“Then, yeah.” She nudged his arm with hers. “Pasta sounds great.”
“Then we’ll have pasta.” He squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
He couldn’t make everything better, but he could throw a bag of pasta into the microwave.
They made it home. She ditched her shoes at the front door with an assist, and he changed into sweatpants because when the world was fucking him, he preferred not to be in the discomfort of a suit.
Changing clothes took little time, but when he returned to the kitchen, Courtney had already fired up the microwave.
“I was gonna do that.” He strode to the fridge and snatched one of the multiple bags of carrots he’d purchased.
“It’s just pushing buttons.” She stared at the buttons like they might say something important.
“I’m good at pushing buttons.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck because he didn’t want to lose the connection they’d started to build. Didn’t want it to disintegrate like cotton candy in a vodka martini that he’d seen Courtney order once at one of the clubs she loved so much in LA.
She hadn’t known he was there. He’d made sure of it.
As soon as he saw her there with her flaming cotton candy martini, he’d hightailed it out and hit up another joint.
Today he regretted that maneuver. Today he realized there was something seriously special about Courtney Lincoln and the way she made a guy feel the things that mattered. Something he wished he’d seen long before he knocked her up.
Digging through the cupboards, he found a cutting board and placed it on the counter.
“This is true.” She climbed up the step stool and sat on the countertop while he chopped carrots.
“What’s true?” He’d totally lost track of what they were talking about.
“You’re good at pushing buttons.” She crossed her ankles, her legs dangling.
He didn’t argue the point, because they weren’t in the pirate ship, and also it was true.
“You know,” he said, “this whole thing with the paparazzi and fans and social media… it can just be about you and me having a baby. We don’t have to spin it for ticket sales.”
She reached for a sliver of carrot and popped it into her mouth, nodding. “I know. It’s what makes sense though. What’s best for you and the band.”
“When has anything we’ve ever done made sense?” Because as far as he could remember, there wasn’t much that did. Pausing from the carrots, he took two side steps to her.
“Open,” he said, a small slice of carrot between his fingers.
She opened her mouth, and he slid the carrot onto her tongue. But he didn’t remove his fingers right away. Instead, he pulled them from between her lips and traced there with the pad of his index finger, wishing it were his mouth and not his fingertip.
Their gazes held as she opened her legs, and he stepped between them. He’d never found vegetables particularly erotic. They were something that just had to be eaten. It had to be done.
But watching her throat as she swallowed that bite of carrot gave him a hard-on like he hadn’t had since…
Well, since he touched her last time and brought her to completion.
“Can I?” he asked, holding his hands just above her belly.
She nodded, her eyes not moving from him as he splayed his hands over her abdomen and moved closer to her, right between her thighs.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, moving his hands from her abdomen to the edge of her dress and lifting the hem a few inches. Testing the waters. Seeing where she was with things.
“Right now, I’m feeling really turned on.” Her voice was husky with desire.
He could relate. Every inch of his skin seemed to be extra sensitive when they were in the same room.
The microwave beeped, announcing the completion of the cycle.
