“Yeah?” He lowers his arms, and I manage to raise my gaze, only to find him smirking. Ugh. He always did know what effect he had on me.
I check my phone. “How about I make us some lunch?”
“I don’t expect you to feed me,” he replies with a frown.
I smile. “I want to. It’s the least I can do in exchange for free labor.”
“It’s only right for me to be helping.” He shifts his weight forward, and even though the movement is tiny, I suddenly feel suffocated. “The nursery is as much for my benefit as yours. If everything goes the way we want it to, I’d like my child to have the best possible place to live.”
It occurs to me that he could provide a far more upscale living situation than I can. I wonder if he’ll stay in his condo or move to a family-friendly home. I never expected him to make any dramatic life changes for my sake, but considering how dedicated he seems, maybe he’ll want to set up somewhere better suited to raising the baby.
“Whatever the case, thanks. Does a sandwich work for you?”
He nods, and follows me to the bathroom, where I wash my hands. When I turn to exit, he’s right there, in my face, far too close for comfort. I nearly walk into his chest.
That broad chest.
My mouth waters, and it isn’t craving food. I’m tempted to burrow into him and lick the pulse point at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He looks so manly standing in a space that’s never housed a male I’m not related to. He has this way of man-spreading to occupy any area he’s in. Not in an annoying way, but in a way that makes him impossible to ignore.
Swallowing, I step back, and then circle around him. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Knowing I have all of a minute before he enters, I take advantage of the time to get a grip, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on the refrigerator. I inhale slowly to the count of six, then exhale to the count of eight. Hearing footsteps, I straighten and open the fridge, studying its contents.
“Do you mind a vegetarian sandwich? I haven’t been keeping much meat in the house because there are a bunch of foods that are off-limits for me at the moment.”
He makes a face but nods. “Whatever you’ve got.”
I grab a pair of bread rolls from the pantry and slice them open, adding salad to mine. He gets a few slices of cheese to make up for the lack of meat, and then we sit at the coffee table and eat.
“Not bad,” he says around a mouthful.
“Hard work makes it taste better.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He polishes off his sandwich in a matter of minutes. “Is this how you usually spend your weekends?”
“Pretty much. Sometimes my friends help. Sometimes my family do. Every now and then I’ll take a break and relax instead, but it’s far more satisfying to accomplish something.”
He nods, and I know he gets it. He’s the sort of person who’d practice a kick ten thousand times purely for the satisfaction of being able to execute it perfectly once.
“Is it—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
“Is what?” I ask, curious.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I finish my sandwich and wipe my fingers on a napkin. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”
He sighs, and gives me a pointed look. “You might regret asking.”
“I might not too.” I smile sweetly. “Don’t assume you know how I’ll respond.”
He grunts. From years of interpreting Seth’s grunts, I can tell it’s dubious. “Is it bad that I’m glad you’re busy with this in the weekends because it means you aren’t dating?”
My mouth goes dry, and the sandwich becomes a lead weight in my stomach, giving me that weird sensation like when you drive over a dip in the road too fast and your innards can’t keep up.
“Um.”
I can’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. Part of me wants to break into song. His possessiveness always turned me on. But the bigger part of me knows I shouldn’t encourage him because it won’t lead anywhere good.
