Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(56)

“Don’t have one of those,” I always say.

“Oh, your boyfriend then,” they say with a tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t have one of those either.”

Just as before, the phone conversation Jason and I had earlier this morning was quick and strained. I should have known better. Asking him to take a paternity test could only lead to one thing—him accusing me of cheating on him.

“Why would you need that? Were you fucking someone else?” he spat out, his voice as harsh as I remember it getting during our worst fights.

And to think he might have changed.

“For the record, that’s none of your business, Jason,” I said with a clipped tone. “But no, I did not cheat on you, and I would really appreciate it if you could take this. For me.”

“I’ll bet you would.”

“Jason, please.”

“Not until you tell me the truth.”

I ended the call, then and there. Jason doesn’t deserve to know about Grant. He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my life anymore. Bastard.

Listening to the low whistle of the teakettle warming on the stove, I check my phone for the first time in hours. Two missed calls from Jason, naturally, and a text from Georgia.

Thinking about you. Let me know if you have energy for a girls’ night. I’ll come to you! Can’t wait to see the new place. xoxo

The message warms my heart. God, I’ve missed her. We still see each other at work, of course, but we haven’t hung out in months.

I’ve been giving her space since I dropped the baby bomb on her, uncertain of how she’d react. Looks like our friendship is going to be just fine, after all.

The kettle whistles loudly, pulling me back into the present. Armed with a warm mug of mint tea, I reenter the nursery. The crib is upright and secured, from what I can tell. But Grant’s nowhere to be seen. Odd.

I hear the front door open and peek my head out into the hall. Grant shuffles inside, two giant woven baskets in his arms, filled to the brim with shopping bags. He looks up and catches my eye, knowing he’s been caught.

He smiles, a big goofy grin. “Had to make a trip to the car. Got you a few things this morning.”

I roll my eyes playfully, unable to stop the smile spreading across my lips. I swear to God, this man has no boundaries. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

For the next hour, we set up the nursery, embellishing the walls with decorative baby animal portraits, filling the dresser drawers with fresh cotton sheets and fleece blankets for the crib, and putting night-lights and protective covers in every available outlet. By the end, I’m sweating a bit, hands on my hips as I admire the nursery, which now looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a magazine.

Grant takes a sip of his now lukewarm tea and nods in approval. “There’s one more thing,” he says, already on his way down the hall toward the front door.

“Can I help?” I call, rubbing my belly anxiously. I hope it’s nothing too big.

“I got it!”

What he carries through the door, not five minutes later, brings the whole damn world to a halt.

“How?” I let out a shocked breath, leaning against the wall for support as I watch with wide, teary eyes as Grant carries my mother’s chestnut rocking chair down the hall. Oh my God.

“I reached out to your dad,” Grant says as he walks the chair into the nursery, positioning it in the corner between the hamper baskets. “I hope you don’t mind. I just know how close you were with your mom, and wanted to see if that rocking chair you were telling me about was still around. He was happy to help. I had it shipped here and picked it up yesterday.”

While he explains, I walk up to the old, familiar chair, touching one curved arm with shaking fingertips. Grant steps away to give me space, but that’s the last thing I want right now. What I want is him.

“Come here,” I say, my arms outstretched and my eyes misty with emotion.

Grant complies, stepping into my arms and wrapping his own around me, careful not to squeeze too tightly. My heart hammers, my breaths shaky and uneven.

“Thank you.” I sniffle wetly into his shirt.

He runs his hand over my hair, still holding me close. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, his lips pressed to the top of my head.

I pull back, searching his eyes. He towers over me, a pillar of strength I’ve come to depend on. And for once, I’m starting to think that’s okay.

Standing up on my tippy-toes, I pull Grant down to me with a gentle tug of his shirt. When our lips meet, all the time apart vanishes in an instant, and I’m sucked right back in time.

I wrap my arms around his neck, straining for him, straining for his kiss. Grant cups my cheek, his mouth covering mine in a hungry kiss. Outside the nursery window, rain begins to patter against the glass, another storm rolling in. He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine as our panting breaths collide between us.

“It’s raining,” he says softly.

“I know.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes dark with passion, but his brow is creased with familiar concern.

“I’m perfect.” I sigh happily, brushing my lips to his again. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he says with a growl, and presses his lips to mine.

I’m dizzy, drunk from his taste and smell and the feel of him in my arms. And despite my balloon of a belly, I can feel his kiss all the way down to my toes.