I just lie there beside her, watching her drift toward sleep, knowing that everything just changed and there's no going back.
And wondering how the hell I'm supposed to protect my heart when it's already hers.
CHAPTER 27
TUCKER
Sloane isextra beautiful when she's annoyed.
She's standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, scowling at her reflection, adorably frustrated. She's wearing one of my t-shirts—again—and a pair of leggings that are riding low under her belly.
"These don't fit anymore," she announces, tugging at the waistband.
"I can see that." I'm sprawled on the bed naked, supposedly checking my phone for team updates but really just watching her. "You know what would help?"
"Don't say it."
"Maternity clothes."
"You said it." She turns to glare at me. "I'm not ready for maternity clothes. That feels too... official."
I bite back a laugh. “Sunshine, you're visibly months pregnant with twins. It's pretty official."
"I know that." She tugs at the shirt—my shirt—which is also getting snug around her middle. "But maternity clothes are so... frumpy."
"They make cute maternity clothes now. I've seen them online."
Her eyes narrow. "You've been browsing maternity clothes?"
"Research." I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Come on. Let me take you shopping. We'll find you stuff that fits and doesn't make you feel frumpy."
"I have schoolwork?—"
"Which you can do later. I’ll help you. I’m very smart.” I stand and move toward her, wrapping my arms around her from behind, my hands settling on her belly. "Besides, you need pants. Unless you want to start wearing my sweatpants everywhere."
She leans back against me, and I feel the tension in her shoulders start to ease. "Your sweatpants are comfortable."
"They're also enormous on you." I press a kiss to her neck. "Let me do this. Let me take care of you in a non-suffocating way that respects your independence and also results in you having pants that fit."
She laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "That was a very carefully worded request."
"I've been practicing."
"Fine." She turns in my arms to face me. "But I'm not buying anything with ruffles or bows."
"Deal."
I take her to Nordstrom, where my brother hooked me up with his personal shopper and a private entrance so no hockey fans would swarm us. I like being out with her, like we’re a real couple. We still haven’t had a big conversation. With the holidays approaching, it seems like we really ought to. But we’ve been fucking every time we’re both home and awake, and then she is too tired.
Sloane touches fabrics with deep suspicion. "These are basically regular pants with a stretchy panel," I point out, holding up a pair of dark jeans.
"The stretchy panel goes all the way up." She makes a face. "I'll look like I'm wearing a tube top on my stomach."
"Or you could try the under-belly ones." I grab another pair. "See? Normal waistband, just sits lower."
She takes them, examining the construction like she's lookingfor hidden flaws. I bend low to whisper in her ear, “Or you could just stop wearing pants. Make things easier for me.”
Sloane swats at me while a middle-aged woman with sepia skin and a warm smile approaches. “You must be Gunnar’s brother,” she says warmly, extending a hand. “Kamila.”
