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“Danny said he wanted to stop by,” I replied and ambled over to the front door, hoping Danny had shown up with the jelly beans I had asked for—I’d had a weird craving for jelly beans last night and who knew if it would come back around.
“You know, I’ve always liked your brother. He’s very . . . um . . . honest.”
“He’s rude,” I replied when I reached the door. I checked the peephole—I wasn’t paranoid, but in this day and age, you couldn’t open the door without knowing for sure who was there—and my heart suddenly lunged into my throat.
Standing on my front porch was Alex, looking all broody and moody and just fucking gorgeous.
Shocked, I snapped my head in Becks’ direction and just managed to swallow the lump in my throat down enough to mutter, “It’s him.”
“Who?”
“Alex,” I replied softly, not sure why Becks was suddenly incapable of reading my mind when she had a reputation for knowing everything I was thinking. “He’s out there right now.”
“Oh shit,” she knocked back the last of her wine, set the glass aside, and rushed to the door. Standing on her toes, Becks gazed through the peephole. Before I could figure out a way to pretend we weren’t at home, she opened the door. “Alex, so good to see you again. Come on
in.”
Alex walked in. He was wearing jeans and a simple blue T-shirt—a casual look I hadn’t expected, but it somehow highlighted every part of him. Strong biceps stretched the short sleeves, and the shirt fit just right, showing off his chest and those big broad shoulders.
A hot flash I was quite sure wasn’t related to pregnancy suddenly washed over me, and I was reminded of that night, of his strong hands, lithe body, the way he had kissed me so hard and so completely I had forgotten the most important thing.
The fucking condom.
“Hi Becks,” he said, a soft, polite smile playing on his lips.
“Alex. Isn’t this a surprise?” Instead of closing the door behind him, Becks shuffled back into the living room, grabbed her handbag, and waved goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Alex and I watched the door click shut behind her.
With no other options left, I turned to face him. “How are you feeling?” I asked to be polite, but also to know if I could run away without him chasing after me when he brought up the pregnancy topic.
“Back is a lot better, thanks.”
“Good,” I replied at the same time a thought hit me. Frowning, I folded my arms tightly over my chest, wondering if I should be bothered by Alex’s stalking ability. “How did you know I lived here?”
He bit his lip and gazed guiltily at the doorway.
Of course, Becks gave him my home address.
Traitor.
“I went to the hospital today to pick up one more box of my things.”
“You did?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded. “You were busy with a patient. Vicki asked Becks to give the box to me, and well . . . She talks a lot. Don’t be mad at her though, I was the one who asked her where you lived.”
Of course, she answered. I was going to kick her butt first thing at work tomorrow. The audacity. Not only did she betray me—it was a definite betrayal to go behind my back—, but she also didn’t think it important to tell me that significant detail while she was sitting onmycouch, drinkingmynice bottle of red wine.
Silence followed. A hard, heavy silence that sat like an elephant in the room. All I wanted was for Alex to leave, for this one-night stand not to be mentioned, so that tomorrow I could go back to work and look Vicki in the eye instead of avoiding her gaze like she was going to shoot lasers out of her eyes.
“Can we talk?” Alex asked, gesturing toward the living room.
I had every intention of showing him the door and politely asking him never to come back again. Instead, I led the way to the couch and sat down.
He settled for a spot far too close for my liking. It was a full-length couch, yet Alex sat so close that his right knee was barely two inches from mine. Heat pooled in my cheeks. I reached for the cup of cold tea I’d left on the coffee table and brought it to my lips, anything to distract my brain from the rush of flappingbutterfly wings in my stomach. It seemed every time I was near him, my body was reacting weirdly.
“I’ve been thinking about it . . . about you and the . . . ”—he looked down at my stomach, which still looked as flat as a pancake (I’d checked this morning), and back up again to my face—“I know it's your decision whether you want to keep the—”
