Page 14 of Bullied Pregnant Mate

When I walk into the kitchen, he’s busy making coffee, humming to himself and tapping his fingers on the counter. He’s always loved music but couldn’t ever settle on one instrument. His short attention span and restless energy always made it impossible for him to truly focus on anything.

Or anyone.

I clear my throat as I stop by the counter. He spins around to face me, looking shocked to see me there.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he says.

“I must have been very quiet,” I answer, shrugging.

He stares at me, his big, ice-blue eyes shimmering a little in the evening light. It goes on so long, I start to feel uncomfortable, but I don’t know what to do about it.

“Jenks,” I say firmly. “What are you staring at?”

“Oh!” he says, turning away. “I… just… well, it’s a pretty dress, that’s all.”

My cheeks feel hot, and I look at the floor—my default gesture in high school when people were laughing at me.

Does he actually like the dress?

Does he likeme?

“Would you like some coffee?” he asks.

“No,” I answer, looking up at him again. He’s taken off his jacket, and the crisp white shirt is untucked, his long sleeves rolled up loosely to his elbows. My eyes linger for a bit on the strip of bare skin exposed where the top buttons of his shirt are undone.

“Would you like anything else?” he asks.

I flick my gaze straight up to his face, my anxiety going into overdrive when I see the little smile and the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“No,” I say, trying to gulp down my awkwardness. “I ate plenty at the reception, and coffee will just keep me up. I want to go to bed early.”

“That sounds good to me,” he says suggestively. There’s the counter between us, but when he faces me from the other side and leans on the table, our faces feel only inches apart.

My cheeks still feel hot, and a warm rush is spreading under my breasts, prickling across my skin and making my nipples feel tight. When Jenks raises an eyebrow and very obviously checks me out with a long, slow look, the heat rushes to my inner thighs.

And deeper.

Fuck.

“I’m not sleeping with you!” I blurt out.

There’s a flash of disappointment on his face, but he covers it quickly.

“Still an ice queen, then?” he asks, grinning. “She doesn’t smile, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t even date.”

“Ice queen!” I repeat, glaring at him.

“Emotionless and weird. Staring into space with vacant eyes. More of an alien than a girl. No boy in school could ever get her attention—if any of them even wanted to!”

I glare at him, anger rising in my belly. My anxiety and lust have been completely destroyed by my fury.

I don’t know what pisses me off more—the names he’s calling me, or that he’s talking about me in the third person.

“Is this really the kind of thing you said behind my back?” I say, my voice coming out soft as I try to hold back.

“Actually, we said it to your face,” he laughs. “You were just too spaced out to notice.”

“You don’t get to speak to me like that anymore, Jenkins!” I snap. “I’m your wife!”

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