by Nikki Chase
Hell, that girl can make a bad habit look good. I used to hate it when she bit her cheek. But now, every time she does that, usually while she’s concentrating on writing her novel… I just die. It’s like my heart crumbles and my lungs collapse for a second.
…
Ah, fuck.
Now I’ve gone and done it. The very thing I said I wouldn’t do.
It just took me a long time to realize it, so long that even Bob saw it first.
Kat
“I love this latest installment of your story. Things are really heating up between Sarah and Mr. Jones. Rawr! <3”
I smile to myself as I read the e-mail from Laura Love, my favorite romance author. She’s been on the New York Times bestsellers list so many times nobody’s keeping track anymore. And she’s been nice enough to critique my manuscript.
I still can’t quite believe that we’re friends now. Ever since we went on that first coffee date that Heath arranged, we’ve been staying in touch. She even lets me read her unfinished, unpublished manuscript!
The romance fan inside me is still freaking out, while the author in me is trying her best to keep her cool so I can at least glean some knowledge from her.
Laura told me that Bob, the CEO of Core Publishing, had sent her an email one day, asking her to read my manuscript if she had the time.
She gets multiple such emails every week, mostly from her fans. But since this was from the CEO, even though she didn’t have to read the manuscript, her curiosity was piqued.
At first Laura intended to hate-read it because, in her own words, “If the CEO recommended you, you were probably some spoiled brat who’d graduated college with an English degree and thought that meant you could write. I expected it to be bad. But then suddenly I’d finished the first chapter and I hadn’t seen anything bad. So I read another chapter, and then another, and then before I knew it, I’d stayed up the whole night to finish it.”
Those words are some of the best things my ears have had the pleasure of hearing.
Laura’s given me a lot of great feedback about plotting and pacing. I’ve read a lot of books on fiction writing, so I get the general idea. But it’s so much better to have a professional analyze my work and point out my weak points.
Now I see where I’ve been going wrong and why I’ve been getting rejected. Going forward, I’m confident I’ll hear back from some publishers, even if I didn’t have Heath’s connections—not that I want to forgo them. I’ve had disadvantages thrown in my path my whole life. It’s about time I get to be the one enjoying some unfair competitive advantage.
But in a way, Laura counts as one of Heath’s connections too, doesn’t she?
Really, I owe my progress to Heath.
He gives me the time and freedom I need to write. He introduces me to a kick-ass mentor.
He does filthy things to me that I write into my sex scenes, which are now a thousand degrees hotter than they used to be.
But it’s not just about career progression and hot sex.
He takes note of the brands of toiletries that I use and when they’re running low, he always remembers to stock up before I run out. This has saved me mid-lather a couple of times.
I know it’s a stupid little thing, but when I was living with Vera, I had to be the one keeping track of everything in the house or we’d have to go without.
I was expected to always keep some essentials in stock, even though Vera never gave me any money for the soaps, the milk, the eggs, or any of the other things I had to purchase. I had to use the money I’d earned from my shitty, minimum-wage waitressing job at a run-down diner.
And as if that’s not enough, Heath also fired Jeff as soon as he found out who had been responsible for the media leak. I guess he partly did it for himself because he was in those pictures with me, too.
But the way he talked about it, it felt like he’d done it for my sake, because Jeff had risked my anonymity. No one had ever defended me like that before.
And when he got to the point of the story where the IT team found a hidden folder in his computer containing pictures of me, I could swear he sounded jealous.
It feels like things have been different since last week, when Heath came home after firing Jeff.
I like the new Heath. He’s more attentive and more affectionate.
But that also makes it hard for me to separate my emotions from this arrangement.
Whenever I leave the apartment—always separately from Heath to avoid the cameras—it’s like there’s an elastic rope tugging at me, trying to snap me back home, and the further away I go, the stronger it tries to pull me back.
I think about Heath constantly. When I’m writing, I imagine him as the hero in my story. And then as I think about the story throughout the day, I ponder Heath’s personality traits, his strengths and weaknesses, how he would react in certain fictional situations…
Heath is the air I breathe. At first I thought it was just because we had been spending a lot of time together. But now, I realize it’s probably also because something of him has become embedded within me, and it’s growing inside me. What I’m saying is, maybe I’m feeling this way because my pregnancy hormones are masquerading as genuine emotions.
“What is it?” Heath’s voice yanks me back to the living room, where he’s just joined me on the couch after changing into his comfortable sweatpants and faded, old T-shirt.
“Huh?” I ask, still half-dazed.
“You said you wanted to tell me something.”
“Right.” I give Heath a smile, while internally freaking out. Do I already have pregnancy brain?
“Did you just want me close? Because you could’ve just said that.” Heath grins as he scoots closer on the couch until his arm is slung around my shoulders. He pecks me on the cheek.
Sweatpants. Lame jokes. Chaste pecks. Chilling on the couch on a quiet night together.
We’re acting more like an old couple than two people in a strictly-business arrangement.
“Heath, I’m pregnant,” I blurt out before I overthink things.
Heath’s grin disappears. His blue eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“Is that such a surprise? This is exactly what we’ve been trying to accomplish. You really shouldn’t be surprised.” I nudge him gently with a smile. “I wouldn’t joke about this. I’m really preggo.”
Heath stares at me with a flat expression I can’t read.
“Heath,” I say, “you haven’t changed your mind or anything, right?”
“No, of course not,” Heath says quickly. “I’m just… I didn’t think it would happen so soon, and so easily.”
“Well, apparently we’re both pretty fertile.” I shrug.
Heath grimaces. “It’s weird to use the word ‘fertile’ to describe people, but I’m going to let that slide for now. How did you find out?”
“I used the test stick and it came out positive. Then I tried three more sticks to be sure—” I pause to enjoy the suspense “—and they were all positive.”
“Oh, wow. Oh my God. Fuck.” Heath lets out a string of random words containing curses and appeals to the divine. “I’m going to be a father!”
“Yeah.” I give him a wry smile.
That’s right. He’s going to be a father. I won’t be in the picture at all. Thanks for reminding me, Heath.
This pregnancy just means that the date for me to move out is drawing closer. I’ll live here for nine months, then I’ll give birth to the baby, and then I’ll breastfeed it, and then… I’ll leave.
I’ll have given birth to a baby—my baby—and I’ll probably have fallen in love with him or her, just like I’ve fallen for his or her father.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Heath asks with concern in his eyes. Gone is the big grin that was on his gorgeous face, only moments ago.
“Huh?” It’s hard to speak. It’s like my lips have been glued together, and my throat has been blocked.
“Are you okay, kitten?�
� Heath puts his hand on my cheek and rubs his thumb on my skin.
As dampness streams down my face, I realize I’m crying.
“Why are you crying? We’re going to be parents,” he says in a soothing voice.
“No, you’re going to be a father,” I say, forcing my voice through the lump in my throat. I can’t keep this bottled up inside me any longer. “I’m going to be a stranger—to both the baby and to you.”
“No, kitten. Please don’t cry. Like I told you before, everything can be renegotiated,” Heath says as he brushes stray hair off my face and caresses my damp cheek.
“Is this… something you want to renegotiate?” I ask in a voice interrupted by sobs. I think about the terms of the contract. “What are we talking about? Like, your consent to let me and the kid email each other, some kind of a visitation schedule, or what?”
“Maybe renegotiation is the wrong word for it.”
I look at Heath expectantly as my shoulders continue to shake. I want to hear this. If there’s some way to stay in the kid’s life—and in Heath’s life—I want it. I don’t even care if the kid will know how we’re related. He can call me Aunt Kat for all I care.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a few days, kitten. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I wanted to be sure.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I knew you were troubled, but I held back. It’s just that… You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’ve been burned before and I just wanted to be sure, because this is something I’d sworn I was never going to do even again in my life.”
“What are you talking about?” I repeat, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.
“I guess I’m just going to say it.” Heath takes a long breath and stares deep into my eyes. “I love you, Kat. I don’t want a fucking business arrangement. I thought that was what I needed, but I was wrong.”
I just stare at him with my jaw slack and my mouth open.
“I want the whole package with you. I want a relationship. I want a family. Maybe even a wedding, if you want one. Anything you want, I’ll do. For you.”
For a few intense seconds, neither one of us says anything. We just watch each other, studying each other, searching for truth.
“Are you sure?” I ask when I finally find my voice. My tears have stopped falling down my face. I can’t quite believe what Heath has just said, but hope starts to take root in my heart. “This is all so sudden, Heath. Are you sure you’re not just saying that to stop my crying?” I huff a small laugh. “Look, I’m not crying anymore. Just give it to me straight.”
“I mean it,” Heath says, sincerity in his eyes. There’s no doubt about it—he’s telling the truth. “I love you,” he says.
“Are you sure it’s not just you sensing my pregnancy hormones?” I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider the situation.
“I don’t know what it is. But I fall for you every time you do that little cheek-biting thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a bad habit you need to stop, but I just find you so damn adorable when you do that. My heart just squeezes and I want to kiss you.”
“So kiss me.”
“Give me an answer first. I love you, kitten. What do you have to say to that?” Heath asks, his voice soft and vulnerable. His eyes fixate on my face as he observes every little micro-expression I make.
“I love you, too,” I say. And just like that, a heavy burden is lifted. A secret is shared. “But are you sure it’s not just because I’m pregnant?”
“I’ve been thinking about having this talk with you for days, and I still haven’t figured everything out. But I think I love you, and you just said you love me back. And you’re living in my apartment, carrying my baby. It seems pretty obvious what we should do here, don’t you think?” Heath asks, leveling his gaze at me.
I take a deep breath and strengthen my resolve. “Yes. We should give this a chance. This baby deserves the best family he or she can have.”
“It’s not just for the baby,” Heath says as he leans closer and finally lands a gentle kiss on my lips. “It’s for me, too. And hopefully for you, as well.”
“Yeah,” I say as I close my eyes and let Heath make me forget everything with his sinful lips, his skillful hands, and that beautiful cock between his strong thighs.
Kat
“I can tell he likes you,” Heath’s dad, David, says as he takes a sip of the wine we got him, from the local liquor store this time.
“What gave it away? My giant belly?” I grin. At four months, my belly is hardly giant, but you can definitely tell that there’s a bun baking in the oven.
“I’m an old-fashioned man. I don’t know anything about pregnancy. Back in my days, that was women’s business.” As David gives me a cheeky smile, the sparkle in his blue eyes reminds me of Heath.
By that, to be more specific, he means pregnancy was Martha’s business. Heath’s mom is whipping up some dessert. I can hear the clangs of pots and pans in the kitchen. I feel useless just sitting here twiddling my thumbs, but Martha insists she doesn’t need my help.
She looked gutted when she realized she was missing an important ingredient, so Heath offered to go out and buy it.
I love how Heath treats his family. Every time he refills his dad’s glass of water, I tear up. I keep thinking about us being old and grey, with kids of our own. I’d die happy if our kids treated us like he treats his parents.
I wanted to go with Heath to the store, but David asked me to stay and—hell, I can’t say “no” to the future grandfather of my unborn child, can I? Especially when he also happens to be terminally ill.
So it’s just David and me now, chilling in their living room—David in his recliner, and me on the sofa across the coffee table from him.
“It’s the wine,” David says as he lifts up his glass, disturbing the red wine inside.
“What about the wine?”
“This is good wine.”
“I know. I have good taste in wine,” I say, grinning.
“Bullshit,” he says, waving his pale, frail hand dismissively.
I widen my eyes, channeling a picture of innocence. “What are you talking about?”
“This wine has Heath written all over it. You’re lying to me, young lady. But now I know the truth.” David’s lips form a lopsided smile, not unlike Heath’s, and he says, “He picked the wine, didn’t he? And he told you to lie to me.”
I let out a big exhale and raise my hands in defeat. “You got me.”
“I may not know anything about pregnancy, but I know my wines. And this wine has strong undertones of my-son’s-helping-a-girl-impress-me.”
Something rises up my throat and escapes through my eyes as tears. God, this pregnancy… I’m so damn emotional lately.
“Dad, why did you make her cry? What did you do to her?” Heath says loudly as he enters the room. He joins me on the couch, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and wipes my tears away with his warm, gentle fingers. He grins at David. “Just kidding. I know how easily she cries these days. The smallest things set her off.”
“You don’t have to tell me about it. When your mother was pregnant with you, I had to sneak out of the house just to breathe at a normal volume.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about pregnancy,” I say.
David raises his eyebrows. “Shots fired.” He looks at Heath and says, “I can see why you like this one.”
“So really, what did he do?” Heath asks me.
“He, uh, said you like me,” I say in a small voice.
Heath bursts out laughing. “How could you, Dad?”
“Looks like everyone’s having fun,” Martha says as she brings a tray out and places it on the coffee table. On the tray are little brown squares with white cream and bits of kiwis and strawberries on top. “These are baked wonton wrappers with yogurt and fruits. Strange combination, I know. But I’ve been trying to cook healthier and they taste pretty good together.”
Martha picks up on
e of the little squares and feeds it to David.
“This is better than just ‘pretty good,’ dear,” David says.
I give Heath a look. Your parents are adorable!
Heath gives me a strange smile that I can’t decode.
It’s only much later, after many more dinners with his parents, do I learn the truth.
When I’m thirty weeks pregnant, Heath tells me something that I never would’ve guessed about his parents.
We’ve just had a lovely dinner together, as a family. Man, I just love the fact that I can say the word “family” and feel good about it these days.
We say our goodbyes at the door of Martha and David’s house, then Heath and I step out into the cold, winter night. The sky is bright red, and snow covers the ground.
I hold on to Heath’s arm for balance as I waddle. It’s hard to worry about being graceful with a giant bump on my belly.
“Your parents are wonderful,” I say for probably the hundredth time.
“My parents…” The corners of Heath’s lips tug up—there’s that strange smile again. “Things haven’t always been this way with my parents.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. They used to… When I was little, they were separated,” Heath says.
“It’s hard for me to imagine that. They look so happy together.”
“Yeah. The separation lasted three years. They couldn’t stay apart for long. It was stupid.”
“How old were you?” I ask, sensing the hint of pain in Heath’s voice.
“About seven,” Heath says, not offering more information.
“Did you live with your mom, or your dad? Or did they continue to live together?”
“I lived with my Grandpa Joe. My dad’s dad.” Heath lets out a sigh. “I guess my parents had me too young. They had to drop everything and become adults. Eventually, they cracked under pressure, I guess.”
“Heath!” I hear Martha call from behind us. I twist to see her waving something in the air—something black and familiar. “You left your scarf.”
Heath looks at his mom, then he turns to me. Handing me his car keys, he says, “It’s cold. You’d better get inside the car first. This could take a while. My mom can be really chatty.”
