Winger (Seattle Sharks 3)

Dangerously close to losing my mind.

“Do we have lunch plans?” I asked, clearing my voice when it cracked.

Warren straightened, releasing my stomach only to take my hand.

“We do.” He pointed up with his free hand.

I arched a brow. “We’re eating with the fishes?”

“Sort of.”

An elevator ride later, we were seated in a private dining room on the roof. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city and a stunning tank with some of the most gorgeous fish I’d ever seen inside made up one of the restaurant walls.

I opened the menu, nodding at the simple yet elegant style. “You sure know how to wine and dine a girl,” I said, tilting my head. “Minus the wine.”

He chuckled. “How hard has that been?”

“What, not drinking?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, setting down his menu.

“Not as hard as you’d think.” I gave our waitress my order and turned back to him. “After I saw those two pink lines, everything shifted. Like everything that had been before that moment crumbled inside me, only to rebuild in a way that made me stronger, protective, loving. Sure, I was terrified, but I was also filled with this insane sense of purpose. I miss wine. Trust me. But it’s not so bad. The hardest thing has honestly been the worrying.”

“About…”

I puffed out a breath. “Everything.”

I laughed and he laughed and the baby-ball kicked.

“About the baby being healthy,” I continued. “About me being a good mom, about something happening during labor and me being alone.” The last part slipped out, and I quickly took a drink of water to try and swallow that truth.

“Your mom?” he asked.

I shook my head, figuring Rory and Gage had already filled him on my family history. But he was kind enough to pretend like they didn’t. To give me the choice to open up about a past I’d rather forget.

“My parents haven’t been in the picture for a long time,” I said, the moment charged between us. Because that fact that I wanted to tell him, that I trusted him enough with this darkness…it meant everything. “They’re not dead or anything. Well, not in the technical sense of the word.” I glanced down, my throat tightening as memories flooded me. “I won’t go into detail, but I wouldn’t attend their funeral even if they were.” I swallowed hard. “We’re not a family. Paige became that when I was sixteen and then Bailey later.”

“And you don’t want the girls in the room?” He asked, and I breathed a sigh, so damn grateful he didn’t press for gory details of my past. Or looked at me any differently.

“Not really, no. I’ve always done things on my own,” I said, sighing. “Plus, I don’t mind if they’re there, but there are only so many things a best friend can do. It’s not like having—” I stopped mid-sentence, blaming my hormones for my total lack of filter.

Warren furrowed his brow as our waitress set our orders down. “Like what?” He asked after she’d left.

“It’s not important.”

“Nine,” he chided. “It is. I can tell.” He pushed his steak around his plate. “Look, I know we’re still getting used to this new situation between us, and I know I’m not your ideal candidate for a partner, but I want you to talk to me. I want to be what you need. What the baby needs. So…talk.”

Heat flushed my body.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about this. Six months is a long time to be on your own and reevaluate your choices. I would never, not for a second, take this back,” I said. “And that doesn’t mean you have to feel that way. I’d totally get it if you regret what happened, but I don’t. And I’m fine with that. I’m fine with being a single mother. I know I can do it.”

“But,” he said, waving me on to continue.

“But,” I said. “With all that time to think, I had plenty of time to think about what it would be like if we’d…I’d done things in the normal way. You know, date. Relationship, marriage, then baby.” I chuckled. “At least when you’re married, you’d have that person in the room with you telling you you’re gorgeous even though you likely look like a swamp creature. And they’d be there to take care of the hard things—like paperwork and legal decisions—afterward when you’re too tired to think straight.” I sighed. “I think about these things, worry about them. How I’ll handle all the tough choices…after the big push.”

Warren had frozen with a piece of steak on his fork.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Not really dinner talk.”

“It’s fine,” he said, setting his bite down. “Honestly. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“How far have you thought?”

He chuckled. “Tonight?”

I laughed, taking a bite of a decent piece of grilled chicken.

“I’m more worried about earning a spot in your life than I have been about the future.”

Well, that was an honest answer.

“You’re not doing so bad,” I said, grinning after another bite.

“Yeah?” He smirked.

That paired with the sincerity in his eyes hit every fuck-me-now button I had.

The buttons had tripled since I’d gotten pregnant.

I held my palm out and down, shaking it back and forth. “So-so,” I amended.

“What could I do to increase my chances?”

Kiss me until I shake.

Touch me where I can’t reach.

Shatter me.

I blinked a few times, forcing myself out of the past where Warren had made my body his. “Date number two is a win,” I said, ignoring the question altogether.

“Things would go a lot smoother if you’d tell me exactly what you wanted.”

“You’re doing great on your own,” I assured him. “Besides,” I said. “I don’t know if you could handle exactly what I want.”

And I could never ask.

Please serve me with multiple orgasms?

Come on.

I was huge, pregnant, and had no clue how to navigate that road. This is why married people didn’t realize how lucky they were. They could have sex without having to ask for it, without having to wonder how to admit how badly they wanted that connection again.

How desperately I crave to be intimate with the person who gave me the greatest gift I never knew I wanted.

Warren reached for my hand across the table, taking it in his, lazily tracing those lines until I trembled inside. “I told you before,” he said, his dark eyes pinning mine. “I can handle you.”

A warm shiver rolled up my spine.

Could he?

Could he tell how badly I wanted him?

Could he sense it on me?

“Well,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “If the time comes where I’m ready to tell you exactly what I want…I will. Trust me.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded and pulled his hand back to keep eating. After a few bites, he smirked at me again. “I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter 8

Warren

A little over seven months.

Two left to go.

And Jeannine still hadn’t told me exactly what she wanted, despite me checking off a few more items from her list the past month.

I didn’t mind it—the dates. Each one w

as better than the next, but simply being around her was fun. Even if we ordered in, even if she randomly fell asleep on the couch during a show, even if she continued to torture me with those fleeting looks where I swore she wanted more.

But I’d never push her.

She’d come to me when she was ready.

I’d just have to continue giving her every reason to trust me.

And find a replacement for cold showers because those sure as shit weren’t doing anything against my need for that woman.

Smack!

Rory slammed me into the boards, my helmet bouncing off the partition, effectively cutting off all thoughts of Jeannine.

“Where you at, Kinley?” Rory quipped, skating backward as he taunted.

I shook off the hit, noting the move had freed up Gage to get the puck from Bentley, who, to his credit, was trying like hell to get it back for us.

Gage had paired me with the rookie to test us both.

We were getting along just fine until I’d been distracted by all things Nine.

“Fuck me,” I snarled, skating after Rory.

He laughed. “That is the problem, isn’t it?”

“You will pay for that, Jackson!” I hollered despite being on his heels. I had no cares for the puck anymore—I only wanted to destroy Rory.

“Don’t hate me because I speak truth,” he said, pumping up his speed. I matched him skate for skate until I finally caught the prick. “Umph!” He jolted as I shoved him into the boards behind the goal.

The open goal that Gage easily slid the puck into.

It won them the pick-up game we’d started a couple of hours ago.

“Damn!” Bentley snapped. It looked like he wanted to throw his stick against the ice, but he reeled it in. Slowly skating to Gage, he glove-bumped him. “Good game, man.”

I raised my brows as I helped Rory up. The kid had gotten a lock on the anger—no easy feat for any of us. Impressive.

“Thanks,” Rory said, fully standing now. “That was one hell of a hit.”

“You deserved it.”

He laughed. “Don’t I always?”

We headed to the locker room, shedding our gear in a lazy sort of way before each of us hitting separate showers. Once we’d gathered back near our lockers, fresh clothes on, Rory kept eyeing me from where he sat.