Page 51 of Play the Game
He laughs, and I feel the rumble in his chest. “You mean the thing where I came in your mouth and then sucked it off your tongue?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah. That.”
Cooper tips my head up so he’s looking at me and he winks. Fucking goddamn. With his deep blue eyes and his disheveled hair, he’s the hottest man I have ever seen. “Hottest moment of my goddamn life. You’re gorgeous, and I can’t wait to get my mouth on you again. My tongue inside you. My cock inside you. We’re fire together, Ev. I knew we would be.”
Between the morning sickness and the headaches and the fact that I can barely zip my clothes, I have felt the farthest thing from beautiful. But right now, with Cooper’s thumb stroking my face, his eyes on mine, drinking me in like I’m his first sip of water after walking in the desert for a thousand years, I see myself the way he sees me.
And I really like the way that feels.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EVAN
“Ughhhhh,” I groan, yanking the dress from my body and hurling it across my living room. It lands with an unsatisfying whisper on top of one of the piles of discarded clothes scattered around the room. Giving the whole mess the finger, I flop into my favorite chair in my underwear, leaning my head back and blowing out a breath.
This fucking sucks.
Rolling my head to the side, I watch my axolotls line up against the glass, feather fins waving in the water. “I know I should feel grateful I can get pregnant and have a baby or whatever, but god, you guys, I hate every fucking minute of it. First it was throwing up a million times a day, and now that I’m finally feeling a little better, nothing fucking fits. Do you think I could just live in leggings and sweatshirts for the next six months?”
When all they do is stare at me with those smirky faces, I sigh. “Yeah, I know, that sounded stupid even to me. But am I supposed to get, like, a whole new wardrobe? I like my clothes. What I don’t like is any of this.” I wave my hand in the generaldirection of my stomach that was suddenly sporting a bump when I woke up this morning.
A baby bump.
Because I’m having a baby.
Fuck my life, extremely not respectfully.
My phone rings, and when I glance down and see that it’s my mom, I roll my eyes up at the ceiling and figure my day can’t get any worse, so I might as well see what she wants. I stab the button to answer it, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Evangeline, what’s this I hear about you not going with Chris and Rio to Florida for Christmas?”
It’s possible at this point my eyes are going to just get permanently stuck in the back of my head. “Hi, Mom, nice to hear from you.”
As usual, my mom ignores the niceties. “If you’re not going to Florida, what are you doing?”
I have to bite my cheek to keep from sayingNot spending Christmas with you. Because my parents decided Christmas this year was going to be spent on a Mediterranean cruise. Without me. “I’m working. I have a trial coming up, and I need to prep for it.”
“Honestly, Evangeline, is work really that important? I’m sure Chris was counting on you being with him for the holiday. Imagine how lonely he’s going to be without any of his own family on Christmas.”
My stomach twists with the familiar combination of anger and sadness that is the hallmark of any conversation with my mom. “Well, I’m sorry. I can’t go. Chris loves Rio’s family and they love him. He’ll be fine.”
My mom lets out a dissatisfied huff. “You could have told me about this sooner. Christmas is a week away. The least you could have done was call to tell me your plans changed. I haven’t heard from you or seen you in weeks. It’s almost like you’re avoiding us.”
Because I am, I practically yell into the phone. I haven’t told my parents about the baby yet—I’ve been lucky to be able to dodge them for the last two months with vague excuses about work, but I think my luck is about to run out.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say with all the strength I can muster. “Let’s get together after New Year’s.”
“We’ll be back on January third,” she says. “I’ll calendar you for that week.”
Calendar me. Like I’m an employee instead of her own fucking daughter.
“Sounds good,” I say through gritted teeth. “Gotta go, Mom. Talk to you later.”
I hang up before she has a chance to say anything and grip my phone so hard I’m shocked the screen doesn’t shatter. When it dings in my hand, I just barely suppress a scream. But when I look at the message preview, it’s not my mom texting me with a calendar invitation for the first week in January. It’s Cooper.
My body immediately relaxes, my shoulders dropping as I suck in a deep breath.
