Entice (15 page)

That’s my cue—I whip out the card from my back pocket and hand it to her. “Doctor Pregnant at your service. She takes The K’s insurance and we have an appointment at one on Thursday.”

She slowly looks from the card up to me, eyes wet but happy. “I’m not sure how I managed before you, but I thank God every single day that I have you now. Thank you, Sawyer.”

I hold open my arms and she slides right in, soaking up my hug as much as I relish in the feel of her. “Let’s call her by her actual name though, okay? It’s Dr. Greer.”

“Count your blessings, woman. It was Doc InspectAPuss for a while.”

“I will kill you.” Her eyes slit and warn me; she actually will kill me.

“I know, I know. Sheesh, those damn pregnancy hormones are suffocating your sense of humor.” I release her, evaluating her from head to toe. “Are you ready to get to work? If you get too tired on the floor, tell me and we’ll switch you. Your energy level should start to go back up in a week or two, though.”

“I’m great and I need the money the floor brings. Don’t patsy me, Sawyer. I can do it.”

“Okay then.” I swat her butt, laughing when she jumps and turns around to give me a surprised visual dressing down.

M
aybe it’s the graceful way she glides instead of walks, or her sweet smile and the way it seems like every customer is as important as the last, or perhaps I’m just mesmerized by the way her low cut top seems to be trying to kick her boobs out of it, but work time isn’t good enough right now—I want only her and I time, us time, and I want it right this fucking minute. Wednesday nights are always slow anyway, so I put Kasey behind the bar and take Emmett home early. Of course she balks, desperate for the money, but when I point out her one customer and offer up a chick flick and no MSG Chinese takeout on me, she caves.

I take her hand as we walk out and open her door, laughing to myself. My poor bike is sitting under the carport collecting dust most days. I take this car, with its hot little passenger, everywhere more often than not.

When I climb behind the wheel, feeling like the freakishly big man in the circus car, she’s already turned on the radio. It’s garbage, Top 40 brain-melting bullshit, so I grab my phone and plug it in.

“Got a song, for you, from me,” I say with a wink.

She tilts her head and gives me the side-eyed examining look of hers, eyes turning sad and a frown kidnapping her sweet mouth when she figures out what it is—”Savin’ Me” by Nickelback.

“You don’t need me to save you, Sawyer,” she mumbles through that frown.

“You’re right. I don’t. You already did. And I’d love nothing more than the chance to show you what I can be.”

“You already did,” she retorts like the clever little vixen she is.

“Oh, Em, you have no idea. There’s so much more I want to show you.”

She doesn’t respond to that, turning to look out her window instead of at me. We listen to the rest of the album as we go through the drive-thru, the wait taking longer than usual for them to remove all MSG, which I highly suspect is a ruse. Can you really take all that shit out of it and still have Chinese food? I figure it must be kinda like taking the cow outta the milk.

Back on our way, the sounds coming from the passenger seat sound like a football team hitting a buffet. “You saving me any over there, woman?”

“It’z jus wun egwoll,” she mumbles, hand under her mouth to catch any food she loses with her excuse.

“Uh huh, are you sure it was the right one, with no MSG?’

“Yez, I chebbed ddu wapper.”

“Well then, by all means carry on, my lil’ piggy.”

She holds up a finger that she needs one more second to chew, then swallows and gives me a huge smile. “Can we go get ice cream too, my treat?”

She seems so happy tonight, a new air about her, and it’s turning me on like mad. “That sounds good, but I’m buying. Ah ah—” I hold my hand up, “talk to the hand, woman.”

Her head falls back with a sweet giggle and I shift slightly in my seat, my jeans suddenly a bit crowded.

“Hand, can we make it Coldstone?”

“Your wish, madam, is my command. Birthday cake cookie bash blah blah it is.”

“Close.” She laughs. “You’ve been?”

“Nah, Laney. She sometimes makes me take a bite of hers. So sweet it’s disgusting.”

“What do you like?”

“Moonlit strolls on the beach.” I look over at her and smirk. “Oh, you mean ice cream? Good ole chocolate.”

“Plain,” she mocks a yawn.

“Not plain at all, more…classic. When you know exactly what you like, what you want, you stick with it.”

I keep my eyes straight ahead but catch her in my peripheral. She’s staring at my profile, short, shallow breaths pausing between her parted lips. “Right,” she whispers, “that makes sense.”

“We’re here!” I turn to her with my announcement, a grin to stop traffic lighting up her face. You’d think I went to Jared.

“Woo hoo!” She bursts out of the car. Skipping, ah how I’ve longed to see that move again, to the door and flinging it open. “Oh my God, can you smell that? This is what Heaven smells like, I know it.”

Buy stock in Coldstone, people—I plan on making a habit of seeing her so tickled. She’s gone without so much like a trooper, not a trace of bitterness or self-pity, for so long…all it takes is some ice cream to make her day. I’m in awe of this girl.

She orders something with the word cookie in it (called that) and I go with one scoop of chocolate in a cup. When she pulls out her money, I gently swat her hand and step right in front of her, much to the cashier’s amusement.

“Can we eat in the car?” she asks in between licks of her cone as we head for the door.

Oh. Hell. No. I am but a man, after all.

“Hold on.” I grumble, walking back to the counter. I grab a spoon from the jar by the register then stomp back to Emmett, jabbing the spoon into her cone like a candle on a cake. “Eat it with that.”

“Why? If we can’t eat in the car, that’s fine. Let’s just grab a table.”

I huff, holding the door open. “Not worried about the car, woman. Did I say anything when you ate the Chinese food in the car? Come on.” As she passes by me I lean in to whisper, “Just keep that little pink tongue in that sweet mouth of yours, okay?”

She turns back to look at me over her shoulder, her green eyes filled with shock…and something that doesn’t look anything like rejection.

We’re not far from the house, so she’s still eating when we pull into her driveway.

“Your house tonight, I assume?” I ask as I turn off the car.

“Laney’s gonna think I kidnapped you. You’re never there anymore.”

“Yeah,” I open my door, “but Dane’ll love me for it. He can’t get her to move in with him, so he’s squatting at hers.”

I walk around and open the door for her, snagging the bags of Chinese food from her lap. I test their weight, making sure I don’t need to call and order a pizza, ‘cause the ice cream will not fill me up.

She slaps my gut. “I didn’t eat it all, you big baby.”

“
W
hat’d you do before you knew me?” she asks as I get the DVD ready.

“What do you mean? Same as I do now: work, school, whatever.”

“Like all the nights you’re with me. If you weren’t, what would you have been doing?”

“Besides pining away?” I poke from head around the TV and wink. “I don’t know, maybe a race, or—”

“Stop! Never mind, I don’t need a reminder about your checkered flag activities.” She holds up a hand and then pretends to gag. “Anything else? Sex takes what, five minutes? You had to have done other stuff—movies, dates, bowling?”

I rise gradually, making my way to where she’s lounged on her bed. “I don’t date, Shorty. I can watch movies at home and sex should never, and I mean never, only take five minutes. It takes longer than that to get undressed.”

“Uh, you know what I mean.”

“Actually I don’t.” I roll onto my back beside her. “I guess I’m a boring guy.”

“I don’t think you’re boring at all.” She grabs the remote beside my hip. “What movie did you put in?”

“Enemy of the State.” I jump up and flip off the light then get back in bed. “You seen it?”

“No, wh—”

“How many rocks must one live under to not have seen Enemy of the State?” I cry, scandalized. “It’s the greatest movie ever.”

“So you like it then?”

Lil’ smartass.

—Emmett—

“
S
awyer!”

“Uh, too early.”

“Sawyer, I have to pee. Can you lift your arm?”

I’m going to wet the bed, like actually piss the bed. I’ve tried to hold it, not wanting to wake the sleeping giant, but my bladder has met its max…and he’s got his huge arms wrapped around me so tightly I can’t escape.

He snuggles his face further into my hair. “Go back to sleep, Shorty.”

“Sawyer,” I use my only line of defense and pull hard on his arm hair, “I’m gonna burst. You have to let me up,” I whine.

Finally, he rouses, letting out a sleepy chuckle and lifting his arm. “Hurry back.”

I run to the bathroom, pulling down my pants as I go; it’s a seriously close call. I sit there shaking my head. Who would have thought this is how I’d end up—my pregnant bladder waking me up from sweet slumber in the arms of Sawyer Beckett. Our whole dynamic together confuses me. He’s my best friend, we spend all our time together, we sleep in the same bed more often than not…but we’ll never be together together.

“You fall in?” His voice through the door startles me; I’ve been sitting here deep in thought so long I’ve drip dried completely.

“No, I’m fine, be there in a sec.”

Of course he’s standing right outside the door when I come out, faced lined with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” I sigh, “I guess I zoned out. Come on,” I grab his hand, heading back to bed. “Sawyer, don’t you think it’s kinda weird, us always sleeping together?”

“I wish we were sleeping together.” He scoots in, flush to my back, and pulls the covers up over us. “But falling asleep in the same bed? Nope, not weird,” he squeezes me, “comfy, though.”

“Toaster.” I nudge his feet with mine, our code for him to part his feet so I can slip mine in between them for warmth. He’s like my own personal toaster oven for my always freezing cold feet.

“Go to sleep, Mama, we have our first doctor appointment tomorrow,” he mumbles, kissing the back of my head.

Our first appointment?

Chapter 14

Mr. Doubtfire

—Sawyer—

H
er left leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we sat down on these pocket-sized plastic chairs.

“Here, let me.” I take the clipboard from her lap; she’s only filled in the top line—in fifteen minutes. “Are you nervous?”

No answer, just more bouncing. Yep, she’s wigging out.

Maybe if I get her talking, out of her own head? “What’s your date of birth, Em?”

“Huh?” She turns abruptly to me, face pale, masked in fear. “Oh, um, October tenth, ninety-one.”

That’s right, she mentioned it was coming up during the interview; I gotta get busy on birthday plans. “Okay, I know your address and phone number.” I scan the paperwork quickly. “Who’s your emergency contact?”