Page 122 of Dr. Bad Boy

“God, you’re such a man.”

He ignores that jab and picks up two screwdrivers. They look pretty much the same, except I guess one of the heads is wider than the other. I snatch the one that looks more familiar, and it fits the screw in my hand.

I attach the first leg to the bassinet base, then move to the second one.

Max sits down and picks up the instructions, then pokes at me after he reads it. “Many hands make light work. Pass me the Robertson screw driver.”

It annoys me that he uses the proper name, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just been a long day. “Which one is that?”

“The square head.”

“Why didn’t you just say square head?”

“Because tools have proper names.” Maybe he doesn’t mean that to sound patronizing, but it does.

“Because men named them, assuming they’d have assistants from whom they’d get to imperiously demand said tools. If a woman was in charge of naming tools, she wouldn’t have bothered, because she knew she’d just be reaching for them herself.”

“Because she’d be too stubborn to accept help.”

“Help! You don’t want to help me. You want to control me.”

Max exhales roughly and leans back, giving me a confused look. “Whoa, are we having a fight?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Is it possible this is a hormonal thing?”

I push to my feet. Yes, it’s possible. The way I just went from zero to sixty inside my head actually makes it more than possible, but holy fuck, really? “Are you going to throw that at me every time I have a pregnancy-fueled reaction?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to tell me what you’re upset about?”

“I’m feeling a little out of control, okay?”

“That makes two of us.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“No? I haven’t been in control of anything since the night I met you, and the fact that you’re knocked up underlines that fact in case there was any doubt. And yet I’m still here, still rolling with the punches because I want you, Violet. I want you, and I want this baby, and I want to fucking help, and sometimes you won’t let me.”

“I won’t let you help me? I let you move me into your house.”

“You didn’t want to move in?” He stares at me.

“I wanted…”

“What, Violet? What did you want that I haven’t given you?”

My pulse is pounding in my ears.Don’t say it, I tell myself, and by some small miracle, I hold my tongue. But it doesn’t matter. He knows what I’m thinking.

“I’m not Prince Charming. But I’m doing the best I can.” He shoves his hand through his hair. “I love you. But you’re right. If you’re looking for a fairytale ending, with me down on bended knee, promising happiness forever, that’s never going to happen. I don’t believe in that shit, and neither should you.”

“Wow. Okay, good to know.” Hot tears prick at my eyelids. That’s pretty damn clear.

“Violet…”

“No. Don’t say anything else. Really.” I swipe at my eyes, refusing to let the tears fall down my cheeks. “I love you, too, you jerk, but yes, the hormones coursing through my body want forever. Sue me for being a romantic.”

“Hey…”

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