Page 191 of Wait for Him

James cracks up. "Can I curse around you?"

"Do you curse in front of your parents?"

"No."

"Then is that really a fair question? What, you think you can just make me feel guilty about the adoption and I'll cave to your every whim and demand?"

He smiles, all teeth and absolutely no shame. "Is it working?"

"Fuck yeah, it is." I point at him before he can celebrate too much. "Within reason. Boundaries: no F-bombs, no sexual stuff. Only the softer ones."

"Deal."

We shake on it, very official, and Gerald's eyes find mine in the rearview mirror with a look that says he's already picked a side.

It isn't mine.

Traitor.

Jackson

"Dude." I stop and let my end of the mammoth fucking couch drop. We're still a long way from the service elevator, and I have questions. "You're a billionaire. Why are we doing this?"

Bennet leans his back against the wall, barely breathing, sweat rolling down his temple like he's proud of it.

"It's for my baby girl. I don't need some random-ass delivery person I've never met handling her furniture."

I suck in a breath and feel my back crack.

Fuck's sake.

"Questions. One: she's not born yet."

"That's not a question."

"Why does a newborn need a couch this size, and what good are you going to be to her if you no longer have a functioning spine?"

"Don't be dramatic, Jackson."

"Did you hear that crackling sound, Bennet? That was my fucking back. All I did was breathe."

"So breathe shallower. Lift with your legs."

"I have been lifting with my legs, motherfucker. Don't 'lift with your legs' me." I brace my hands on my knees and glare at the couch, this beige monument to one man's complete inability to be normal about impending fatherhood. "You know what delivery people have that we don't? Dollies. Straps. Health insurance that covers exactly this kind of stupidity."

"My daughter," he says, calm as ever, "will never sit on furniture that strangers have breathed on."

"She's going to be a baby, Bennet. She's going to produce fluids you cannot imagine directly into these cushions."

"And they'll be her fluids. On her couch. Carried by her family." He claps his hands once and points at my end. "Now lift. We've got the crib after this."

I stare at him. "The crib."

"And the dresser."

He stares back, sweaty, deranged, happier than I've ever seen him.

"I hate you." I grab my end of the couch again with a grunt. "I hate you so fucking much."