Ledger turned to me. “Pretty?”
“Yes. That’s all. Relax.”
Ledger frowned at me before turning to Reed. “She tell you that it was pretty?”
“Also cozy.”
They both looked at each other, sporting the same look. The look that said I was crazy, that all women in the world are crazy for suggesting that rain is pretty.
Ledger turned back to me. “Callie, it’s not going to be pretty or cozy or whatever the fuck when your roof starts leaking and there’s water damage. Let him do his thing.” And then, just to annoy me — Iknowit — he added, “You should go inside and bake cookies instead and see if the purple leprechauns that live under your bed want some.”
My eyes went wide. “You moron. I can’t believe you said that. Especially when you know that I’m pregnant and my hormones are all messed up.”
They are.
Along with making me cry, they make me angry and hot and just… so irritated.
So much so that I punched my brother in the chest that day, which only made him snicker. And when I noticed that Reed’s lips were twitching, I punched him too.
“You know what, Iamgoing to make cookies. Oatmeal raisin, Ledger. But you don’t get any.”
“Hey!” Ledger protested. “Now, that’s a little hasty. Who loves you the most, huh?”
“Not you.” Then I turned to Reed who was watching me with amused eyes and declared, “You too. I know you like them too. But you don’t get to have any either.”
So yeah.
Apparently, ever since Reed and Ledger ganged up on me, Ledge doesn’t openly glare at Reed anymore either.
Which is great but I hate that there’s so much testosterone around me.
The only person that I know whodoesglare at him is my ballet teacher, Miss Petrova.
Aside from forcing her to apologize to me all those months ago, Reed gets on her nerves. Because he likes to watch my lessons and Miss Petrova thinks it’s disruptive.
But of course Reed doesn’t listen.
He still sits there and still watches me awkwardly hold my poses and heave and pant as my pregnancy progresses and my bigger belly messes with my balance. But my doctor has said that as long as I don’t exert myself too much and do it all under professional supervision, it should be fine.
“You know, you’re starting to creep out other girls too. That you sit there and watch me and don’t even listen to our teacher,” I tell him when he opens the door to his Mustang to drive me back home after class one evening.
“And I should care about that why?”
“Because they might call the cops on you,” I reply, raising my eyebrows. “Because you’re acting like a stalker.”
He narrows his predator animal eyes. “I know all the cops, remember?”
“So what, you’re going to keep stalking me then? Like a criminal.”
“No, like a villain. And you’re pregnant with my baby.” He flicks his eyes over me, over my bun and sweaty neck, my white leotard and ice blue tutu that hides my pregnant belly. “It’s my fucking job to stalk you.”
I run my hands over my tutu, cradling my belly. “But —”
His eyes follow the gesture as usual before he murmurs, cutting me off, “Besides, you should tell your Miss Petrova that this isn’t the first time I’ve stalked you in a ballet class. So she should really stop gasping every time she sees me watching you.”
“What?”
His wolf eyes that I know are going to be the death of me sparkle then. They glow like his beautiful vampire skin as his lips tip up in a smirk. “Long before I made you spin for me in the woods, I used to watch you spin on your toes at Blue Madonna. I used to watch you leap and jump across the dance floor while your fucking Miss Petrova smiled at you proudly.”
