by Kelsie Rae
With a gentleness I don’t expect, he brushes his mouth against mine before pressing a second kiss to my forehead. “And I hope that someday, I can prove it to you.”
His touch disappears from my cheeks as he reaches for my plate and steals another bite of pancake like he didn’t just knock me on my ass. Like a scorned woman, he drops the fork back on my plate and pouts. “Well, now, they’re cold. Get some shoes on. We need some fresh pancakes, and this time, I’m getting my own short stack.”
And because I’m a sucker for the man in front of me, I slip on some moccasins then grab my keys.
“Fine, but you're buying.”
20
Marcy
His sigh of contentment, combined with the lazy smile on his face, might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen as Ben leans back in his chair and pats his six-pack as if it’s a giant beer belly.
“That’s the stuff.”
“Told ya,” I tease.
“That you did, Marce. Definitely worth the second helping. Those were amazing.”
“Agreed, but you might have to roll me home after all those carbs.” I mirror his movements and rub my stomach for good measure. Only mine is much rounder. And much more pregnant.
Ben’s mouth stretches into a playful grin. “Or I could just carry you in my arms like a gentleman.”
“Or toss me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” I quip.
“I have a better idea. You can toss me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
“We wouldn’t make it past the exit,” I laugh. The imagery is priceless.
“Alas, I guess we’ll have to go for a walk or something so I can work off this food coma.” He pushes himself up and offers his hand to me while bowing at the waist like a nineteenth-century Duke. “M’lady.”
The heat of his hand swallows mine whole as I take it and stand up from the booth. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
“I like it when you call me sir.” He bounces his eyebrows up and down.
“I’m sure you do, horn dog. Don’t we need to pay before we leave?”
“Already took care of it while you were in the bathroom.”
“Ben, you paid for the first set of pancakes that are currently sitting on my kitchen table. You were supposed to let me pay this time,” I argue, though I already know it’s a losing battle.
“No deal. Come on. Let’s go.”
Without another word, we bob and weave through the packed diner before moseying down the sidewalk like a legit couple. Just me and him. I pray he can’t hear my galloping heart as I glance down at our entwined fingers. It’s funny. For most people, holding hands doesn’t seem like a very significant gesture. But for me? The girl who’s always been the one-night stand, or the let’s keep things casual type of date…it’s huge.
“You okay?” Ben’s thumb gently brushes across the back of my hand, pulling me back to the present.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds a little rusty from lack of use even though we’ve been talking all afternoon. I falter and let out an oomph before pressing my other hand to the top of my round belly.
“Ouch, Little Miss,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?” His concern is palpable as he leads me to the side of the path to keep us out of the way of other pedestrians and inspects me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
I wave him off while loving how easily he slipped into doctor mode. “I’m fine, Dr. Bennett. Promise. Little Miss over here is gonna be a soccer player, though. Pretty sure her foot is stuck in my ribs.”
“Do you want to sit for a minute?” That same concern is shining out of his dark gaze and makes me melt a little more.
“I’m okay––ouch. Girly!” I scold before chuckling under my breath. “Give me a break, will ya?”
“One of the joys of being pregnant. Or so I’m told,” Ben adds with a smile.
“Right? Do you want to feel?”
He pulls back a few inches and assesses me carefully. You’d think I just offered to let him touch my hoo-ha in public with the look on his face.
“Or…not?” I backpedal.
“You sure that’s okay?”
“To feel the baby? Yeah, of course.” I grab his hand and nudge it beneath my boob and the top of my stomach, where Little Miss is kicking her heart out.
I don’t have to wait long before his face lights up, and he stares back at me with the sweetest expression I’ve ever seen. “Holy shit.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Why do you look so surprised right now? You work with pregnant women all day long.”
“Yeah, but I never get to feel the babies kick,” he divulges. “Because that would be weird.”
Chuckling at the prospect, I concede, “Good point.”
“Exactly. The last time I felt a woman’s stomach was when Krista was pregnant three years ago, and Kate pulled me over to the couch to feel my nephew hiccuping.”
“They can hiccup?”
“Yeah. You’ve probably felt it before. It’s kind of like a kick, but a lot softer. More rhythmic. And it feels like it’s happening in your whole stomach, not just one spot. Does that make sense?”
Nodding, I filter through the last few weeks inside my head. “Yeah. I think it does. That’s awesome.”
“It really is. How are Anthony and Sway doing?”
“They’re doing good. Anxious, but excited. They even asked me to come and visit them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They’ve always made off-the-cuff comments about me coming to see the baby’s nursery and stuff, but I didn’t really think they were serious until earlier today when they officially invited me.”
“Are you going to go?”
“Am I allowed to? I mean, I don’t know what the proper protocol is.” Batting my lashes, I add, “If only my doctor were around to advise me.”
Ben scratches the scruff on his jaw. “He might have to take a look at your file––”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. No rush––”
“I’m kidding,” he teases, dropping his authoritative tone from seconds before. “I think you’d be fine to travel as long as it was relatively soon. I don’t want you to leave my sight once you reach thirty-two weeks.”
“Maybe I don’t have to leave your sight,” I offer as the hustle and bustle on the street fades away. The comment slips out of me before I can register what it really means, or how he’ll take it.
His head cocks to the side, and I scramble to take it back. “I mean, you definitely don’t have to come because that might be kind of weird since we’re still figuring out this whole, taking it slow with a romantic twist kind of thing, right? I was just thinking it could be fun to take a little weekend trip. But no pressure, ya know?” My mouth snaps shut to cut off my rambling even though it’s easy to see that he heard every single word.
Without hesitation, Ben snakes his arm around my lower waist and pulls me into his chest. Planting the sweetest of kisses against my forehead, he murmurs, “I’d love to come.”
“You sure?” My insecurities lace themselves into my question as I chew on my lower lip and peek up at him. I kind of hate how much I like this guy. How much he makes me happy. How easily he checks off every single box on my perfect guy list. And I’ve already put myself out there once with him and was burned. Bad. Would a vacation away from it all be a good thing? Or would it act like gasoline on an already precarious fire?
His deep laugh rumbles through his chest and into mine, making it tighten in all the right ways as I realize I kind of love how much I like this guy too. Ben Bennett. His smile. His laugh. His need to take care of everyone around him with no regard for himself. He’s the whole package. I just need to figure out if I have a chance of ever stealing his heart the way he’s somehow managed to capture mine. Or if it’ll forever belong to Kate––the girl I will never live up to.
“Positive,” he tells me, brooking no argument while completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Besides, I get a much-
needed vacation with the woman I can’t stop thinking about. Sounds like a win-win to me. I only have one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“You let me pay for everything.”
“Ben––”
“I’m serious, Marcy. Let me treat you the way you deserve. You’ve spent so long taking care of yourself that I’m not even sure if you know what it feels like to let someone else take care of you instead.”
“You don’t have to do that, though. You didn’t sign up for the job––”
“Maybe I want to sign up. Did you ever think of that, Marcy Holden?” he challenges, getting all up in my grill until I’m positive my brain is going to short circuit, and I’ll give in to whatever he asks of me. “Let me take care of you. It’ll make me feel better if I can. Look at it this way. I’m a doctor. It’s my job to look after everyone else around me.”
“And who’s supposed to look after you?”
He shrugs before leaning down and kissing me. It’s soft. And sweet. With the perfect amount of tongue to lip ratio that has me melting into a puddle. When he pulls away a few seconds later, my heavy lids open, and I find myself pressed against his hard chest.
Damn, he’s good at getting what he wants.
“Okay,” I breathe. “You win. I’ll set it up.”
“Sounds to me like we both win.” He winks. “Now, let’s get you home.”
21
Ben
A few weeks later
“You’re pushing your luck. You know that, right?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Marcy asks innocently as I push her carry-on into the luggage compartment above our heads.
“I said you could travel before thirty-two weeks.”
“And I’m exactly thirty-two weeks today. Sounds to me like I’m an excellent travel agent,” she tosses over her shoulder before squeezing into the window seat. The girl has yet to complain about any pregnancy symptoms. Either she’s the biggest trooper I’ve ever seen, or she’s too embarrassed to admit that pregnancy can be a bitch.
Or at least, so I’ve been told.
“Uh, huh. Sure.” I roll my eyes before planting my ass in the seat next to her. With a quick peck to her lips, I buckle up and try not to stare at the girl who loves to drive me nuts and has no idea how much of a turn on it is.
Subtly, I rearrange myself in my jeans but am caught red-handed.
“How you doin’ down there?” A smile tugs at the corner of her sultry lips.
“Fine,” I grumble.
Repeating my comment from ten seconds ago, she says, “Uh, huh. Sure,” then leans a little closer. “Tell me, are you part of the mile-high club?”
As I shake my head back and forth, her eyes widen in surprise. “Really?”
“Why do you look so surprised? Should I be offended right now?”
“I dunno. You just seem like the type, I guess.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I mutter, my ego taking a small hit.
“Not disappointing. If anything, it’s kind of endearing.”
Perking up in my seat, my curiosity gets the best of me. “And how’s that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, girls like it when they’re with a guy who knows what he’s doing down there, but we also like being the first to experience something with their partner every now and again too.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She laughs. “Don’t get your hopes up, Ben. My stomach is huge right now. I’m not even sure if I could fit in the bathroom on this plane by myself, let alone with a grown man squished in there too. We’d be like a couple of sardines, so I guess you’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Rain check?” My brow raises, but I try to restrain my grin.
Her cheeks heat as she realizes what she just implied.
“I mean, unless that’s weird for you. I shouldn’t have assumed we’d still be…whatever we are.”
“Whatever we are?” I prod, enjoying the way it makes her squirm beside me. I’ve been under the impression we were an item, but we haven’t had the official talk. The whole thing has felt so natural that we haven’t needed to have one. Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t like teasing her.
Lips pursed, Marcy sputters, “You know what I mean.”
“I’m kidding. And even though we haven’t talked about official labels, I’m more than happy to take a rain check on us joining the mile-high club the next time we’re on a plane without your beach ball belly getting in the way. Deal?”
She stays silent as if she’s weighing her options then points out, “I mean, since we haven’t talked about labels, I might have to think about it.”
With a bark of laughter, I turn as much as I can in my chair and tangle her fingers with mine. “Alright, Marcy Holden. I have a very serious question for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Will you be my girlfriend?” The sting from her smacking my arm makes me laugh even harder. “What the hell was that for?”
“You’re making it sound lame,” she whines, trying––and failing––to hide her smile.
“I’m not trying to make it sound lame. I was just thinking that since we hadn’t officially discussed labels, and we’re on a plane for a few hours, now might be a good time to bring it up. Especially when you were considering taking off the whole mile-high club. Not cool, Marce. Not cool. However, I might take it back if you don’t answer me. We’ve already discussed my ego, and how it likes to be stroked, remember?”
She grins. “Mmmhmm.”
“Mmmhmm, you remember me mentioning my ego? Or mmmhmm, you’ll let us put a label on this?”
“Both.” Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth, and I can’t help but poke the bear a little more. She’s just so damn gorgeous when I do.
“Is that right?”
“Mmmhmm,” she repeats for what feels like the thousandth time since we started this conversation. My lips drop down to that same sultry mouth I’d been admiring a few minutes ago.
Her lips tug into a knowing smile as she quips, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
“I would, but it wouldn’t do the real thing justice. Oh. And you popped my pancake cherry, remember?”
Laughing, she shakes her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You said that you like sharing firsts. Bertha’s pancakes were a first for me.”
“Touché,” she admits. Her smile softens. “I forgot about the pancake cherry. Sooo good. One more thing.” Unlocking her phone, Marcy clicks on her photo album then hands it to me. “You’re talking to a photographer, remember? I can definitely make a picture do the real thing justice.”
My confusion vanishes in an instant and is replaced by a lust so thick that I’m positive I’ll drown in it. The photo album is filled with image after image of Marcy Holden looking like a damn sex kitten. My eyes eat up every curve, devouring the sensual photos like a starving man. Marcy in a bubble bath. Marcy tangled in her sheets. Marcy with a sexy smirk that has me begging to know what she was thinking when the image was taken. Black lingerie. Red lingerie. No lingerie. My thumb keeps swiping left and right before remembering that I’m on a damn airplane and can’t exactly lay Marcy down and ravage her the way I desperately want.
Practically swallowing my tongue, I shift in my seat to cover my throbbing erection and keep my voice low as I ask, “Did you take these?”
“Yup.” She tries to sound confident, but I can practically hear her insecurities ringing like an alarm.
I tear my gaze away from the hottest pictures I’ve ever seen and look at the starring model beside me. “When?”
“A while ago.”
“For who?” I challenge, my blood boiling with jealousy.
Her white teeth dig into her lower lip to contain her smile, but it’s a fruitless effort. “Are you jealous?”
“Do I have a reason to be? These pictures, Marce, they’re what wet dreams are made of, and the idea of you showing the
m to a random guy….” My jaw tightens until I’m positive I’ve cracked a molar.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve done a ton of boudoir sessions for women and loved how confident they always felt after looking at the finished pictures. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so I set up a tripod and went to work.”
“So, you didn’t do this for a guy?”
“I mean….” she pauses before raising one shoulder. “Not a particular guy. But you know how online dating works, right?”
Another low growl escapes me, but she ignores it and orders, “ Keep scrolling. You might even run into one that looks familiar.”
Curious, my thumb glides across the screen at double time before I drop my head back and laugh. Hard.
“This is the unamused picture you sent after our first date.”
“Sure is. You weren’t really talking to me, so I decided to send you a picture from my naughty album, and this was the one I landed on.”
“I’m not sure I’d classify it as a naughty picture. You’re fully clothed. When the hell would you use this while sexting?”
Her face heats as she whispers, “When the guy sends a less-than-impressive and/or unwarranted dick pic.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m definitely not.”
“So, that’s a real thing? Guys sending unsolicited dick pics to strangers on the internet?”
“Yup. All the time, my friend. All the time.”
I’m glad I’m not a woman who has to put up with that shit.
Scrolling back to where I’d initially left off, I continue appreciating the goddess beside me. “You look incredible, Marce.”
She shakes off the compliment. “Meh. Photoshop can work miracles.”
“I’ve seen the real thing, remember? I can attest to the accuracy of these pictures.”
“It’s been over two months since you saw the real thing. Pretty sure your memory is flawed.”
I bite my tongue to stop from arguing with her when I know it’ll be pointless unless I can come up with a concept she’d understand. We haven’t had sex since the night I screwed up, and I don’t blame her for wanting to take things slow. Even though it’s been absolute torture to dance around being able to claim her while having to keep her at arm’s length in hopes of not scaring her away.
