Page 52 of Time Out

Consider his offer and move here? To the literal lap of luxury?

Only a fool would say no. Not only did he have to have one of the most majestic views of Nashville, something I was currently ignoring while keeping my back to the sliding glass doors, but that pool… and that bed. I woke up feeling like I’d been dipped in satin and settled onto a bed of clouds.

And yet, for the same reason I didn’t accept immediate help from Belle with music, that same two-letter word was currently crawling its way out of my throat. I choked it down. He had points. Valid ones. I should be so lucky Davis not only wanted something to do with the baby, but seemed so intent on taking care of me as well. And I had the baby to consider. What if I started spotting? What if something went wrong? For the pure logic of it I wanted to change my mind and still an agreement wouldn’t come.

Suddenly uncomfortable…in my own skin, in this place, under Davis’s hopeful but patiently waiting gaze, I brought my hands to my arms, crossed in front of me, and rubbed away the itch beneath the skin. My own fight for independence, forged from the need to prove my worth and success with no help from my family, and the quickening desire blooming to be taken care of.

To be loved.

To not have to fight for every scrap, every cent, and every mile.

“I need time.” I settled on it, because he’d asked, asked me to consider it.

I could give him consideration when he was offering me so much.

Davis’s eyes closed slowly, and when he opened them again, gone was his disappointment, just that steadfast kindness he’d worn since the moment I saw him at Lou’s.

“What do you want for being so nice to me?”

“Not a damn thing.” He’d said it with unshakable conviction, an unspoken guarantee.

I’d softened toward him then, despite the horrific night I’d had, the man who had touched me, the manager who fired me for not taking it because it was normal.

I feared I’d been softening toward Davis Hall ever since.

“I understand. Any plans for today?”

And just like that, the conversation was over, there would be no pressure. No manipulation and no anger.

Was it too soon to love this man?

I shook the completely insane thought out of my mind.

“I work later. You?”

“I have workouts and practice and game film later. We’ll leave tomorrow for our game.”

“But you don’t play until Sunday, right?”

“Right. We’ll fly out Friday night. Do a walk-through practice on Saturday, have a team dinner and then game film. Coach is pretty strict about what we do with our time the night before games, which means even for home games, we spend the night at the hotel together.”

“Wow. I guess I had no idea how much work you put in.”

“To play a game where one bad hit could end our career?” He wasn’t teasing, but there was that soft curl of his lips and tilt of his head.

Of course. “I should probably spend some time studying football,” I muttered and then stuck my tongue out at him.

“I’ll teach you everything you want to know.”

Oh god. Eggs were the devil. Maybe it was the spinach or garlic or cheese. Not that I wanted to think of food at all while I was crouched in the employee bathroom, huddled over the toilet like I was worshipping at the feet of Jesus and my stomach would not stop heaving. It’d started as soon as I stepped into the restaurant and the overwhelming scent of meat hit me. I couldn’t even distinguish which meat it was, only that there was a meat smell in the air. Probably from the grilled steaks but it didn’t matter because before I could say hello to Elsie at the hostess stand my hand flew to my mouth and I ran through the restaurant like a track star.

Thank God it was between the lunch and dinner rush and there were only a few tables taken, at least from what I’d seen. At least I didn’t actually throw up the incredible omelet I’d had at Davis’s until I reached the bathroom stall.

My stomach rolled again, and I vaguely heard someone outside the stall turning on the water. There was a quiet knock on the stall’s door.

“I’ll be a minute,” I croaked, my throat raw, my stomach clenched into a tight ball, and sweat dripping off my forehead. If this was morning sickness hitting at two in the afternoon, it royally sucked.

“It’s Madison. Can you unlock the door? I have something that might help.”

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