I can’t help but laugh. “Everything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I give him a double take as he drives.
He’s wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular, corded, inked forearms. Honestly, it’s like sitting here watching live porn as he grips the wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. And don’t even get me started on the way his chinos stretch across his thighs, or the more-than-noticeable bulge behind the zipper.
Get a grip, Beatrice. He is just a man.
A man who can provide you with all the things you need right now…
“I…umm…” I stutter when he glances over and raises a brow when he catches me checking him out, reminding me that he asked me a question. “I…uh…I didn’t think you’d really care about my morning sickness.”
“I told you to tell me everything. I want to be involved.”
“I know that me spending the best part of my mornings thinking I’m going to vomit at any moment isn’t something anyone wants to hear about.”
“I do,” he says confidently. “There isn’t much I can do to help you right now, but I can listen.”
My brows pinch.
“What?” he asks with a laugh.
“Why?”
“Why what? Why do I want to know, or why am I willing to listen?”
“Well, both.”
“Because you’re growing my child. Because I was just as present in the making of said child as you were. You might be the one who’s pregnant and dealing with the changes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to bail on you. I’ve got a responsibility, and I'm fully prepared to embrace it.”
“But you’re a fuckboy.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I guess. Doesn’t mean I’m not a decent person,” he counters, sounding way less pissed off than he should be. “Maybe all of this was the kind of reality check I needed.”
“To save your career?”
“Or my life.”
“Your…”
“Forget it. So, morning sickness…” he prompts.
As he begins driving along the coast, I stare out at the sparkling ocean and tell him about everything I’ve been experiencing, from the nausea to the aching feet and hips, and the constant hunger. I talk about telling the girls at work and how they took it, and a few other things in between.
He talks about the fundraiser, his sister’s engagement and fast-approaching wedding, and his teammates. He talks specifically about one he’s concerned about. He doesn’t give names, but it’s clear that whatever he’s dealing with is weighing on Everett.
“Where are we actually going?” I ask when we’ve been driving for almost an hour.
He told me not to eat before he picked me up, making me assume we were going for dinner, but I’ve had to pull a couple of crackers from my purse that I stashed for emergencies.
“We’re nearly there,” he says before taking the next right and driving closer to the beach.
“What is this place?” I ask when he pulls to a stop beside what looks like nothing more than a beach shack.
“Just wait.”
So I do, and only seconds later, he opens my car door and holds his hand out for me.
