All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(50)

Even though a voice continued to whisper in the back of her mind that this was a bad idea, she couldn’t put a stop to any of it.

“What were you like? Before?” she asked, sprawled on top of Knox after round two of the night, her ear pressed directly over his heart where it beat a strong rhythm in his chest.

His hand stilled on her back, where he had idly been tracing small patterns. “Doesn’t matter. That’s in the past.”

She bit her lip and darted a glance up at his face. He stared stoically through the gloom to the ceiling as though something of great interest was etched into the plaster.

“I’ll tell you something about me,” she coaxed. Only in that second did she realize he probably didn’t care to know anything personal about her. Past or present. He might not care about her at all. Not beyond this. Not beyond their physical relationship. Fucking, he said. That’s what this was.

“You don’t have to do that.” Translation? Don’t share.

That only seemed to confirm her suspicion. An awkward silence fell between them. She held still, sprawled stiffly over him, and tried not to feel all kinds of awkward.

His chest lifted with a sigh under her. “I played football in high school. I was pretty good.”

She absorbed that for a moment, a smile creasing her face at the small admission. Pretty good. She bet he was better than good. He was amazingly fit at twenty-eight years old. What had he been like in high school?

“I played in college—”

“You went to college?” she asked abruptly.

“Is that such a surprise? I had a full ride at A&M. Went for my first year. I was home for the summer when I got arrested.”

“I guess I never saw you as someone . . .” Her voice faded and she felt him tense under her.

“Someone with a brain?” he finished. “Someone with ambition?” Briar cringed. God, she had sounded like that. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he continued. “It’s a shock, I know. I didn’t grow up with dreams of going to prison. I actually wanted to be someone once.” He moved then, sliding out from under her and leaving the bed.

“Knox, I’m sorry—”

“No need,” he said, but his tone was hard, biting. He was gone from her already. “I gotta go.”

“You could still finish. Get your degree,” she hurriedly suggested, clutching the sheet to her chest and watching as he dressed in the near dark of her room.

He stopped and stared at her with his hands frozen on his fly. “Would that make you feel better?” He motioned to the bed. “About this?”

“No!” She shook her head. “I’m just thinking of you.”

“Well, don’t. Things can’t be undone. And I can’t go back.” He pulled his shirt over his head and nodded at her on the bed. “And don’t feel bad about this. It’s just sex. Nothing to feel ashamed about.”

“I’m not ashamed—” she denied, but he was already walking out of her room.

She heard the door click behind him. With a strangled cry, she fell back on the bed, staring helplessly into the dark. Could she have done a better job of inserting her foot in her mouth?

She tried to go back to sleep, but it was useless. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she got up to take a shower and get ready for work. Reaching inside her shower, she turned on the water, waiting for it to reach the desired warmth. While waiting, she used the restroom . . . where she faced the irrefutable fact that there was no possible way she was pregnant with Knox’s baby.

SHE WASN’T PREGNANT.

Elation should have been her reaction—the proper reaction. She wanted children one day, but in the natural order. With a man who wanted children with her. Preferably after love and wedding vows and a mortgage.

Yes, elation would have been natural, welcomed even. Except that she hadn’t heard from or seen Knox in two days. Not since she stuck her foot in her mouth and he stormed from her apartment. Maybe he didn’t care.

Every time she thought about that possibility, she felt a pang in her chest followed by a swift wash of nausea. She had started to count on seeing him again. Being with him. As though crazy-hot sex with Knox would now be a thing—a regular occurrence in her life. He’d lit something deep inside her when he looked at her in that stark way of his and said that he needed her. Even if he was just talking about sex, it had started to mean more to her.

No man, no past boyfriend, had ever claimed that he needed her before. He was in her blood now. She didn’t think she could ever go back to being that girl who viewed sex as an obligatory thing you had to do when you were in a relationship . . . a thing that she was bad at, according to Beau.

Then she felt awful, ashamed of herself for even thinking that she needed a baby to keep Knox around. As though that was the only way she could keep him.

She had to tell him. Rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. She had waited two days already, hoping he would show up at her place again. She’d debated exactly how to do it. Call him? Text him?

And what was the protocol on that text message exactly? No worries! You’re free! Or maybe something along the lines of: Hey there! Turns out I’m not going to be your Baby Mama.

By the time she got around to doing it, she simply went with: I’m not pregnant.

And then she waited. Although not very long. Instead of a text, he actually called her.