Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Becka opened her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Unable to help himself, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “I wouldn’t tease a pregnant woman about food.”
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
She shut down. He could actually see her walls coming back up to keep him out, her posture becoming more guarded, her gaze resting on the sheets instead of on him, her lips pressed together as if she attempted to keep sharp words inside. This was it. She’d tell him to get the fuck away from her, and what little ground he’d gained would be lost.
But Becka finally sighed. “Pancakes really do sound good.”
“Say no more.” He knew better than to push her now, not after his idiotic misstep. As Aaron climbed out of bed and headed into his closet for a pair of pants, he allowed himself a kernel of hope. Even with everything stacked against them, he now had two avenues to make headway with Becka—food and sex.
He could work with that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BECKA COULDN’T STOP looking at Aaron. He was shirtless in the kitchen, making pancakes for her, and she’d never seen a more beautiful man. The muscles of his back flexed as he moved, and she clenched her thighs together despite the several outstanding orgasms he’d just delivered. The whole thing was so...domestic.
The only time she’d lived with anyone was roommates back in college. They were always too noisy, too messy and too in evidence everywhere she looked.
Becka didn’t mind noise—her spin classes were so loud with their pumping music that some people wore earplugs. Having the bass thrum through her body as she shouted and directed and got everyone moving for the workout of their life was her happy place.
She didn’t even mind people. Not really. Being a personal trainer was a different kind of happy, working with people who wanted to get healthy or accomplish some specific goal. She loved watching them put in the work and being their own personal drill sergeant and cheerleader, all wrapped into one. And the look on their face when they realized the moment their hard work had paid off and that they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do? Priceless.
But when she was done with work for the day, she wanted to come home and just...be.
Roommates normally made that impossible.
Aaron as a roommate should have made it doubly so.
She twisted on the bar stool to look over the apartment. It was a study in minimalism—a place for everything and everything in its place. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the entertainment center that framed the massive TV, and the leather couch and twin chairs on either side of it didn’t have any wear and tear or so much as a scrape on them. The kitchen was equally freakishly clean. If he wasn’t cooking in it right this second, she would have suspected that he didn’t cook by how clean the countertops were. The man obviously didn’t believe in clutter.
Which was a relief, but at the same time, Aaron being a control freak was stamped over every inch of this place. This was a man who didn’t like messes, and their situation was the very definition of a mess.
As if sensing her thoughts, he flipped the pancakes and turned to lean against the gray marble countertop. “I think it’s long past time for us to talk.”
She couldn’t keep dodging him. It was freaking exhausting, and if Becka actually planned to reduce Aaron’s position in the baby’s life to sperm donor, she never should have moved in with him in the first place. She wrapped both hands around her orange juice and stared hard at the swirl in the marble that looked like Abraham Lincoln’s beard. “You are going to be in the baby’s life. I’m living in your penthouse. Don’t you think that’s enough for now?” Even without looking up, she knew his expression had turned stormy, his eyes leaning more gray than blue. She pushed her juice away. “You keep pushing me, and it’s stressing me out. The learning curve on this situation is pretty rough and, this might be shocking, but I’m overwhelmed. You trying to micromanage everything from my bath temperature to...”
“Drink your orange juice.”
She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, like that.”
“I’m serious.” His big hand appeared in her line of vision and nudged the glass back into her hand. “The calcium and vitamin D are good for you.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Twice.
Maybe we should just keep banging it out and stop talking, because obviously we are not even close to being on the same page.
“Aaron—” She stopped short at the sound of his sliding a plate to her. Becka opened her eyes to find two perfectly shaped pancakes on the plate. She might have stopped breathing completely when he set both the smooth and the chunky peanut butter next to the plate, each with their respective knives. “How did you know?”