Winger

by Samantha Whiskey

  It wasn’t like me at all—usually, I was so focused on work and expanding my menu options or whatnot that I found stopping to smell the roses trivial. I couldn’t have been more wrong. These past couple days with Warren had been like the vacation I’d never had, and while I was still guarded emotionally—for both the baby and my sake—I was happy.

  Except for when I thought about how’d I’d flinched away from his touch last week.

  Then I was mortified.

  I hadn’t meant to…it just happened on reflex. A survival mechanism. Something I knew stemmed from my own absentee family. I would not do that to my child, and I wouldn’t allow anyone else to, either. While Warren was currently making me happy and doing all he could to prove himself, I knew once the Shark’s season started everything would change.

  I had to keep reminding myself of this every time I felt myself relaxing a little too much in his presence.

  Warren’s hand rested effortlessly in mine, the action becoming so expected it was natural by now. The contact felt better than I’d admit, and whenever he did that thing where he traced the lines on my palm and wrist, I practically melted.

  “This is beautiful,” I said, walking up to the first giant saltwater tank on the right. The thing was massive, rising all the way to the ceiling. The gorgeous blue water only made the neon colors of the fish pop as they meandered back and forth.

  “It really is,” he said, and I glanced his way. He was looking right at me but quickly averted his gaze to the fish. “Nemo.” He pointed to the small clownfish, swallowing hard.

  “Good eyes.” Heat flushed my body.

  How were we nervous around each other?

  I was carrying his child for Christ’s sake.

  Maybe that was the reason.

  Or maybe it was because of our insanely unique situation. Or it was because I wasn’t used to this new side of Warren. The one who floundered, the one who had vulnerability in those normally cocky eyes, the one who’d reached for my tummy yesterday and I’d pulled away.

  Guilt ate at my insides.

  Yes, I was terrified.

  Terrified of letting myself feel for him.

  Anything—friendly, more than friendly. It was all a slippery slope, one I didn’t want to put on the baby. It wasn’t just my heart that would get crushed if I fell for a guy who wasn’t commitment ready to put us ahead of his career.

  Again, not that I could blame him. He didn’t ask for this. Neither did I, but I owned it in a way that claimed my soul. I would be enough for this baby. I would be everything.

  Warren led me around the aquarium, stopping to admire each tank with an aloofness that set me at ease. Like there really wasn’t any place he’d rather be, as he’d said the other day at the carnival.

  “Oh my,” I said as I followed him into a large tunnel-like walkway. The entire room was surrounded by glass, even the ceiling. A variety of fish swam lazily over the ceiling and down past the walls surrounding us. “Look at this guy!” I hurried to the right side, pointing to a giant sea turtle that moved through the water with such easy, fluid movements.

  “Damn, he’s big.” Warren leaned next to me as we got closer to the glass.

  I nodded, watching him swim.

  So this is what normal people do on dates.

  Go to cool places, see cool stuff, content to simply be together.

  I could get used to it.

  But I shouldn’t.

  Right. Because Warren wouldn’t be around forever. He was only doing this now to prove he was capable of it, not to show he was in it for life.

  Well, I can at least enjoy it while it lasts.

  A five-foot bull shark darted past the glass, jolting me. I stumbled backward, but two strong hands caught my hips to steady me.

  “Whoa, there,” he said, smiling down at me. “I thought you weren’t afraid of Sharks.”

  My heart raced in my chest from the surprise guest, but it increased due to Warren’s touch. He was so close I could smell him—delicious, spicy, man.

  “Only when they surprise me,” I said, trying to calm my breathing.

  “Learned that the hard way,” he said, no doubt remembering the episode in the kitchen. The same one where I pulled away. I needed to amend that as soon as possible. This baby was as much his as it was mine, I just couldn’t help protecting it with everything I had.

  “Oh!” I flinched, the baby-ball using a karate chop move on my ribs—like it was scolding me for remembering my blunder. I palmed the left side of my round stomach, my brow scrunched.

  “What is it?” Warren asked, his eyes darting from my face to my hand. “Do you need to sit? Should I call the doctor?”

  The panic in his features melted my heart.

  This beast of a man—solid like he was carved out of marble, with dark eyes fierce enough to steal breath—was worried about us. About me.

  “No,” I said. “The baby is just trying to be like you, I think.”

  He swallowed hard. “What?”

  “Strong. The thing has a mean kick.”

  Warren laughed, and the baby-ball kicked again.

  My heart thumped hard against my chest, threatening to climb up my throat as I reached for Warren’s hand. I’d pushed him away last week, but I’d been taken off guard.

  I was in control, now, and I wanted him to feel this.

  To give this piece of myself to him.

  “Here,” I said, guiding his trembling hand to where the baby kicked like a ninja who had too many Redbulls.

  He wetted his lips, his eyes both unsure and excited as I held his huge hand on the spot on my tummy.

  I held my breath, waiting.

  Nothing.

  Warren’s eyes flashed up to mine, and I hated the defeat I saw there.

  “Laugh again.”

  “What?” He asked. “I can’t laugh on command.”

  I rolled my eyes, keeping his hand firmly in place. “Picture Rory skating in a tutu.”

  He glowered at me.

  “Picture Gage taking a shot in a feather boa and a tiara.”

  Nothing.

  “Ugh, fine. Picture them both wearing that and being attacked by bees on the ice.”

  Warren laughed, shaking his head.

  Kick. Kick. Kick.

  His laughter died, replaced with a gasp.

  He laughed again, this one a little forced but more in awe.

  Kick. Kick.

  I watched his eyes glued to the area where I held his hand. They glittered just slightly.

  “I can feel you, baby,” he said, the tone so soft I may not have heard it if I hadn’t been so close. He finally looked at me. “It’s incredible.”

  “Baby-ball likes your laugh. Go figure.”

  It was a hell of a laugh.

  One that made me weak.

  “You keep calling it baby-ball,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, releasing his hand, allowing him to rub it over my belly. “It looks like a perfect ball, doesn’t it?”

  “Perfect.” He slowly reached toward me with his other hand, but flickered his eyes to me in question, like he was afraid I would run away again.

  I nodded, swallowing the emotions in my throat as he set his other hand on the opposite side of my belly.

  I sighed at the contact, the way his warmth seeped into my skin and filled me in ways no innocent touch should. A deep hunger roared to life, as it often did around Warren, and I found myself out of control of my breathing again.

  “Are you all right?” He asked, never letting me go.

  “Mmmhmm,” I mumbled, wishing I could find the voice I was so sure of a moment ago.

  “You don’t know the sex, do you?”

  For a moment, all I heard was sex.

  Yes, please.

  “Wait,” I said, blinking out of my lust filled haze. “What?”

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  I shook my head. “I wanted to be surprised.”

  He smiled. “I love
that.”

  The moment was charged and yet soft.

  Aching hunger and yet filled.

  Hot damn, the man made my head spin.

  Made my heart wish for things I knew weren’t possible.

  But for the moment, I was content in the chaos. I would soak this up for as long as I could because I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt so…cared for.

  “You hungry, baby?” He asked, and for a moment I thought he was talking to me again, but he was looking at my tummy, and it somehow made it much more adorable.

  Kick. Kick. Kick.

  Oh my gosh, baby-ball you’re already starting banter with your father?

  Father.

  Dangerously close to losing my mind.

  “Do we have lunch plans?” I asked, clearing my voice when it cracked.

  Warren straightened, releasing my stomach only to take my hand.

  “We do.” He pointed up with his free hand.

  I arched a brow. “We’re eating with the fishes?”

  “Sort of.”

  An elevator ride later, we were seated in a private dining room on the roof. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city and a stunning tank with some of the most gorgeous fish I’d ever seen inside made up one of the restaurant walls.

  I opened the menu, nodding at the simple yet elegant style. “You sure know how to wine and dine a girl,” I said, tilting my head. “Minus the wine.”

  He chuckled. “How hard has that been?”

  “What, not drinking?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, setting down his menu.

  “Not as hard as you’d think.” I gave our waitress my order and turned back to him. “After I saw those two pink lines, everything shifted. Like everything that had been before that moment crumbled inside me, only to rebuild in a way that made me stronger, protective, loving. Sure, I was terrified, but I was also filled with this insane sense of purpose. I miss wine. Trust me. But it’s not so bad. The hardest thing has honestly been the worrying.”

  “About…”

  I puffed out a breath. “Everything.”

  I laughed and he laughed and the baby-ball kicked.

  “About the baby being healthy,” I continued. “About me being a good mom, about something happening during labor and me being alone.” The last part slipped out, and I quickly took a drink of water to try and swallow that truth.

  “Your mom?” he asked.

  I shook my head, figuring Rory and Gage had already filled him on my family history. But he was kind enough to pretend like they didn’t. To give me the choice to open up about a past I’d rather forget.

  “My parents haven’t been in the picture for a long time,” I said, the moment charged between us. Because that fact that I wanted to tell him, that I trusted him enough with this darkness…it meant everything. “They’re not dead or anything. Well, not in the technical sense of the word.” I glanced down, my throat tightening as memories flooded me. “I won’t go into detail, but I wouldn’t attend their funeral even if they were.” I swallowed hard. “We’re not a family. Paige became that when I was sixteen and then Bailey later.”

  “And you don’t want the girls in the room?” He asked, and I breathed a sigh, so damn grateful he didn’t press for gory details of my past. Or looked at me any differently.

  “Not really, no. I’ve always done things on my own,” I said, sighing. “Plus, I don’t mind if they’re there, but there are only so many things a best friend can do. It’s not like having—” I stopped mid-sentence, blaming my hormones for my total lack of filter.

  Warren furrowed his brow as our waitress set our orders down. “Like what?” He asked after she’d left.

  “It’s not important.”

  “Nine,” he chided. “It is. I can tell.” He pushed his steak around his plate. “Look, I know we’re still getting used to this new situation between us, and I know I’m not your ideal candidate for a partner, but I want you to talk to me. I want to be what you need. What the baby needs. So…talk.”

  Heat flushed my body.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about this. Six months is a long time to be on your own and reevaluate your choices. I would never, not for a second, take this back,” I said. “And that doesn’t mean you have to feel that way. I’d totally get it if you regret what happened, but I don’t. And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with being a single mother. I know I can do it.”

  “But,” he said, waving me on to continue.

  “But,” I said. “With all that time to think, I had plenty of time to think about what it would be like if we’d…I’d done things in the normal way. You know, date. Relationship, marriage, then baby.” I chuckled. “At least when you’re married, you’d have that person in the room with you telling you you’re gorgeous even though you likely look like a swamp creature. And they’d be there to take care of the hard things—like paperwork and legal decisions—afterward when you’re too tired to think straight.” I sighed. “I think about these things, worry about them. How I’ll handle all the tough choices…after the big push.”

  Warren had frozen with a piece of steak on his fork.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Not really dinner talk.”

  “It’s fine,” he said, setting his bite down. “Honestly. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “How far have you thought?”

  He chuckled. “Tonight?”

  I laughed, taking a bite of a decent piece of grilled chicken.

  “I’m more worried about earning a spot in your life than I have been about the future.”

  Well, that was an honest answer.

  “You’re not doing so bad,” I said, grinning after another bite.

  “Yeah?” He smirked.

  That paired with the sincerity in his eyes hit every fuck-me-now button I had.

  The buttons had tripled since I’d gotten pregnant.

  I held my palm out and down, shaking it back and forth. “So-so,” I amended.

  “What could I do to increase my chances?”

  Kiss me until I shake.

  Touch me where I can’t reach.

  Shatter me.

  I blinked a few times, forcing myself out of the past where Warren had made my body his. “Date number two is a win,” I said, ignoring the question altogether.

  “Things would go a lot smoother if you’d tell me exactly what you wanted.”

  “You’re doing great on your own,” I assured him. “Besides,” I said. “I don’t know if you could handle exactly what I want.”

  And I could never ask.

  Please serve me with multiple orgasms?

  Come on.

  I was huge, pregnant, and had no clue how to navigate that road. This is why married people didn’t realize how lucky they were. They could have sex without having to ask for it, without having to wonder how to admit how badly they wanted that connection again.

  How desperately I crave to be intimate with the person who gave me the greatest gift I never knew I wanted.

  Warren reached for my hand across the table, taking it in his, lazily tracing those lines until I trembled inside. “I told you before,” he said, his dark eyes pinning mine. “I can handle you.”

  A warm shiver rolled up my spine.

  Could he?

  Could he tell how badly I wanted him?

  Could he sense it on me?

  “Well,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “If the time comes where I’m ready to tell you exactly what I want…I will. Trust me.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded and pulled his hand back to keep eating. After a few bites, he smirked at me again. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter 8

  Warren

  A little over seven months.

  Two left to go.

  And Jeannine still hadn’t told me exactly what she wanted, despite me checking off a few more items from her list the past month.

  I didn’t mind it—the dates. Each one w
as better than the next, but simply being around her was fun. Even if we ordered in, even if she randomly fell asleep on the couch during a show, even if she continued to torture me with those fleeting looks where I swore she wanted more.

  But I’d never push her.

  She’d come to me when she was ready.

  I’d just have to continue giving her every reason to trust me.

  And find a replacement for cold showers because those sure as shit weren’t doing anything against my need for that woman.

  Smack!

  Rory slammed me into the boards, my helmet bouncing off the partition, effectively cutting off all thoughts of Jeannine.

  “Where you at, Kinley?” Rory quipped, skating backward as he taunted.

  I shook off the hit, noting the move had freed up Gage to get the puck from Bentley, who, to his credit, was trying like hell to get it back for us.

  Gage had paired me with the rookie to test us both.

  We were getting along just fine until I’d been distracted by all things Nine.

  “Fuck me,” I snarled, skating after Rory.

  He laughed. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You will pay for that, Jackson!” I hollered despite being on his heels. I had no cares for the puck anymore—I only wanted to destroy Rory.

  “Don’t hate me because I speak truth,” he said, pumping up his speed. I matched him skate for skate until I finally caught the prick. “Umph!” He jolted as I shoved him into the boards behind the goal.

  The open goal that Gage easily slid the puck into.

  It won them the pick-up game we’d started a couple of hours ago.

  “Damn!” Bentley snapped. It looked like he wanted to throw his stick against the ice, but he reeled it in. Slowly skating to Gage, he glove-bumped him. “Good game, man.”

  I raised my brows as I helped Rory up. The kid had gotten a lock on the anger—no easy feat for any of us. Impressive.

  “Thanks,” Rory said, fully standing now. “That was one hell of a hit.”

  “You deserved it.”

  He laughed. “Don’t I always?”

  We headed to the locker room, shedding our gear in a lazy sort of way before each of us hitting separate showers. Once we’d gathered back near our lockers, fresh clothes on, Rory kept eyeing me from where he sat.