Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2)(35)

"You don't try with me."

"No, but I'd really let myself go by the time I met you."

He's joined me on my side of the counter and he sits down beside me. He takes my hands in his and meets my eyes. "I like how I feel when I'm with you."

Then he kisses me. Softly, a perfect press of his lips to mine. Then firmer.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes, God, yes. Is that what you've been waiting for? Some kind of invitation?"

"You were the one who asked if I was going to expect marital rights like it was the 1950s. I didn't want to push you."

"So you don't have an abstinence fetish?"

"Far from it." He's still kissing me but now he's smiling, which feels even nicer.

"Fun fact, Kyle. Pregnant women have a huge excess of hormones, which make us really horny. And I was horny to begin with. If you don't put out again soon I might die."

"I think I might be able to help you out."

Praise be.

"I need to tell you something first though," he adds. Because of course there's a 'but.' There always is, isn't there?

"What?" I sigh a little as I sit back on the stool and stare at him, preparing myself.

"Mrs. Lascola went to Bassett's today. There are half a dozen pints of ice cream in the freezer."

My pregnant heart is racing. "Not sorbet?" I ask, already sliding off the stool. "The good stuff?"

"Birthday cake, mint chocolate chip, dark chocolate chip, cookie dough, peanut butter swirl and salted caramel pretzel. Did I get that right?" He's got that trademark smirk on his face and I'm both impressed and horrified at his ability to remember the things that come out of my mouth.





15





Kyle





“I thought rich people flew in private jets,” Daisy says, her knee bouncing as she jiggles her foot in what I’m guessing is nervous energy. We’re at the Philadelphia airport awaiting our flight to Las Vegas.

“They’re bad for the environment.”

“Is first class bad for the environment too? ’Cause I got bumped to first class once and let me tell you, it felt right.”

I grin, amused with her. “I can’t see that there’s any difference between coach and first on your carbon footprint, and you’ll be happy to know I booked us first class to Vegas.”

“Sweet.” She nods, her knee bouncing a bit more. I wonder if she’ll say yes once we’re standing in front of the officiant. She’s agreed to marry me, but she’s clearly nervous, and we’re not even on the plane yet. I should give her more time to think this through, but I don’t want to.

I want her. Married to me.

The prenup was a fight. Not with her, but with my lawyer. I nearly fired him over the terms I laid out. Terms he found aggressively in Daisy’s favor. I disagreed. The numbers were embarrassingly low, all things considered. But I want her to feel like she can stay or go, and not have money factor into it. Especially when money does factor in, in ways she doesn’t know about yet.

“The lounge is nice,” she offers, glancing around us at a nice enough executive club lounge. “The trail mix is good.” She jostles the bowl in her lap of complimentary snack mix. She selects an almond from the bowl and pops it in her mouth. Chews. Sighs. Bounces her knee and glances around the lounge some more. Then she looks up, panicked. “Will Mrs. Lascola take care of Tubbs this weekend?”

“We’re only going to be gone two nights. He’d be fine on his own with enough food, but yes, Mrs. Lascola will stop in and feed him daily.” Because the cat is spoiled. Also he can’t really be trusted with two days’ worth of food at one time. I’d get him an automated feeder, but I prefer to have him checked on when I’m not home.

“Oh.” She nods. “I’ve never had a cat before.”

I nod.

“Or a baby,” she adds. “I didn’t do a ton of babysitting, it was more Violet’s thing.”

“What did you do? When Violet was doing her thing?”

“Extracurricular activities.”

I raise an eyebrow. I bet. I don’t really want to hear about them either.

She rolls her eyes at me and laughs. “Not like that. Cheerleading, student newspaper, student council.”

“Tell me more about the cheerleading.”

“Pervert.”

“Please tell me there’s a video of you and your pompoms somewhere on the internet.”

“Well.” She smiles, and her bouncing knee has steadied. “We did place third at nationals my senior year. It was a really big deal.”

“I bet. Did they let you keep the outfit?”

“You’re such a nerd. No. Our uniforms belong to the school. You’ve got to turn it in or they don’t let you graduate.”

“Shame. Do you think they’d release it again for a large donation? New uniforms for everyone. The entire school. Cheerleaders, track, lacrosse, soccer, volleyball, swim team. Whatever they need.”

She claps a hand over her eyes, but she’s laughing as she shakes her head no. We board our flight a few minutes later, Daisy falling asleep shortly after takeoff.