Krista was about to ask Allie to elaborate on her warning, but her friend simply smiled, gave her a side hug and was off to her car. “I’ll see you shortly,” she called, winking as she slipped into her black Pathfinder. “Don’t make me come get you.”
“Nothingfuckingfits!” Krista screamed, throwing another skirt at the wall and then crumpling to her knees. Her head fell into her hands as the tears came on like a freak monsoon. “I hate this!”
A warm, fuzzy tail brushed her leg, and she reached out and grabbed Penelope, bringing her into her lap to nuzzle her, though she didn’t seem too taken with the idea of being used as a stuffed animal. But once Krista scratched behind her ears for a few seconds, her tears trickling onto the cat’s soft fur, the beast began to purr and closed her big amber eyes.
A creak at the doorway made Krista’s head pop up. Penelope was not nearly as interested and didn’t even flinch.
“Everything okay?” Brock asked, looking about as lost as a man in a lingerie store.
“No!” Anger ratcheted back up through her, and she grabbed the closest thing next to her, a sexy red stiletto she hadn’t worn in years, and chucked it at his head.
Only instead of ducking, his ninja reflexes kicked in and he snatched it midair. A second later, and it would have conked him in the forehead. But the fact that she didn’t hit him made her even more furious, and she searched for somethingelse to throw.
“You had to go and knock me up, and now I’ve got to go to my staff Christmas party tonight and I have nothing to wear. Nothing fits.”
She found a gray ankle boot and chucked it at him. He caught it and started to walk toward her, patience in his eyes and stride.
Only instead of crouching down to her level with his hand out, like people do when they’re approaching skittish dogs, he moved past her and began perusing her closet.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her throat tight as she fought back more tears.
Ignoring her, he continued to flip through various hanging items. A few seconds passed, and he emerged with two dresses and a skirt and blouse slung over his arm. “What about these?”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably won’t fit. Nothing fits.”
She went to grab the other ankle boot, but he put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Just try them, okay?”
Growling at him, she stood up, much to the irritation of Penelope, and undressed. “They’re not going to fit, I’m telling you. Nothing fits. I’m getting fat, and it’s your fault.” Snatching the red dress from his arm, she glared at him and unzipped it. “I hate you … I hate your penis. I hate what your penis did to me.”
But he just remained quiet and waited for her to step into the dress. Turning around, she motioned for him to zip her up. She heard him grunt as he struggled to get it up to the top.
“It’s too small, isn’t it?” she asked snidely.
“Take it off and try the next one.” He unzipped it so she could slink out. He passed her the black one, and she pulled it over her head. This one didn’t have a zipper, so she didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of it not zipping up to the top.
She moved away from him and went to stand in front of the mirror. It waslong-sleeved with a scoop neck and came just above her knees. Classic and simple and hell if it didn’t look half bad. She shot him an irritated scowl. “Fine! You win this one, Hart.”
As if appearing almost bored, he lifted a shoulder. “Not about winning or losing. It’s about keeping you happy.”
Well, fuck.
More tears.
Krista’s butt hit the bed, and her face fell into her hands. What the hell was going on with her? Hormones sucked, that’s what. One minute she was a crying mess, the next minute a homicidal maniac looking for footwear to decapitate the future father of her child. Sobs wracked her body. This wasn’t her at all.
“Shit,” Brock murmured, sinking down onto the bed beside her. His hand fell to her back. “I didn’t mean …shit.”
She lifted her head, her eyes stinging from all the tears. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I’m the hormonal nutjob.” She sat up. “Did you know I bawled in the car on the drive home today from a song on the radio?”
His lip twitched, but he didn’t say anything.
“A song on the fucking radio, Brock. I’ve never cried from a song. Not even the really super emotional ones that most people cry over, like ‘Cat’s in the Cradle’ and stuff.”
Brock’s breath hitched for a moment.
Oh fuck, right. His dad died when he was a kid, and that song was about father and sons. Shit, she really wasn’t herself. No, right now she was a terrible person.
She blinked back more hot tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … that shouldn’t have been the song I used as an example. I know you lost your dad … ” Her voice caught in her throat, and new tears sprang from her eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
