It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and by the time she slumps back against the cabinet beneath the sink, I’m hard again.
Fully hard.
No questions.
I need to get this woman into my bed.
Now.
And then figure out how to keep her.
Because this thing with Ziggy?
It’s not temporary. It’s not a distraction. It’s not subconsciously self-sabotaging my career.
It’s real.
It’s heavy.
It’s everything.
And I won’t let her go.
30
Ziggy
Not the damn club again.
But yes, the damn club again.
It’s where everyone brunches on a Saturday morning, so here we are.
Brunching before house-hunting.
We’re at a window table overlooking the lake and the golf course, which is, naturally, one of the best seats in the dining room.
It’s also where everyone else sees you.
And this is the first time everyone has seen us—me—since Mom told Abby Nora and Niki that I’m pregnant.
Since Eli Harrison connected the dots on the somm who puked on him outside the bathroom.
I don’t see Abby Nora. I don’t see her parents. I don’t see her in-laws.
Have to wonder if Mom called ahead to verify they wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t put it past her.
She’s learned to navigate Dad’s world pretty well since we moved to this part of the city.
But I’m still acutely aware of every glance and every lowered voice around us.
Francesca was right. I should’ve shoved Holt in a suitcase and taken him with me back to Europe when I realized he was one of Dad’s players.
“Why can’t anyone tell me if this baby’s a boy or a girl?” Dad asks as he studies the ultrasound picture after we’ve ordered.
“Can’t see yet,” I reply. “And I don’t want to know. I want to be surprised.”
“I love that,” Miranda says. “This is the one time in Tater Tot’s life that they won’t be put in a box. They should get to enjoy it.”
