Page 101 of Duke
“I think Mom would be happy. Mostly because you found such a great guy. You know she’s gonna go bananas over Duke, right?”
Laughing, I slide a hand over my mouth. “You’re jumping twenty steps ahead here.”
“Because it’s gonna happen—Mom is gonna meet Duke, and she’s gonna love him. She’s also gonna be thrilled about the baby.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Mom might be a little leery that y’all’s relationship is so new, but she’ll see right away that Duke is special. And she loves kids, Wheeler. Why do you think she had three of them with a guy as awful as Dad? That’s how bad she wanted to be a mom. She’s going to love the excuse to be busy too. You need help, Mom’s gonna be there.”
I blink, the realization hitting me. Haines is kind of right. I assumed she wouldn’t want to be embroiled in more messiness. I assumed she’d want to enjoy her newfound freedom, not spend her time babysitting my kid.
Why can’t she do both, though? Could I afford the childcare we need? Duke would pitch in, I’m sure, which means we wouldn’t have to rely on Mom to watch the baby full-time. She could enjoy being a grandma.
My chest twists. All things considered, Duke and I are lucky we’re in a decent enough position to consider these things. The childcare piece is huge now that I’m thinking about it. Mollie and Cash are going to hire a nanny. Could we nanny share, I wonder? Or are there options for day care in Hartsville? I know Ella and Junie go to preschool in the mornings.
Duke might know more. If he doesn’t, I’m relatively certain he’d be more than happy to find out.
“We could make some pretty delicious lemonade out of these lemons if we wanted to, huh?” I ask.
“Duke will bring the sugar.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re gross.”
“You want him. Go get your cowboy. Maybe have his baby while you’re at it.”
That’s the thing, though. Just because I may want to have Duke’s baby doesn’t mean we’re going to end up together. But I am warming up to the idea.
I go inside, munch on some crackers, and then grab a shower. Duke didn’t show up until after four yesterday, so I have some time to myself.
The crackers keep my nausea at bay, and I actually feel pretty damn good as I tilt back my head and let the hot water rinse off the day.
Rinse off the dread and guilt that’s plagued me for what feels like weeks now.
In their place rises a sense of effervescent possibility.
Yes, this all could blow up in my face. That’s the most likely scenario.
What if it works out, though?
What if I take a chance on me and on Duke and on our ability to say fuck what everyone else thinks so we can live life on our terms?
Live a life different from everything we’ve known. Everything we’ve seen.
Soaping up a washcloth, I run it over my chest. A bolt of heat moves from my nipple to my clit. I think of Duke. How perfectly his ass filled out his Wranglers. The way his shirt drew taut over his shoulder blades and back as he grabbed his hat from the rack by the kitchen door and dropped it on his head before going back to work after lunch.
I run the washcloth over my nipples again, the nubby fabric catching on their overly sensitive peaks. My boobs are sore, but it feels kinda good to touch them this way.
That heat spreads between my legs, making my clit throb. Closing my eyes, I revel in the fact that I feel like myself again and not some perpetually sick, chronically confused mess.
I feel sexy. At home in my body, even though it feels different.
I miss the feel of Duke’s hands on me. My God, can that man fuck. Best sex of my life, no question. And that big, beautiful dick of his—
Next thing I know, I’m tossing the washcloth aside and grabbing the showerhead off its holder. When was the last time I had an orgasm? I don’t remember. Before I found out I was pregnant, I was trying not to masturbate, because every time I did, I ended up thinking about Duke. That was a problem then.
Is it still a problem now?
I tuck the showerhead between my legs. The multiple streams of water hit my center all at once, sending a shock wave through me that has me gasping for air. My cunt spasms, once, and I bite my lip.
