Page List


Font:  

I looked at her, her eyes bright with tears as she looked up at me.

“Can I be of any assistance?” a voice came. “I’m the manager. A customer reported a situation in the soda department.”

I started to laugh, “We’re fine, thanks. She felt faint, so we sat down.”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. “And I’m gonna pay for those popsicles.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, no, I’m good,” she said.

The manager walked away, and I helped Layla to her feet.

“You do realize that the first person you announced your pregnancy to was the grocery store manager,” I said. Layla giggled.

“Yeah, Maggie’s gonna be pissed about that.”

“We could always not tell her that part,” I said.

“No, I’m done keeping secrets. Plus it’s basically the best part of the story.”

“What?” I said. “Telling the manager is better than me making you a throne out of Dr. Pepper boxes? Or better than an orange popsicle? Better than me telling me I love you?”

“No. It’s the funniest part is what I meant. Thank you, for taking care of me. I’m glad you were here.”

“I want to be here,” I said.

22

Layla

Tyler was so protective. He saw I wasn’t feeling well and took charge, got me comfortable, made sure I was safe. He got me an ice pop and then held me when I was scared.

The thing about him that I hadn’t put in to words before—overwhelmed by the attraction between us most of the time—was that he made me feel safe. With his arm around me, I wanted to rest my head on his chest and just feel peace and comfort. Like he was my safe harbor.

“Will you come back home with me—after I pay for these popsicles—so we can talk? I’d like to figure out how this is going to look now that I’m having a baby and what level of involvement—”

“Layla, I’ll come home with you. Don’t say things like involvement. It’s insulting to me. My level of involvement will be total. Are you okay to check out? I’ll bring my truck around and drive you home. We can get your car later.”

“Okay,” I said.

I was stunned by his ferocious insistence on total involvement. Then there was a rush of comfort, of being coddled by him, when he offered to drive me. By the time I pushed my cart to the door, he had parked in the no-parking zone, vaulted out of the truck and was loading my bags. Then he took my hand and helped me into the truck. I wanted to say that pregnancy didn’t make my legs stop working, but I decided to let him take care of me. It felt good to be taken care of like that.

I was holding his coat in front of me, “You’ll need this back.”

“Hold on to it. I’ll get the heat going in here,” he said. I unfolded the coat and snuggled into its Sherpa lining.

Tyler drove, and I drew my legs up, turned a little to lean my head on the top of the seat. The soothing motion of the drive soon sent me drifting off. The warm, light sleep was a balm to my nerves, and I woke to Tyler’s lips nudging mine apart, his big, calloused hand on my cheek. My eyes fluttered open, sleepy and confused, but my body alight with sudden arousal. With one hand he unhitched my seat belt. He held my face in both hands, his mouth on mine. I gave a small cry at the flood of emotion and sensation that accompanied that kiss. When his tongue breached my lips and stroked into my mouth, I felt a tremor of deep need and satisfaction all at once. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He broke the kiss for a second, a grin on his face, “God, I love when you do that,” he said.

“Put my arms around you?” I said.

“Yeah. Exactly how you do it. I don’t know. But I’ve been dreaming about that, about you. It’s been a long time.”

Tyler dipped his head and kissed my forehead. He slid his hands down to my neck, stroking my jaw, rubbing my shoulders. He leaned his forehead against mine, “God, Layla, a baby,” he said, wonder in his gruff voice. I nodded. Tyler gathered me in his arms and hugged me like I’d given him the best news. I hugged him back.

“I’m gonna go put my popsicles in the freezer. Come on in,” I said.

He insisted on carrying the bags, and he followed me up the steps my apartment. When we went in, he started ripping open boxes and sorting colors.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting all the orange ones in one box so you can find them easier,” he said as if it were obvious. The other colors were scattered on the table, discarded as he hunted for orange ones. I started to giggle.


Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance