A Not So Meet Cute(94)

“I just want you happy,” he says, and I hear him.

I’m listening to everything he’s saying to me, but it’s not quite registering in my head.

His words aren’t making sense, because all I can focus on is teetering on the edge of my orgasm and wanting to fall over. I want to fall over with him.

“How close are you?” I ask him.

“Right . . . there,” he groans.

“Then take it, take me. Harder, Huxley.”

He smooths his hand down to my ass, where he grips me tightly and pulls me all the way against him, intensifying the connection. That’s all it takes.

One thrust and I’m done.

Every last ounce of pleasure gathers, coils, into the center of my body, only to be ripped into millions of joyous pieces as my body combusts underneath him.

“Oh, fuck,” I yell. “Yes, Huxley.”

“Jesus,” he mutters as he drives harder and harder until he stills, groans loudly, and then collapses on top of me.

He props his weight up with one arm on the ground, but his head tilts down, our foreheads connecting. It’s as close as our mouths have been this entire time, making me realize that the man might have just dry-humped me to completion, but he never once laid his lips on mine.

Why?

My eyes search out his and I catch him taking a few large breaths before making eye contact with me. Rain continues to fall on us, and in the distance, I hear the rumble of thunder for the first time since we’ve been out here.

Huxley wipes the water off his face before blinking a few times. “We should, uh . . . get back inside.”

“Yeah,” I say, breathless, still staring up at him. The pull between us is so damn strong that I want nothing more than to cling to him and be carried to his bed.

But when he stands and offers me his hand to help me up, I notice a change in him. Hesitation. Uneasiness.

And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Huxley tugs me quickly toward the door, opens it, and hurries me inside. Then he snags my garments and guides me down the stairs carefully, making sure we don’t slip. When we reach the hallway, he takes my hand and maneuvers me toward our bedrooms. I’m curious which way he’ll take me—maybe to his shower so we can warm up?

But then he stops in front of my bedroom door and lets go of my hand. Our time is up. With a step back, he grips his neck and scans my naked body. “You should take a shower, get warmed up.”

“Yeah,” I answer awkwardly.

“Do you need anything?”

You.

A conversation.

Some understanding of what the hell we’re doing.

Maybe a brief recap of the things you said up on the roof.

“Um, I don’t think so,” I answer.

He nods. “Okay. If you want, I can order something for dinner.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’m not very hungry.”

“Sure.” He takes another step back, and my hope plummets as I see him retreat once again.

Why?

Why does he do this?

Why does he take one giant leap forward only to take two steps back?

And why do I even care?

Yeah, I know . . . I know.

Everyone knows. Because somehow, someway, I’ve started to care about him.





Chapter Seventeen





LOTTIE





“Where are you?” Kelsey asks over the phone as I lean against the white brick of the breast pump store.

“You don’t want to know.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Okay, I’m at a breast pump store, waiting for Ellie to show up so we can shop together.”

“You were right, I don’t want to know.”

“Told you.”

“Aren’t you a little worried you’re leading this girl on? She seems to be getting attached to you—I mean, you’re going breast pump shopping.”

“I know.” I nibble on the corner of my mouth. “I actually feel kind of bad, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t like faking this pregnancy since so many people try so hard to get pregnant, and there’s no way in hell I’d ever act as if I’d miscarried to end all of this pregnancy stuff. Remember Aunt Rina? She had five miscarriages and holding her hand through them with Mom was devastating. The more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I feel.”

“So maybe . . . tell her the truth.”

“Are you insane? Huxley would lose the deal for sure.”

“What are you going to do when you’re supposed to start showing and you don’t?”

“I don’t know. But you don’t start showing until around thirteen weeks or so with your first baby, right?” At least, that’s what I read when I looked it up last night. I press my hand to my forehead. “God, I’m in such a mess.”

“Has more happened?”

I bite down on my index finger. Yesterday, Kelsey was gone most of the day running errands and interviewing another supplier since the one we contacted hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Therefore, I haven’t talked to her much.

Actually, I haven’t spoken to her at all.

She has no idea what happened this past weekend with Huxley.