Page 240 of Wait for Him

“I’ve tracked everything you’ve done for the last few weeks.”

“That’s so disturbing, Bennet.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called anxiety.”

“Those things are not mutually exclusive, baby.”

A snort escapes Jackson beside me and Michael shoots him a glare.

James, who has been suspiciously calm through all of this, reaches for his drink. “It could just be Braxton Hicks.”

Michael turns toward him so fast you’d think the attending physician had finally arrived. “You think?”

James freezes with his straw halfway to his mouth. “I mean... maybe? Dude, I’m a teenager. I don’t know. But I watch a lot of medical shows, and I guarantee House would say it’s Braxton Hicks.”

“House would also diagnose her with lupus three times before the second commercial break,” I point out.

James considers that. “Fair.”

Michael drags a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Blaire reaches for him again, threading her fingers through his, and the irritation disappears from her face almost immediately.

“Baby, I’m okay.”

His attention goes straight back to her. For all the comedy of watching him unravel over one cramp, the fear underneath it is real. He loves this woman so fucking much that the possibility of anything happening to her turns his brain into mashed potatoes.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“If it happens again, we’re leaving.”

“If it happens again, we’ll time it.”

His brow furrows. “And then we’re leaving.”

“If we need to.”

“We’ll need to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m operating under an abundance of caution.”

“You’re operating under an abundance of crazy.”

He opens his mouth, probably with seventeen supporting arguments already queued up, but Blaire squeezes his hand and he decides living is more important.

Once it becomes clear she isn’t about to produce a baby between the pepperoni pizza and the parmesan shaker, everyone starts breathing again.

Jackson reaches for the pizza box.

Michael immediately slaps his hand away.

“The contest is over.”