve ever been more unbothered about something in my entire fucking life.
“He’s . . . supportive.”
“Huh,” Layla hums, studying my face. Geez, the girl’s good—I’ve got to remember to be careful with this one. “Well, great!” She claps her hands together, like now that we’ve gottenthatout of the way, we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming. “Do you like honey buns?” She turns back to the bag on the counter. “I’ve also got cinnamon rolls or these chocolate waffles shaped like dinosaurs that the boys really like.”
My mouth waters as she pulls out various packages of food. “Layla,” I say sincerely, “you might be myfavoriteperson today.”
She laughs brightly. “Yeah, until Kasey comes home and bends you over this?—”
“Layla!” I squeal, and we both burst into more laughter. “I admitted to sleeping in his bed, not sleepingwith him.”
She throws me a deadpan look. “You have a hickey the size of the Gulf Coast on your neck that you didn’t have at dinner last night.”
Well,fuck.
Layla and I spend the next hour gorging ourselves on everything she brought over—well,Igorge myself while she mostly watches with captivated interest—and she leaves with a tight hug that surprisingly makes meveryteary-eyed.
“Pregnancy hormones,” I insist.
“Sure.” She pats me on the head, grinning. “See you soon, I’m sure!”
I watch her shuffle down the stairs and back toward the main house thinking, in another life, we would have madegreatsisters.
In the hours after she leaves, the reality of everything crashes back down around me: our fake marriage, this baby, the things I let myself tell Kasey last night while he held me in his bed. By the time he gets home I have a whole speech prepared to let us both off the hook, but as I watch him walk in through the door, it dies on my tongue.
Kasey is so . . .handsome. And filthy. His hands look like they were dipped in motor oil and his face is creased with dirt. He reaches to pull his hat off, revealing sweat-dried hair curling along his neck that I want to comb through with my fingers. His gaze finds me on the couch in seconds, his expression neutral, if not a little tired. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say. “Are you hungry? We’ve made a serious come up on commercial baked goods, if you’re interested.”
His mouth twitches. “You must have been busy with hunter-gatherer duties.”
I shrug. “I provide just as well as any man.”
“Don’t doubt it.” His eyes skim down my body, taking in my shirt. He seems to linger on it, shoulders going stiff.
“Hope it’s okay I helped myself,” I say, embarrassment creeping in. How mortifying of me to just assume.
He nods once. “Of course.” He doesn’t move from where he stands. Instead, he just watches me. I fight the urge to try to covertly disappear beneath a blanket.
