We’d beentogetherfor one day, and in that short time, he’d spoken about pregnancy, uttered an I love you. That was onlyhoursafter our first kiss.
Alarm bells should’ve been blaring.
And they were, somewhere deep inside me. I was doing my best to ignore them.
I did that by keeping myself busy until Beau came home. Cleaning. Brushing my teeth, slathering on body lotion. Changing my outfit and corresponding underwear three times.
I started off in a dress that was not appropriate for the weather, the same one I’d worn to Clara’s birthday party. I felt pretty, feminine, and I had not forgotten the way Beau had looked at me when I wore it.
But that seemed like I was trying too hard. Then I’d gone for the nightgown that Cole had gifted me. It felt like absolute butter on my skin. It skimmed down to my ankles, clinging to my every curve. There were triangles of lace over my boobs that showcased my nipples. I’d stared at myself in the mirror, not recognizing myself.
We’d been together just one day. Maybe I was getting a little ahead of myself, waiting for him to come home in lingerie.
What if Clara woke? It had only happened a handful of times since I’d started, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. I couldn’t very well tend to her while wearing a nightgown that showcased my nipples.
So I settled on the pink pajama set that had caused Beau to spill pancake ingredients all over his kitchen floor and bark at me cruelly. A nod to our past. How far we’ve come. Was it to torture him, punish him, remind him of how he used to treat me?
I didn’t think so.
I just didn’t have that vast of a wardrobe.
I decided to wear the lingerie set Cole bought me underneath. The fabric felt so different on my skin than the cheap underwear I’d worn in the past. I felt grown up. Like a new woman.
But maybe that was due to the lingering touches from Beau on my skin, the red scrapes on my inner thighs, the twinge in my pelvis and hips, reminding me of just how big he was. Remnants of the sexual awakening I’d undergone last night. It was the first time I’d had sex in years. The first truly pleasurable sex I’d had. The first time I felt like I mattered to a man.
So maybe it wasn’t the lingerie at all.
After brushing my teeth, tying up my hair, braiding it, taking it out, wiping down the counters, and putting the champagne on ice, it was late.
I’d only just decided to sit on the sofa and attempt to read when headlights hit the living room.
My stomach bottomed out, and my heart rate doubled. I got up, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the front door. Then I realized that was psychotic, making it clear that I’d been standing there, waiting for him. I couldn’t shape my whole life around a man. Certainly not after slightly less than twenty-four hours of being said man’s girlfriend.
Even if he loved me.
Even if I loved him with my whole being.
Even if the only other person I might love more was his daughter.
I took a deep breath. Then another.
A buzzing sound interrupted my deep breathing. I thought it was something I’d created in my anxious state. Auditory hallucinations. It was only after a few seconds that I realized it was my phone buzzing on the coffee table.
Beau’s name was on the screen.
I rushed to pick it up, walking to the window to ensure it was his truck that had pulled up, fear clutching my stomach that someone else was in the driveway so late at night.
Waylon had not been pushed completely out of my mind. I was still on guard, waiting for him to strike.
But it wasn’t Waylon. Beau’s truck sat in the driveway.
It was dark, except for the dim light showing that he was on his phone in the cab.
“What are you doing sitting out there?” I asked. “Come inside.”
“Need to know something before I come in.” His hoarse voice sent shivers down my spine.
I gripped my phone as fear wrapped around my lungs. Was this already it? Him calling to end things on the phone? Him breaking my heart?
