Page 73 of Delayed Penalty

“Yup. He’s kicking. He’s saying hi to his daddy.”

Even he’s excited.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Avery

Who ever thought pregnant women should have to get dressed to go anywhere in something other than yoga pants or a goddamn oversized t-shirt should be punished… brutally. I have spent that last week wanting to wear nothing but oversized t-shirts and sweatpants.

It doesn’t matter that I finally caved and ordered maternity clothes, I haven’t even wanted to wear those. Plus, it wasn’t even me that ordered them, Harris asked Ellie to help him order a bunch because I refused. I got overwhelmed trying to pick things out and after a while I just ended up shutting my computer and taking a nap. Which was fine until the day I tried to button my pants and they wouldn’t fit and I started crying. Thankfully, Harris made my day by bringing me a bag of brand-new clothes that all fit me perfectly and were super cute.

He's a good man, that one.

Today’s outfit is a little different, though, because it’s a hockey game and I want to be supportive and wear something, but I misjudged my size when I ordered online. By a lot, and truthfully, I’m not about to wear a damn crop top while pregnant to a hockey game.

“Ow!” I hear as I throw another jacket behind me. Turning around, I see Harris standing there with the jacket covering his face. Whoops.

“Sorry,” I say, standing there, looking around at the clothes I’ve thrown. A mess of shirts, sweaters, and sweatshirts are around me, none of which fit comfortably, and I’m annoyed.

“What are you doing?” He laughs as he sets the jacket down on the bed.

“I’m trying to find something to wear before meeting the girls,” I groan, sitting back on the bed and hoping inspiration strikes from something that doesn’t make me look like an adult trying to wear child’s clothes.

“Okay, so why are you looking in your closet?”

“Because that’s typically where one looks when they are trying to find something to wear?”

“No shit, but you’re looking in the wrong closet. You’re going to my game tonight… if you think you’re showing up in anything other than my jersey, you’re outta your damn mind,” he says as he goes into his closet and comes out with two jerseys, a green one and a black one, both with his last name on them.

Obviously.

“You want me to wear this?”

“It’s more than a want, Avery, it’s a damn need. It’s engrained in my core that when my wife comes to my game, I have to see my name on her back.”

My cheeks flame at the mention of the word “wife”, something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to, but that’s okay. It’s exciting every single time I hear him say those words and I’m not sure I ever want to stop feeling that joy. I’ll take being giddy and in love for eternity if that’s what our future decides.

“Alright,” I say, taking the black jersey from him and pairing it with one of the pairs of maternity jeans he bought me. At least this way, I know it’s definitely not going to look like a croptop since it’s made for a grown man wearing pads, so that’s comforting. “But if I wear this, how will any man know I’m available?”

He growls, stepping to me and putting his hands on my hips. I freeze, the clothes in my hands pinned between our bodies as he looks down at me with an intense look that if I didn’t know any better would be intimidating.

“I’m pretty sure the ring on your finger and my baby in your belly tells people you’re not available. If I need to alert the press and make sure the entire world knows you’re off limits, I’m sure I can figure it out,” he says, his hand moving to my throat, holding my jaw softly in place. “Do I need to remind you that you’re not available?”

Spinning me around, he steps up behind me, his hand moving to my belly in the most loving and intimate way, and I nearly melt. But then my phone rings.

Dammit. I liked where this was headed.

Looking down at my phone, I see it’s Gwen, probably almost here to pick me up.

“I need to finish getting ready, they’re almost here.”

“Are you sure I can’t take you? Then we’d have time to, you know, really engrain it in your brain,” he says with a smirk that nearly has me saying yes.

“No, mister. There’ll be time for that later, first I need to go get dinner before the game.”

“Fine,” he pouts before swatting me on my ass.

This is a life I could get used to.

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