Feeling better, I left Indy with a promise to catch up the following week. When I arrived home, Caleb was in the kitchen starting a pot of coffee. I went to him and put my arms around him, resting my cheek against his shoulder and enjoying the hardness of his body against mine as I ran my hands over his broad chest. His size and strength reminded me that I was with a King and I was safe. And in that moment I couldn’t have been more grateful for him. He turned around in my arms and slid a big hand along my jaw. He said nothing. But his eyes glittered into mine as he leaned down and kissed me. I broke off the kiss and took his hand in mine and led him to our bedroom where I spent the rest of the afternoon showing him just how grateful I was.
HONEY
Exactly four weeks before I was due, I was at home alone when there was a knock on the door. Surprise and disgust collided through me when I opened it and saw Charlie staring back at me.
“Hey,” he said with a sweet grin.
I raised an eyebrow at him. He seemed to forget the last time we spoke he called me a slut and I slammed the door in his face.
“What do you want, Charlie?”
He dragged his warm brown eyes up and down the length of me. “Wow! You look incredible.”
Unfortunately, so did he.
Not that I would ever, ever, admit that to him.
Lying, cheating douchebag.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No.”
“Please?”
I gripped the door tighter. “The last time I saw you, you called me a slut. The time before that, you were getting a blowjob from a girl who wasn’t me. So, no, Charlie, you can’t come in.”
At least he had the decency to look contrite.
“I made a mistake, Honey.”
“Yes, you did. The moment you decided to cheat on your girlfriend with me.”
“We’re done,” he said quickly. “Samira and I. We broke up. For good.”
I shook my head. “So, what? You come around here expecting me to welcome you back with open arms?”
Surely, he wasn’t that much of a narcissist.
“You’re having my baby,” he said.
“It’s not yours, Charlie. I’ve already explained that to you.”
“You’re eight months pregnant, right?” When I nodded, his eyes softened and pleaded with me. “We made love eight months ago.”
I sighed. “Sorry, to burst your bubble. But I had a period after our last sexual encounter. This isn’t your baby.”
“What are you talking about? We made love only a couple of days before we broke up.”
His overuse of the words made love made me want to choke. How had I ever had sex with such a—wait a minute, what was he saying? We didn’t have sex that week.
When Mrs. Lawrence, my neighbor in 7B, appeared in the stairwell, Charlie glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. His face took on a pleading expression. “Can I please come in?”
In the interest of not airing my dirty laundry throughout the entire apartment complex, I opened the door wider so he could step in. Closing it behind me, I leaned against it and ensured there was ample distance between us because I had no desire to be anywhere near him.
‘We made love the night of the car wreck,” he said.
Three nights before we broke up, we were traveling home together from the grocery store when someone T-boned us. Luckily, we all escaped the wreck unscathed, although I was pretty shaken up. When we’d come home, Charlie had given me a couple of pills to calm my nerves.
“Those pills made me sleepy,” I said. I couldn’t remember much more than that. “I remember taking them and then nothing.”
My blood ran cold. The next morning I’d woken up groggy, with no memory of the night before.
“What are you saying?” I asked, goosebumps creeping along my arms. My brain squeezed on itself as I tried to recall the night he was talking about, but there was nothing but a big black hole.
“You wanted me to comfort you. One thing led to another—”
“No . . .” I breathed.
“We made love.”
Alarm tingled in the base of my spine.
“This isn’t your baby,” I insisted.
He reached for my belly and slid his palm over the curve. It was an intimate, affectionate gesture. Tender. But Charlie made it feel slimy.
I moved away from him.
I felt sick.
Nauseated by the thought.
This was Caleb’s baby. Not his.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked. “You sleep with me on the Tuesday night, and then someone else on Friday night.”
The fear creeping up my spine made me defensive, and I thrust my hands onto my hips. “So we’re back to calling me a slut. Let’s not remember how I caught you getting a blowjob from your girlfriend, you two-timing douchebag!”
He came toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. His voice was smooth and velvety. Too tender to be authentic. Not from him. “That’s not what I mean. And I’m sorry that I said that. I was in shock when I called you that. I’d just found out you were pregnant and I didn’t know what to think.”