Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26677 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26677 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
But Luciana’s is an Italian-American diner, and it’s comforting. The vibe is homey and casual, with red vinyl booths and Frank Sinatra crooning in the background. Plus, I’ve been a little underdressed recently, given my pregnancy wardrobe. But here, it’s totally okay. A huge button-down drapes over my big belly, and I’m squeezed into elastic waistband jeans to accommodate my whale-like form. The hostess merely clucks approvingly while eyeing my bulge.
“We like women who eat,” the woman nods. “You’re going to love the meatballs here. Be sure to get an extra portion for the baby too.”
I giggle and blush as we’re seated, but the crazy part is that Mason adores my gravid body. He lavishes kisses on my belly when we’re in bed, and seems incredibly turned on by my thick thighs, fleshy arms, and swollen ankles. Not to mention, he says that pregnant women are just juicier “down there.” I would have to agree because I’ve been so horny ever since moving in with him, and it’s almost embarrassing how often and how hard I squirt when I climax.
But a girl’s got to keep her energy up for our nightly shenanigans, and I chow down happily after the food’s served.
“These eggs are heavenly,” I hum. “OMG, delicious.”
My man grins while taking a big bite of fried chicken, and I cock my head curiously at him.
“I’m surprised, Mason,” I begin.
“About what?” he asks.
“About the fact that you’re eating chicken drumsticks. You’re usually so healthy, and I swear I thought fried foods were off-limits.”
My man grins and looks at me.
“Yeah, I try to stay healthy because I want to be active,” he says. “When you’re forty-five, it’s not that easy to stay fit anymore. So I’ve had to change my diet to accommodate the extra years. No more greasy burgers, and only limited amounts of fries now.”
I nod.
“Plus, you work out like a gladiator every day.”
“I do,” he acknowledges with a wink. “So that I can keep up with you in bed, sweetheart.”
I giggle.
“You do more than keep up! You’ve been doing all the work recently!”
He shrugs.
“It’s because I have a very pregnant twenty-three year old on my hands who has trouble moving around sometimes. So yeah, I’ve stepped into the gap,” he grins, showing off that movie-star smile. “But after you give birth, honey, I fully expect you to pick up the slack.”
I color because OMG, is he suggesting that we have a future after my son is born? Come to think of it, we’ve never really talked about when our arrangement would end, but I naturally thought it would terminate after the child comes. After all, Mason’s into pregnant women, and after I give birth, I won’t be expecting anymore. But judging from his words, maybe there’s hope that we’ll continue.
Then again, do I even want to continue? After all, the arrangement is sordid: I’m paying for room and board by sleeping with the CEO, and not only that, but he gives me money for it too. Yet isn’t this what happens in a lot of relationships? One person goes out to earn the dough, while the other stays home to maintain the house. The problem is that our arrangement makes it very clear that there’s nothing permanent here, and therein lies the problem. We are absolutely not a team working together. Instead, this is a business transaction, and nothing else. The thought makes me frown, but then my handsome man turns to look at me.
“So, I was wondering,” he begins in a deceptively casual voice. “Are you going to go back to your old job after the baby is born?”
I pause for a moment. I’ve never told him what I used to do for a living straight out because it was a little embarrassing. When Mason asked, I just hemmed and hawed and spoke in generalities.
“Oh,” I murmur, biting my lip. “Um, maybe. Why?”
Mason nods.
“I know it’s a sudden question,” he says. “But I’m just wondering what your plans are.”
Oh shit. Maybe Mason never imagined a future for the two of us and just wants to make sure that I’m out of his house after the baby’s born. Oh shit shit shit.
“Well,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure. I mean, I was working as a hostess of sorts before I quit.”
The handsome man nods, taking another bite of fried chicken.
“A hostess where? At a restaurant in the city, right? Maybe I know the place.”
I shake my head slowly.
“No, not that kind of hostess. Not the kind that seats people at dining establishments.”
He looks up, those blue eyes sharp.
“Then what kind of hostess?” he asks in a slow tone. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”
I take a deep breath and decide to be truthful because at this point, we’re too intimate for me to lie.