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Is it just the hormones, though, or is it the particular man who’s making them appear, Lennon?
My mother leans over toward me. “Looks like Easton is taking his role of caretaker very seriously.”
I nod slowly as I watch his every move, annoyance tangling with something dangerously close to adoration. “Yup. He sure is.”
***
“So are you ready to explain the cushion, or are we just gonna act like that didn’t happen?”
Easton studies me as I pass him on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. We just got home from the football game, which GVCC won, thankfully. My brother will be smiling for days.
“What is there to explain?”
I spin to face him, determined not to linger on the muscular forearms taunting me as he crosses them over his chest. “Easton…”
“Lennon.”
“I don’t need a cushion to sit on. I can also get my own food and throw away my own trash.”
He arches a brow at me as one corner of his mouth lifts. “I think what you meant to say was, ‘thank you, Easton, for thinking about my tailbone and letting me sit comfortably for the evening.’”
“My tailbone? Do—do you hear how odd that sounds? Who goes around thinking about someone else’s tailbone?”
“A man whose wife is pregnant,” he answers so quickly that it makes me blink.
Because there was no hesitation in his response, no stumbling through that sentence at all.
Nope. He said that as if he believed it, which makes this an even bigger problem for me.
When he says things like that, it makes me want to throw myself at him again and beg him to treat me like his wife in every capacity.
“If you won’t rest or do things to take care of yourself, then I’m going to do it for you,” he continues, moving toward me and pulling me to his chest by the belt loop on my jeans. The move is so simple, but it ignites a fire between my legs that is impossible to ignore. I peer up at him, my eyes locked on his. “You’re hell-bent on running yourself ragged and working harder than is necessary, so making sure you eat and are comfortable? That’s my responsibility now.”
“Is this why you’re mad at me then? Because I want to finish the program early?”
The tick in his jaw is answer enough, but his words don’t match up. “No, I—I just want to make sure that someone is taking care of you.”
“I can take care of myself, Easton. I have been for a long time.”
“That’s because you think asking someone for help is a weakness.”
Defensiveness spikes in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“You know damn well that you wouldn’t have asked me to help you with your situation if I hadn’t offered, Lennon. Newsflash: you don’t have to do everything on your own.”
My defensiveness turns to anger. “Well, no shit. The last thing I was thinking about doing was marrying my former best friend for health insurance because I’m pregnant with another man’s baby, Easton. A man who doesn’t want me or his kid.”
“Former best friend?”
He would fixate on that detail. “Well…yeah.”
“You still feel that way after these past few weeks?”
“Well…no.”
His brows lift. “So I’m your friend again?”
“Yes…”
