He nodded slowly and then he got up.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Getting you a washcloth.”
I watched him stalk away, his naked backside on complete display. The art of his ink was beautiful.
The sound of running water filtered to my ears and then he was back, holding a washcloth. He urged my legs apart and then slowly cleaned me.
“Are you—you’re not upset, are you?” I asked.
“You were going to find out eventually,” he said, taking the damp washcloth and tossing it into the plastic laundry basket in the corner. “I was going to tell you even if they didn’t.”
“When?”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “When we had the conversation about how I made my money.”
“Oh.” I looked up at the ceiling.
“I’m surprised you kept it to yourself this long,” he said.
“What was I going to do? Have that conversation with you over the phone?”
He paused. “You didn’t bail.”
“No. I didn’t bail.”
“Why not? You could’ve taken your shit and gone back to the bakery.”
His hazel gaze glittered, and it looked as though he wasn’t even breathing.
I couldn’t run anymore. I couldn’t run from the truth or my feelings or the fact that I was following my heart instead of my head.
My hand caressed his cheek, my thumb stroking across his whiskers. “Because I’m in love with you. And I want a life with you, club stuff and all.”
He turned his head and kissed my palm. And then he turned off the light and tucked me into his side.
I fell asleep waiting for him to say it in return.
* * *
I woke up a few hours later. I slid out of bed, hoping not to disturb Slash with my bout of morning sickness. He slept through my vomiting, thankfully.
As I closed the bedroom door, I thought about what I’d said to him the night before—and the fact that he hadn’t said it back. I tried not to let extreme vulnerability and doubt creep in. Slash was a rough biker. I couldn’t expect him to verbally express sappy emotion, even though he was clearly taking care of me.
Still, it would’ve been nice to hear the words reciprocated… Unless that meant he didn’t feel the same way I did. I swallowed at that thought, not liking the idea that I could be in love with Slash and have his baby, but that he may not be in love with me.
While he slept, I gathered the ingredients for a hearty breakfast. I pulled out a cookie sheet and turned on the oven. I placed an entire pound of bacon onto the cookie sheet and then chopped scallions into tiny pieces. When the oven beeped to let me know it was preheated, I put the bacon onto the top rack and set the timer. I finished prepping to cook the eggs when the bacon was done, and then took a few minutes to enjoy a cup of tea.
After a while, the bedroom door opened, and Slash sauntered out in nothing but a pair of boxers.
“What are you doing awake?” I demanded, wondering if I had enough courage to ask why he hadn’t told me he loved me.
His sleepy eyes grazed down my body from my T-shirt to the tops of my thighs. My legs were completely bare. He took the mixing bowl from my hands and set it aside.
“Turn around,” he rasped.
The command in his voice had me trembling. I didn’t care if it made me weak that I wasn’t insisting on a discussion right that moment.