FINLEY:
I slept like a baby, actually. Thank you.
Speaking of babies, you didn’t have to buy me a pregnancy pillow. I appreciate it, but I’ve been getting by without all the fancy bells and whistles.
I chuckle, sitting on the bench in front of my locker. I wanted to do a whole hell of a lot more than just give her some stupid pillow, but I figured it might scare her away if I found out her favorite color, then had the walls painted before she showed up. So, I asked my sister what her holy grail comfort item was during her pregnancies and bought one for Finley. Explaining my way out of that question was fun, since Tatum is as nosey as they come. She still doesn’t believe that I didn’t knock someone up, but whatever. I got the information I needed.
ME:
It’s the very least I could do, Finley. You have no idea how nice it is to not be getting phone calls every hour telling me what a nightmare my dog is.
FINLEY:
Who called him that? I’ll fight them. Boner is an angel.
ME:
Said no one, ever.
FINLEY:
Don’t be jealous that he’s only obedient and snuggly with me.
Trust me, sweetheart. I’m more jealous of him when it comes to that.
ME:
Well, I hope the two of you enjoy yourselves. We’re about to head to the airport shortly. We don’t land in Cleveland until about two in the morning, so I’ll see you when you wake up.
FINLEY:
Sounds good.
With a smile, I toss my phone back into my bag, stomach flipping excitedly at the thought of seeing her tomorrow. I practically rush through getting dressed and walking to the bus, as though I don’t have to wait for a hundred other people before we can make ourway to the airport. I’m sure I’ll be wired for the entire flight, but how can I sleep knowing that my dream girl is in my living room as we speak, and that I’ll get to lay eyes on her beautiful face again soon.
SEVEN
FINLEY
“Hey there, Mama,”a soft voice coos, fingertips brushing a strand of stray hair from my cheek. At first, I barely register it, desperate to stay in whatever dream I was wrapped up in just moments ago. I don’t quite remember all of it, but by the light feeling in my chest, it was definitely a good one.
Humming a weak objection, I attempt to drift back off, but the voice echoes again—this time, a bit louder. “Finley, you fell asleep on the couch. Do you want to get in bed, so your back doesn’t hurt when you wake up?”
“Mhmm,” I affirm, still unable to fully wake. I know someone is talking to me, and that I should go to my room, but I just can’t seem to break free from the clutches of my exhaustion. I can’t even tell you with exact certainty how long I’ve been lying here. All I remember is curling up next to Boner, putting on a movie, and giving in when my eyes began to grow heavy. I honestly thought I’d feel less fatigued in thesecond trimester, but with everything going on, my brain shuts off whenever it wants to.
“I’m going to carry you,” the gentle voice says just as I feel two careful hands slide under my back and knees. I’m lifted into the air, but only for a moment before being pulled tightly to a warm, thick body. The smell of clean cotton surrounds me, and I can’t stop myself from snuggling in closer. A soft heartbeat echoes against me, the rhythm like a lullaby, but as soon as we begin to move, I wake.
My eyes flutter open, attempting to focus in the dim light of the room. The dreamland I was in just moments ago becomes reality, although when I lift my head, the sight in front of me isn’t too far off. Theo’s deep blue eyes peer down at me, the warmth of his chest seeping through the fabric of our shirts. His strong arms are supporting me as though I weigh nothing, his pulse beginning to speed up when our gazes finally lock. That’s when reality settles in, and I realize that Theo Calloway is holding me—bridal style—and carrying me up to bed.
My eyes widen in horror, body freezing becausewhat the fuck do I do? I’ve never been in a predicament quite like this one before—waking up in the arms of the hottest human being on the planet after falling asleep on his couch—and I’m unfamiliar with the etiquette.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, sounding almost as exhausted as I am. But the gravel in his voice only makes him more attractive, causing an unwelcome ache to bloom to life between my legs. The second trimester may not have returned any of my energy, but my sexdrive is back with a vengeance. This doesn’t bode well for the fact that I’m painfully single, and apparently getting turned on by the most ridiculous things.
“Hi,” I croak. I raise a hand to cover my mouth because if he gets one whiff of my morning breath, I will simply pass away right here in the middle of his living room. Thankfully, that doesn’t seem to happen as he slides my body down his until my feet touch the floor. The unmistakable press of his ab muscles across my soft curves makes my brain go haywire for a moment, and I clear my throat, trying to pretend as though I’m not affected by any of this…because Ishouldn’t be. The poor guy is simply existing, and here I am, rubbing myself on him and getting wet from it.
You’re a certified pervert, Finley Bolton. Quit it.
“Sorry,” I apologize, untwisting the oversized T-shirt I’m wearing. I must’ve really been out cold, because I’m all out of whack. I can feel pieces of hair that have fallen from my ponytail tickling the skin of my face and neck. I’m pretty sure one of my boobs has completely escaped my bra, and there’s definitely dried slobber on my cheek. It could honestly be mine or Boner’s with the way we were cuddled up all night.
