She’d laid everything out on the bed—his lotion, the beard oil, the brush. He sat on the edge of the bed, still quiet, still processing. She stood between his legs and started with his face, dabbing beard oil onto her fingers and working it through, making sure every strand was moisturized and the skin underneath hydrated.
“You smell good,” she murmured, placing a kiss on his lips.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Kennedi continued taking care of her man until he insisted she sit down.
He pulled her into his lap and as close as her belly would allow.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“You showed up. You were patient. You let me run and didn’t chase me. You waited until I was ready to come back.” She touched his face. “That’s what you did.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands cradling her belly like he was holding all three of them at once.
When he pulled back, he kissed her once more, quickly. Then he smacked her ass. “Thank you, baby.”
“I’m not done yet.” She stepped back, gestured to the outfit she’d laid out on the chair—a throwback Penny Hardaway jersey, cargo shorts, and fresh New Balance 550s in white and grey. “Get dressed. We’ve got places to be.”
He laughed, low and easy, shaking his head at her. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ken.”
“What? You surprise me all the time.” She waddled toward the bathroom to finish getting herself ready. “It’s my turn.”
She heard him getting dressed behind her, still chuckling to himself. And she smiled, hand on her belly, feeling RJ kick against her palm.
This was only the beginning of the day. And she couldn’t wait to give him the rest.
Two hours later, they were standing in his driveway, and he was not happy.
“I’m driving.” He stood with his arms crossed, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’mma let you have the day, but I’m driving.”
She was already behind the wheel of his Corvette—the burgundy one he’d spent months customizing—with the engine purring beneath her. She’d convinced him to give her the keys last night with promises she had no business making, but it had worked.
“It’s your birthday,” she called through the open window. “You’re supposed to relax.”
“Ken, get out my car.”
“No.”
“Baby.” His voice dropped into that warning tone that usually worked on her. “I’m not playing with you. You’re pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant, not incapable of driving.” She adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors. “I drove myself everywhere just fine before you came along. I think I can handle two hours on the highway.”
“In my Corvette?”
“Yes, in your Corvette.” She revved the engine slightly, to prove a point. “Get in or we’re gonna be late.”
He stood there for another beat, jaw working, clearly torn between letting her have this moment and his deeply ingrained need to protect his baby. Finally, he shook his head and walked around to the passenger side.
“You crash my shit, we fighting,” he said, sliding into the seat.
“I’m not gonna crash your baby.” She pulled out of the driveway smoothly, carefully, hyper-aware of every gear shift. “I know how much you love this car.”
