“We’re platonic, remember?” He arches a brow as his lips curve into a tiny smirk. I hate how hot he is, especially when he smiles like that. It makes it hard for me to remember that we aren’t going to be doing anything more than simply talk to each other.
Meanwhile, I know exactly how perfectly his cock fits inside of me.
Quentin clears his throat, and I snap out of my daze, realizing my cheeks are flaming hot. He probably knows exactly what I was thinking.
“I should go take a nap.” I point my thumb in the direction of the stairs, needing to get away from him so I can reset my thoughts. “You know, it’s good for the baby.”
“Is it even better for the baby if the dad is there too?”
His response shocks me, nearly making my lips fall open in surprise, but I manage to control it.
“Uhm, I don’t think I saw that in my pregnancy books anywhere.” I chuckle nervously.
“That’s too bad,” he says, sounding disappointed. But he doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “You rest and I’ll make dinner. And don’t worry, I won’t mix the ingredients up, I promise,” he calls out as I walk away, mocking my attempt at baking.
I shoot him the finger over my shoulder, earning me a throaty laugh that makes my belly twirl.
Blueberry likes the sound of their dad’s laugh, that’s all.
It definitely wasn’t butterflies.
And I’m definitely not thinking about fucking the father of my baby twice in the matter of minutes.
Because if I were, it would need to stop immediately.
Otherwise, it’s going to take the word platonic and throw it right out the goddamn window.
Chapter 26
Quentin
My stomach flips as I watch the weather radar on my phone. There’s an impending storm heading our way, and Teagan’s on her way home from work. They’re not uncommon this time of year, but this one is supposed to be a rough one, and knowing she could be driving in the middle of it is kicking my overprotective instincts into high gear. My brain goes to the worst-case scenario where Teagan and our baby are involved, bringing out my inner need to keep them safe.
I debate on texting her, but decide against it as I don’t want her checking her phone while she’s driving.
To keep my mind busy, I pull my attention back to the chicken orzo soup I’m making for dinner before I burn it. Since Teagan’s moved in, I’ve made it a point to make sure she comes home to a home-cooked meal. I even started making dessert for the week so she can munch on it when the craving kicks in.
I learned my lesson when I woke up in the middle of the night to find her trying to make brownies that ended up being dryer than the desert. Ever since, I keep a list of the things she likes on my phone and choose one to bake every week.
Thinking about her has become like a second nature already. As soon as I wake up, she’s on my mind, and when I’m not with her, she’s there too. Wondering how she’s feeling, what she’s doing and anything else she’d be willing to tell me, to be honest.
I hear the door open and shut followed by murmured curse words. Yup, Teagan’s here. Where there is swearing, Teagan is usually the culprit.
Making my way to the foyer, I pause when I take in the sight of her.
Because not only is she wet from being in the rain, she’s of course wearing a white shirt that is doing nothing to hide her nipples poking through her blue sports bra.
Platonic, I remind myself.
“You’re soaking,” I point out, leaning against the archway.
Teagan glares at me as she kicks off her soaked shoes. “Not in the way I like to be.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” I tease her just as she begins to make her way up the stairs.
She pauses, hand gripping the railing as she lets out a laugh. I’m stunned as I listen to the sound, so rich and boisterous.
I want to do it again. And again.
