Page 22 of The Baby Bargain
"Who says I—"
"I'm not that oblivious." She slides her hands into her pocket. She's back in her usual attire. Black jeans. Tight black t-shirt. Black sneakers.
Fuck, the way the cotton hugs her curves.
My body begs me to touch her. To trace the curve of her waist. To rest my palm on my shoulder. To run my fingers over her cheek.
I want to comfort her.
Fuck her.
Hold her.
None of that is happening.
My brain is demented. It activated some sort ofDaddyprotocol. The same as it did that month Grace was late. She was freaking out—she wasn't ready to be a mother. I tried to be supportive. To stand by whatever she wanted.
I would have stood by her choice, whatever it was.
But, fuck, I wanted to see two pink lines on that test.
I wanted to tape an ultrasound to the fridge.
I wanted to buy tiny red Converse.
"You think I'm crazy?" Ariel asks.
Grace wasn't pregnant. She was just stressed. We never had to make that choice. We never made plans to cross that bridge.
"Chase?" she asks. "Please don't say something stupid, like, 'it's not a good idea.'"
"It's not."
"It is." Her brown eyes fill with determination. She's sure this is right. That this is exactly what she needs.
"You're a kid."
"I'm twenty-four." She fingers the edge of her black t-shirt. "Are you sure you can keep a secret?"
My eyes go straight to her pale stomach.
Fuck, I never had a thing for pale girls, but there's something about the way her light skin contrasts with the dark top.
I want to see her in black lingerie.
On my black sheets.
Naked.
Blood flees my brain. "Of course." I inhale slowly. Exhale deeply. I'm not fucking her. That's out of the question.
"My mom… the kind of cancer she had. It's genetic. I waited to do the testing. I was scared, I guess."
I get that.
"I didn't think it would matter. Phil and I talked about marriage and kids, but it was never urgent. It was always maybe. He knew there was a possibility—"
My stomach clenches. My voice drops. "Are you—"
