***
West devours his thirdbowl of chili and fifth serving of cornbread for the evening and pats his flat stomach as he flops back against my couch.“Okay, I think I’m pregnant now too.”
I laugh.“Where on earth did you put all of that?”
“A cowboy’s gotta have his secrets, darlin.”He grins.“I’m sure I’ll be paying for it tomorrow, but it was so damn worth it tonight.”
“Spoken like a true cowboy,” I shift uncomfortably and puff out my cheeks, letting out a deep breath.
“Everything, okay?”
“Just pregnancy.”I fluff the couch cushion behind me, wedge myself into the corner, and prop my feet up on the center seat.“My whole body hurts.”
West sits up and leans over, looking at my cankles.“Is that normal?”
“Is it normal that I’m walking around with the Goodyear Blimps where my feet should be?Yes, yes, it is.”
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yeah.Pregnancy is no picnic.”
West taps his thigh.“Give them here.”
“My feet?”I ask, horrified.“No.Not on your life, mister.”It’s not like they’re sasquatch trotters or anything, I visit Magnolia at Pinky Promises for a pedi and wax once a month, but that doesn’t mean I want West Winchester touching my swamp stompers.
Apparently, he’s not taking no for an answer, because he shifts closer, pulls my foot into his lap, and begins what could only be described as an orgasm-inducing foot rub.My mouth actually hangs open.
“Better?”he asks with a knowing grin.That smug bastard must have done this before.What does he do, go around to all the pregnant women in town and rock their socks off with—oh my god, he’s working on my ankles now.I close my eyes and just melt back into the sofa as his expert hands wring all the tension out of me.Good god.If this is what a foot rub feels like from this man, imagine what he can do with his—
“You okay there, darlin’?”
“Uh-huh.”I manage to say and then I clear my throat and decide it’s best if I don’t follow that train of thought.West’s hands glide higher, up my calves, massaging stress from all the places I can no longer reach.When his fingers softly graze the back of my knee, I close my eyes, leaning into his touch and willing him to go higher.Then I mentally slap myself and shoot up from the couch, though this move is made way less agile and graceful on account of the bowling ball jutting out from my abdomen.
“Who wants dessert?”I ask, already on my way to the kitchen.
West chuckles and says under his breath, “Undone by a foot rub.Oh, Dais.The fun we could have.”
I pretend I haven’t heard a word of that as I fix him a slice of cake and wish I was serving myself up on that plate.
