Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(62)

Indira stared at Lizzie for five long seconds, her face inscrutable, before she burst out in explosive laughter.

“I’m serious!” Lizzie said, collapsing down. “It’s like this cold war of sexual tension. I mean, you’ve seen his face. But then that body? Holy. Fuck. I accidentally walked in on him spread-eagle in the shower this morning and nearly swooned.”

Despite Lizzie’s serious tone, Indira kept whooping with laughter.

“It’s not funny! I want to run my teeth down his thighs like a cheese grater. I want him to spank me so hard, my soul leaves my body. I want to gnaw on him like a piece of Laffy Taffy then shrink my body down so I can build a permanent residence in between the muscles of that hot V thing he has. And I’ve never, ever wanted to suck dick so bad in my entire life. He’s making me feral.”

“You’ve always been feral,” Indira said, wiping at her eyes. “You’ve just never not had an outlet for it. Why don’t you guys have sex and get it out of your system?”

“We made a pact,” Lizzie said, pulling a pillow over her face and biting the fabric. “He said if we’re doing this coparenting thing platonically, we shouldn’t also be having sex.”

“Damn him and his rationality,” Indira said dryly.

“What am I going to do? I feel like I’m one more peek of his damn kneecaps away from combusting or jumping him.”

“Oh sweet child, just masturbate. It’s not that hard.”

Lizzie bolted up to sitting. “You think I haven’t been? You think I’m not sneaking off to the bathroom every chance I get? He probably thinks I have IBS at this point. It’s not helping. Nothing is helping. I’m just a dehydrated, horny mess.”

Indira must have seen a semblance of the torment in Lizzie’s eyes, because her face softened. “I’m sorry. I imagine it’s actually very hard to be pregnant and horny and unable to do anything. I wish I had better advice for you. You could go on a date, though, you know. You never had a problem finding sex before all of this happened.”

Lizzie turned this over in her mind, but for some reason, the thought of a stranger’s hands on her, once such a delicious image, made her queasy. She didn’t want a random person touching her. She wanted Rake. Only Rake. And that was terrifying.

“I don’t know. It just feels weird to do that. Like it’s … wrong or something.”

“It shouldn’t,” Indira said, studying Lizzie. “You’ll need to get back out there eventually, right? Or what, you’re just going to live the next eighteen years of your life like this? Horny and living with some guy, not together but also not seeing other people? You’ll want to find someone to be with eventually, won’t you?”

Lizzie was quiet, trying to picture herself happy with this “someone,” but Rake’s stupid face kept popping up instead.

“I’m just being ridiculous,” she said at last. “I’ll get over this. It’s probably hormones.”

“Do you want to stay here?” Indira asked. “Move back in? There’s no shame if living with Rake isn’t working.”

“Living with Rake is actually kind of fun,” Lizzie admitted, plucking at the couch cushions. “I’m the one making things more complicated than they need to be.” She wouldn’t tell Indira about the kiss. That would provoke dozens of questions that Lizzie had no answers for. She knew the kiss meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

They sat in silence, Lizzie staring down at her hands, feeling the weight of Indira’s stare.

“I should go,” Lizzie said at last. “Rake invited me to some swimsuit launch party whatever thing, and I need to finalize a few orders at Bernadette’s before I get ready.”

“That sounds glamorous.”

“Only the classiest for yours truly and le bébé,” Lizzie said, grinning and rubbing her hand over her barely-there bump. She stood and moved toward the door.

“Love you!” Indira said as Lizzie stepped out into the hallway.

“Love ya back,” Lizzie said, then shut the door.

Out on the street, Lizzie’s phone rang and she groaned when she saw GOLDEN CHILD flash across the screen. Ryan had been reaching out to her with greater frequency over the past few weeks, regularly sending her condescending texts like Hi. How are you? Or How’ve you been?

Ha! As if Lizzie couldn’t see right through that little passive-aggressive stunt.

Still in a pissy mood, she answered the call. “God, Ryan, could you be more obvious?”

There was a long silence. “Lizzie?”

Lizzie blew out a breath. “Yes, Lizzie’s Sausage Shop, we’ll pork it, you fork it.”

“Obvious about what?” Ryan asked.

“With your obsessive texting and calling.” Lizzie sighed. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I hardly think texting you twice a week to see how you’re doing is obsessive,” Ryan said, sounding genuinely confused.

“I know why you’re doing it.”

“Why I’m doing what?”

Annoyance and indignation flooded Lizzie. She wasn’t stupid enough to think her brother would reach out to her without an ulterior motive. “You’re texting me because you think I’m going to mess up this dumb-ass cake, and you’re scared, so you think that by texting me regularly, it will remind me I have to make it. News flash, Ryan, I know what I’m doing.”