I opened the door and then immediately pressed my hand to my mouth as a bout of nausea hit me like a freight train.
Slash’s eyes took me in, from the top of my messy bun to the thick wool socks on my feet.
I couldn’t say a word, so I left the door open for Slash to come in and then immediately ran for the bathroom.
After the delight that was morning sickness, I peered into the mirror and blanched. I had dark circles under my eyes and my skin was wan.
I rinsed out my mouth, then brushed my teeth and hair. The mask of beauty had come off, and now Slash had seen me in all my pregnant glory.
I shuffled out of the bathroom and into the small kitchen area. Slash already had a bagel toasting. He turned to look at me. Without a word, he handed me a plastic bottle of orange juice.
My lip wobbled and before I knew it, I was sobbing against Slash’s chest.
He stroked my hair and pressed his lips to my head.
“Why do I keep crying in front of you?” I sniffed.
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
I chuckled. My emotions had settled, yet I had no desire to move out of his embrace, and he didn’t seem inclined to let me go. So, we stood like that for a while, until my stomach rumbled.
“Let me fix you a bagel,” he said. “Yeah?”
I nodded, my cheek brushing against his clean shirt.
He sighed and hugged me tighter.
I needed to get a grip. I needed to stop letting him comfort me because my hormones were out of control. I needed to stop thinking about how good he smelled or how I could get used to being around him.
“You’re beautiful,” he said gruffly.
I snorted. “Yeah. Okay.”
He gently grasped my hair and tugged on it, so I tilted my head back. Slash stared down at me with an intensity that had me swallowing. “You’re beautiful.”
It wasn’t what he said but how he said it. It was the way he held me and looked at me. As if he didn’t care that I’d been a one-night stand or that this baby was going to change his life forever.
“Even in sweats?” I pressed.
“Even in sweats.”
“Even when I’m a hormonal mess?”
His mouth quirked up into a small smile. “Especially then.”
Somehow, I found the strength to untangle myself from him. “The bagel smells good.”
“Sit. I’ll make you one.”
We ate our bagels in companionable silence and then I took our empty plates to the sink.
“You sure you don’t want me to go to the appointment with you?” Slash asked. “I don’t mind. I have the morning free.”
I shook my head and sipped the orange juice. “Nah. There’s no sonogram happening, so there’s no point in you being there.”
He nodded. “Boxer is throwing Linden a surprise party this weekend. You wanna go?”
“A surprise party? Is it her birthday?”
“No. It’s a belated celebration for the opening of her clinic.”
“Sweet,” I commented. “I’m in.” I looked at the clock on the microwave. “Crap. I have to hop in the shower or I’ll be late.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Slash said. “I mean it.”
I nodded.
“Even if it’s the middle of the night and you just need someone to talk to.”
My heart went all gooey without my permission.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead and then left the apartment.
I jumped in the shower and tried to forget about Slash.
Jazz walked into the kitchen of the bakery and stared at me. I stopped flipping through a binder with magazine cutouts of awe-inspiring cakes.
“May I help you with something?” I asked in amusement.
“There’s a bright, shiny new car in the parking spot that belongs to you.”
“That’s my car,” I said.
“No. Your car is a piece of crap that barely runs. Is that a loaner while the flat gets fixed?”
“It’s not a loaner. And before you get all worked up over how I could afford a new car when I couldn’t even afford to go halfsies on our delivery van, let me explain—Slash bought it for me.”
“Slash bought it for you,” she repeated. “Why?”
“Because he didn’t like that I was driving a piece of crap, and he wanted me and the baby to be safe.”
“Your biker baby daddy bought you a car purely to keep you and his unborn child safe?”
I glared at her. “Don’t call him that.”
“What? Biker baby daddy? Why not? That’s what he is, isn’t he? You won’t date him even though it sounds like you’re dating. Actually, it seems like you moved right past dating and you’re like, committed.”
“Jazz, I’m one step away from losing my shit, okay? I know what this means even though I’m trying not to freak out.”
“Sorry. I’ll back off.” She paused. “Have you had sex with him in the car yet?”
“Jazz!” I snapped.
“Sorry, sorry.” She gestured with her chin to the binder. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for cake inspiration.”
“Why? We don’t have a catering gig lined up.”
I rubbed my temple. “Slash invited me to a surprise party this weekend.”
Her eyes went wide. “Did he?”
I nodded. “For Linden. She’s the doctor who saw me for my UTI and dropped the pregnancy bomb. She’s also engaged to Boxer—one of Slash’s Blue Angel brothers.”
“Ah.”
I peered at her. “What?”
“You’re going to a party with him. With his people. That feels pretty committed to me.”
I glared at her and picked up my cell. After unlocking the screen, I called Slash.
He answered immediately. “You okay?”
“That’s how you greet me?” I asked.
“Sorry. I just assumed… How was the appointment?”
“Fine. That’s not why I called either. Can I have Boxer’s number?”
“Why do you want Boxer’s number?” he demanded.
I couldn’t stop the smile from flitting across my face. He sounded jealous.
“I was thinking about the surprise party. I’d love to make the cake. Linden’s been wonderful. I just don’t know what her favorite is, so I thought Boxer would have some insight.”
“I’ll text you his number.”
“Thanks. By the way, you’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.” I hung up before he could reply.
“You’re smiling,” Jazz said.
“I know.”
“That was also flirting.”
“I know that, too. I can’t help it.” I sighed. “He came over this morning to bring me bagels before my doctor’s appointment.”
“Sweet.”
“You know what’s even sweeter? I started to cry, and he held me. Like, really held me.”
“Why did you start crying?” she asked.
“Hormones.”
“Oh.”
I nodded. “I still feel like…”
“What?”
“He keeps getting personal insights about me, but I don’t get any about him. Not really.”
“Maybe he’s waiting to open up to you. Maybe he doesn’t want to overload you when you’ve clearly got a lot on your plate.”
“Yeah.”
“You know the solution, right?”
“What?”
“Talk to him.”
“But that involves talking to him,” I said.
“Seems inevitable, doesn’t it?”
My phone chimed with a text from Slash. It was Boxer’s number. I picked up my phone and dialed Boxer.
“This is Boxer.”
“Hi Boxer, it’s Brooklyn Palmer. We met the night of—right. You have a second?”