Page 52 of Pregnant By the Playboy
I’m excited.
Mostly because I’ll be eating bakeapple jam and sausages.
And a little—okay, more than a little—because I’ll be seeing Vince.
When he arrives, he’s loaded down with food. He’s wearing jeans and a Henley again, and I wonder how many people get to see this version of Vince Fong, the dressed-down version who runs around town buying food for someone else.
I kiss him. I can’t help it.
“Hey, Marissa,” he murmurs. “You see something you like?”
“Yeah. Lots and lots of food. You got the things I wanted?”
“I most certainly did.” He carries the bags of food into the kitchen, where he pulls out a package of uncooked mild Italian sausages and a jar of bakeapple jam. “I’ll get these sausages cooking for you right away.”
Normally I wouldn’t let someone else cook in my kitchen, but I’m not going to stop Vince from cooking for me.
I remove the rest of the items from the bags. There’s a baguette and a box of fancy crackers. A ready-made green salad. A fruit salad. Two types of cheese—but not the kinds I can’t eat. A large piece of chocolate cake.
“Is that enough for both of us?” He looks over his shoulder and winks at me.
“Yeah, I think so.” I’m already opening up the cheese. I put some on a slice of baguette and top it with bakeapple jam. “Mmm, that’s good.”
“I’ve never had bakeapple before.”
I spread some jam on a small cracker, walk over to the stove, and hold the cracker up to his lips. He eats the food from my hands.
I’m about to ask what he thought when he says, “Did you just drool on the sausages?”
Damn, I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Is that because I’m irresistible?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re very resistible.”
“Sure. That’s why you’re pregnant with my baby.”
The way he casually says it...something sizzles, and it’s not the sausages in the pan. The fabric of my “pregnant and hungry” shirt feels uncomfortable. I want out of these clothes.
I also really want those sausages. They’re the reason I drooled.
No really, they are.
But I’m turned on, too. A man looking after me is pretty sexy. It’s been a while since I’ve had a boyfriend, someone who’d prepare food for me like this.
Not, of course, that Vince is my boyfriend.
He just knocked me up.
Oh, God. Why do I want to press myself against him and hump his leg?
No, self. You are not having sex with Vince. Too complicated right now.
He is, however, more like the men I date than I initially thought, aside from his wealth and ridiculous good looks.
“Are those sausages done yet?” I ask as I take out the butter. It’s a bit hard, but I do my best to spread it on a slice of baguette.
