Page 69 of Draft Pick

As I trudgedout of my Child Development Theory class, my mind was a jumble of theories and practices, but all I could think about was getting home to my comfy couch.

Once loose and comfortable, my clothes now clung to me in all the wrong places, making every step feel like a chore. I was counting down the days to payday when I could finally invest in maternity jeans.

Lost in thought, I almost didn't notice Cason until he was beside me, holding a bouquet of daisies. My first instinct was to keep walking, but something in his expression made me pause.

"Starlie, wait," he said, his voice laced with urgency. "I… I brought these for you." He offered the flowers, his hands slightly trembling. "Can we talk?"

I took them more out of surprise than anything else. I struggled with the right words, struggling against a wave of awkward longing. "They're beautiful, Cason, but you really don't have to keep doing stuff like this. I've been thinking…maybe it was a bad idea to even think about a relationship. Clearly, we both have things going on in our lives that introducing another person would be a terrible idea."

"I think we're too late for that," he quipped, his gaze dropping to my belly. "The tech says she's going to be here by March — which is perfect timing because the NFL draft is in April. Gives me time to adjust to fatherhood before the stress of trying to get picked by a team."

"That's not what I meant." I swallowed, feeling the weight of that statement. I didn't know anything about that world. He might as well have said he was going to 'Boolly Buntown for a gaggle of whosawhatits' and I would've had the same level of understanding. How did I ever convince myself we could make it work? Co-parenting as friends was the best we could manage, and the realization sunk like a stone in my heart.

"Cason, I'm sorry, I really have to get home," I said, my voice catching. It was easy enough to blame my back aching and my head throbbing for the sudden sheen in my eyes, but I needed space before I started bawling. "We can talk about how we go forward after I've had a chance to take a breather," I said, trying to walk away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "Are you okay? It is the baby?"

No, don't turn into a puddle of goo just because he's being all considerate, I admonished myself. Taking effort to pause and stand tall, even though the damn pants were cutting me in half, I assured him I was okay. "My pants are…um, tight," I admitted, a little embarrassed.

"Why are you wearing such tight pants?" he asked, frowning. "Is that good for the baby?"

"Maternity pants are expensive and I'm a week away from payday," I answered a bit more sharply than I intended. "Besides, it's not that bad, I'm just out of sorts today but I really want to get home and put my feet up."And throw away this bra while I'm at it. The pants weren't the only article of clothing I was busting out of.

"Are you saying that you aren't going to be able to wear anything more comfortable until sometime next week?"

"Pretty much," I answered. "My budget doesn't have a lot of wiggle room."

"And that means my baby girl is going to be smashed in the process?" He supposed with a horrified look, shaking his head decisively. "Hell no, that's not happening. You're getting new clothes. I'll buy the whole damn store if I have to. Let's go."

I blinked, stunned. "What? Now?"

"Yeah, now. You need them, right? Let's go get them."

"But—"

"Nope, you're getting what you need. Period."

Before I could protest, he gently guided me towards his truck. I should've pushed back harder, but his fierce protectiveness moved me.

I never knew my dad. I didn't know what it was like to have that strong, masculine energy to cling to when you felt scared or unsure, and I was bowled over seeing Cason snap into decisive action. It was also damn sexy.

But should Cason buy me clothes when I said we should simply co-parent? I wasn't used to being lost in the baby mama grey zone.

Tears returned, and I surreptitiously wiped them away, trying to find my center so I didn't embarrass myself more.

"One pair," I allowed, trying to reclaim control of myself and the situation. "Just to tide me over until next week."

"You'll get whatever you need," he said, leaving no room to argue. In spite of the turmoil in my head, I bit back a smile and leaned back against the seat, content for a tiny minute to let Cason call the shots.

It was nice not to have to make all the decisions for once. I'd been the decision-maker long before my mom died from cancer, and I was mentally exhausted.

But as we drove to the mall, the silence in the truck was thick with unspoken thoughts. Cason kept glancing at me as if trying to read my mind. A part of me didn't want to know what was swirling around in Cason's head because I was afraid that whatever might pop out of his mouth would ruin the relative calm.

But I could feel him chewing on something, and I knew it wouldn't be long before he broke the silence — and I wasn't wrong.

"I need to tell you what made me act like a panicked jackass in the parking lot after the ultrasound," he said, looking at me in earnest.

"You don't have to do that," I assured him quickly, but he vehemently disagreed.

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