He doesn’t look convinced, but it’s still early days. Somehow, I will prove to him that he is worthy of the titles. Hell, worthy of every good thing in his life.
“So…what now?” I ask. “Should we speak to Hailee?”
“I’ll call her tomorrow. But I guess we just start…being seen together more. Just do what normal people do in a relationship.”
“And what about the baby? We’re going to need a story. I’m eighteen weeks pregnant. I’m going to be showing soon, and people will work out the date, and?—”
“We tell the truth about meeting that night but explain that we kept it a secret.”
“What about your hookups since?”
He falls silent.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you that night,” he says softly. “Killer said earlier that he saw you out after a game and…you were coming to tell me, weren’t you?”
“It was a stupid idea. I was just getting desperate. The ultrasound was approaching and?—”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You had no reason to know I was there, or that I had something to say. I was just a woman from a night after a game?—”
“You were never just that, Bea.”
Heat surges to my cheeks, but as much as I might want to believe him, it’s dangerous to do so.
To survive this, I need to keep my heart out of it.
This is a mutually beneficial business agreement.
“It doesn’t matter. But the media will have questions.”
“Then I’ll tell them I was falling for you and scared and confused. It’s certainly a story they’d buy, seeing as I’m always fucking up. You can tell them how you made me grovel for forgiveness. They’ll eat that shit up.”
“Did you get on your knees?” I tease.
“W-what?” he stutters.
“When you groveled for forgiveness, did you get on your knees?”
His eyes darken, his filthy mind taking my question to an entirely different place than intended.
“I guess that depends on who we’re talking to, because you know damn well that when any man is groveling, the only place to do it is on his knees with his head between a woman’s thighs.”
Oh, holy fuckballs.
Is it hot in here, or is it just me?
“We need rules,” I say in a rush.
His brows shoot north as he absently drags a hand across his stomach.
Goddamn it, why is he still topless? That doesn’t make this conversation any easier.
“Go on,” he encourages, clearly intrigued.
“We’ve got to be exclusive. This won’t work otherwise.”
“Agreed,” he rasps.
