I could call Patton’s publicist. Or reach out to his personal trainer and his dog walker. Any of them might know.
Dev Menon
You have his dog walker’s number? And here I thought Dean was the lunatic.
Dean Meyer
Hey! At least I’m a CHARMING lunatic! Hudson’s straight up stalking. He’s not even as youthful as I am.
Troy Winters
Call whoever, Hudson. We need to find out where he is. I’m heading to the hospital. Not much else we can do from here.
Dev Menon
I’m headed there, too. See you in a bit.
Garrett Meyer
Keep us posted. And @Hudson Case? Maybe keep the dog walker thing to yourself? I wouldn’t want Patton to find out.
Darian Meyer
He’s on the thread, dumbass.
Garrett Meyer
Oh, that’s right. Well, @Patton Pierce, I hope you were sitting down while you read this.
thirty-five
patton
One of Pavlov’s Test Subjects
The empty, backward-facing car seat in my rearview mirror catches my eye, making my lips curve up. I installed one in both mine and Nisha’s cars just last week. And soon, it’ll hold the most precious person in both our worlds. Just the thought of meeting our little starlight has me vibrating with anticipation.
Reaching over to the passenger seat of my truck, I grab the ball cap I always have there and tug it low over my head before slipping on my sunglasses.
My publicist wouldn’t be thrilled knowing how often I’ve frequented this place over the past few months, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him. And so far, I’ve managed to do it without getting photographed, which is a feat on its own.
Besides, I’ve become friends with the owners, Rachel and Rachael. The two women turned this hole-in-the-wall space into San Jose’sR&R’s Waffle House. To avoid confusion, Rachel goes by her full name, while Rachael goes by Rach. They’re the ones who keep Nisha’s favorite French toast waiting for me every weekend.
The ladies couldn’t be kinder, bringing my order out to the curb when the restaurant is busy or tipping me off when it’s quiet enough that I can sneak inside. On the early mornings thatI know Nisha will sleep in—something she’s been doing more of with all those middle-of-the-night bathroom visits that keep her awake—I’ll even sit in a corner booth with a latte and a fresh donut that the ladies never charge me for, catching up on emails until Nisha’s breakfast is ready.
What? Just because I have more money than I know what to do with, I shouldn’t like free stuff? Anyway, I tip them triple the amount of my order every time, so I consider it even. Plus, since Nisha hasn’t been drinking coffee throughout the pregnancy, I try not to drink it in front of her. So, this works out in both our favors.
I’m usually here earlier on Saturdays, but after my meeting with the producers this morning in San Francisco ended both positively and earlier than I expected, I figured I’d swing by to pick up brunch for Nisha instead. She should be at the salon by now, and I have no idea what she ate this morning since I left early.
Not before getting my fill of her, though. She’d stirred awake to wish me good luck on my pitch, and one thing had led to another, which led to me having my first breakfast between her legs. Fucking hell, I can’t get enough of the woman. And the fact that she’s swollen with my child only makes her more beautiful and me feeling more insatiable around her.
Having gotten the thumbs-up from the ladies, stating there’s minimal foot traffic at this time since they’re close to closing, I stride inside. My plan is to have a cup of coffee as I wait for Nisha’s order.
The familiar and sweet scents of vanilla and cooked dough hit me as soon as I enter, and my mouth instantly waters. I’m like one of Pavlov’s test subjects. Well, now I think I’ll have to order one of their donuts, too, aside from just the coffee.
“Great to see you, Patton!” Rachel greets me from behind the counter where she’s wiping down the coffee machinewith practiced ease. Her blonde and gray locks sit neatly on her shoulders. “Want your regular while you wait for Nisha’s almond-coconut French toast?”
“Yup, and a glazed donut, too. Thanks, Rachel.”
