Page 72 of One Moment Please
Josh narrows his eyes accusingly, his lips dancing with mirth. “I knew I could hear something vibrating whenever you took a bath.”
My jaw drops. “Ew, were you listening at the door?”
“No,” he replies defensively. “Well…a couple of times, yes. Sometimes I worry about you falling so I press my ear to the door to make sure I hear movement.”
I expel an incredulous laugh. “You’re insane.”
“I know,” he replies softly, looking a little sad.
A few seconds tick by, but I finally say, “You really should talk to someone about your anxiety, Josh. I know some good therapists that you could probably connect with really easily.”
He hits me with an unamused look. “Don’t push it, Jones.”
I hold my hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’ll quit psychoanalyzing you as long as you put my Womanizer Pro40 into retirement for a while.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “You’re such a giver.”
“You have no idea, Dr. Dick,” I deadpan.
“I’ll show you Dr. Dick.” He lunges for me, his lips connecting with mine briefly before sliding down my neck to rub his morning scruff roughly against my sensitive skin.
I squeal my protest as he nips and bites, laving at my flesh with exquisite torture as he lays me onto my back and positions himself between my legs. He moves his kisses down my shoulder and over my left breast, stopping to suck hard over the T-shirt I’m wearing before kissing a path all the way to the other breast to do the same.
I groan and thrust my pelvis upward, craving the thickness of him inside me again. “So I take it that was a yes, and we’re doing this?” I ask breathlessly and hear Josh murmuring his agreement into my cleavage. “Just sex?”
“Just sex and eventually a baby,” he replies, his head moving past my stomach and between my legs to the place that most definitely deserves some attention from anything other than the Womanizer Pro 40.
“Ican’t believe you’re having a kid,” Max says, his expression a mixture of shock and possible mirth over his glass of whiskey before taking a fortifying sip. “You of all people. I mean…I can barely see you breaking out of your robotic shell long enough to actually have sex with a woman, let alone sex without a condom.”
“We used a condom,” I drone, checking around the bar to make sure no one is within earshot.
Max and I are downtown at Corner Bar in the middle of the day, bellied up to the counter like a couple of townies. I’ve been working nights for two weeks straight and eleven a.m. on my first day off was the only time Max had available to meet. And telling the only friend I have left that I’m about to become a father seemed like news that was best told in person. Over whiskey. In the morning.
“So, the condom broke?” he asks, still shaking his head as he processes the atomic bomb of information I just dropped on him.
“It was expired,” I reply with a shrug.
“Fuck.” Max shoves a hand through his blond hair. “And she’s living with you now?”
“Yep.”
“And you guys are sleeping together?”
“Yes, we’re sleeping together,” I reply, my mind instantly flashing back to several occasions Lynsey and I have had sex in the past two weeks.
Fuck, it’s been good.
More than good.
Which is impressive because with me working nights, we’ve only had small windows of time together in the mornings when we actually get to see each other.
But we’ve been making very good use of that time. So good that we don’t even exchange pleasantries before she launches herself at me the second I walk in the door. We deserve some sort of medal to be honest, because in the course of two weeks, we’ve fucked in the kitchen, the living room, the laundry room, and even on the dining room table.
And then there was the episode the other morning when I came home to find her in my shower…touching herself. I was not pleased.
It was just after seven a.m. when I arrived home after a particularly grueling night in the ER.
Most of the time after a difficult shift, I end up crashing in one of the on-call rooms, too mentally drained to drive home. But I had to go home. I craved it. I wanted to be in my own house, in my own bed, or sitting on Lynsey’s shitty sofa eating her leftovers and tripping over her stupid shoes. Plus, the sex I’ve been coming home to makes that drive a lot more appealing.
