Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I almost roar when my length fills with intense pressure. Then, my ability to think is gone. All that exists is the pleasure—ten seconds or ten hours of feeling utterly connected to my woman, of not having to doubt. As I come, I know we will make this work… somehow.
A moment later, I collapse against her, heaving. The fire seems to flicker. The balcony seems to get darker, but nothing has changed physically. It’s just the aftermath of what we’ve done.
Quickly, we get dressed. We don’t even look at each other. It feels so seedy. It’s wrong. I hope she doesn’t think I’m using her. But what’s the alternative? I tell her the truth, that I want her, that I need her?
Her clothes are messy. She hasn’t replaced her tights. She looks up at me, biting her lip. Looking so damn sexy, I could do it all again, even if that would mean doubling the risk.
She looks at me and then at the floor. I try to think of something to say. Then I remember the ice, just me and Michel, the hours and hours we played. The video chats more recently, the laughter, and feeling like I could let my guard down. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?
“Logan—”
But I don’t hear the rest if she says anything else. I throw the door open and almost run across the suite. I’m being a coward. That’s twice today that I’ve failed to be the man I should be. There was the tantrum in the locker room, and now this, but this is so much worse.
I’ve left her out there. Just as bad, I know I’ll have to lie to Michael again and invent an excuse. He’s only here one more day, but I can’t see him. I don’t know how I’d look him in the eye. I’ve betrayed him. Maybe I’ll have to let the friendship fade. Go back to being alone, just me and the ice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SIX WEEKS LATER
Emma
I don’t think Chrissy knows she’s digging her fingernails into my arm as we stare at the pregnancy test. Chrissy is my best friend, the only person I’ve told about the crazy night with Logan. I was starting to think it was a wild fantasy, but the test proves it was real.
“This is nuts,” she says, letting my arm go and dropping onto my computer chair.
It’s November, but the sun shines through the window, making me almost long for Quebec. But why? Logan left, then ditched Dad the next day. He hasn’t had a single video call with Dad since. Dad has mentioned he thinks it might be because of how drunk he got that night, but mostly, he doesn’t talk about it. He just focuses on his work.
Only I know why. My whole body has been tingling every day for six long weeks, thinking about why—that night, the heat, the absolute insanity of what we did.
“Emma!” Chrissy yells, clapping her hands in front of my face.
I jolt out of my thoughts to find Chrissy frowning at me. She’s wearing her hair in intricate long braids, her thick, stylish bracelets jingle-jangling as she grabs the edge of the computer chair. I shake my head, grab the test from the desk, and hold it to the light.
“Why don’t you lick it, too?” Chrissy jokes. “Just to be sure.”
“Hey, this is serious.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry, E. I’m just so confused about this. I can’t think straight.”
I move to the edge of the bed and sit down. It’s no good standing there staring at the pregnancy test. Then again, it probably wasn’t very productive to spend the last six weeks replaying that one night over and over in my mind, remembering what he said.
You never moan like this for anybody else, just for me.
It was clearly just dirty talk, part of the thrill. He didn’t come back after storming out. He didn’t tell me he needed to see me again. If it weren’t for the test on the desk, this would be over.
“Emma,” Chrissy says softly.
“Yeah, sorry.” I rub my eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping very well. You said you’re confused about this?” When she nods, I follow up. “What do you mean, confused? About whether or not…”
I can’t even finish the sentence. Everybody makes their own choices in life, and I’d never judge anybody else, but I feel connected to this baby already. It’s like Dad said I would play with my baby dolls even as a kid, imagining the day I could offer and receive that love. Does that make me a lame weirdo? Maybe, but it’s who I am.
“No, not that,” Chrissy says, twisting one of her braids around her finger. “But I can tell how much you genuinely like this guy. When you told me what happened, your whole face lit up. I’ve never seen you like that before. About a boy or a girl.”