My door opens quietly, and I immediately sit up, knowing there’s only one person it could be.
“Rosalind? Are you okay?”
Seeing me awake, she quickly slips in and shuts the door behind her. Her long legs are bare, ass barely hidden by an oversized t-shirt that’s sliding off one shoulder. Her hair is pulled up so I can see the gracefulness of her neck. She looks beautiful in the moonlight and I can’t help wondering if this is a good time to finally kiss her again.
But no. We need to build a solid relationship. I don’t want to pressure her into anything she’s not ready for.
Gliding up to my bed, she pulls the covers back. “Move over.”
“What?” Okay, I don’t
think she’s ready for anything sexual, but now I’m not so sure.
She sighs sounding as exhausted as my body feels. “My bed is uncomfortable. And my room has shitty ventilation. I am the baby mama. Move over.”
“Isn’t it the same bed you’ve been sleeping on for years? Suddenly, it’s uncomfortable?” I poke playfully. Really I don’t mind her being in here. I just can’t resist the chance to see the fire in her eyes.
“I don’t make my body hurt,” she retorts as she slides under the sheets. “I just try to accommodate whatever it wants right now.”
Admittedly, she’s not wrong. I got a preview of her mattress when I flopped down on it after moving it up two flights of stairs. It is pretty shitty. “Okay.” I move out of the middle and onto the far side of the bed as she moans her appreciation for a quality pillowtop. I may not be domestic at all, but a man knows the benefit of a good night’s sleep after a hard day at the gym. Still, I’m not positive of her intentions, and she’s been staring in my dreams for weeks now, so I need to clear something up.
“Does this mean we get to have sex now?”
Rosalind snorts a laugh and punches the pillow as she settles in. “No.”
“What? You’re moving into my bed, and I don’t get any of the benefits?” I joke back.
“You get the benefit of my presence and knowing your baby and I are both getting a good night’s rest.”
She’s got me there. At this point, their safety and well-being are my biggest priorities. I suddenly understand why Abel is such a worry wart when I babysit.
Don’t give her too much sugar, Joey.
Don’t let her stay up too late, Joey.
Don’t burn the house down trying to cook spaghetti, Joey.
One time. It was
one time that I blew up the spaghetti pot.
I make a quick mental note never to make spaghetti around my child.
“Hey, Rosalind?” I clasp my hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling again.
“Hmm.”
“Are you nervous?”
She takes a deep breath, and I get the feeling she’s been up all night, wrestling with her thoughts, too. “About which part?”
“I think… maybe, all of it?”
Rosalind rolls over, putting her hands under her cheek as she stares me dead in the eye. “I’m terrified. What if I’m not cut out for this, Joey?”
“What do you mean? I saw you with Mabel and Ainsley at Thanksgiving. They love you. You’re a natural with kids.”
“Mabel and Ainsley are easy,” she retorts. “I smile and laugh and talk to them like real people. I don’t have to keep them alive. I don’t know how to keep a baby
alive.”
Shit. She’s right. “Neither do I.”
We lie there some more, lost in our own thoughts again. I’m so excited to become a dad and I’m equally as terrified, which is such a weird feeling. There is so much that can go wrong. So much I don’t know how to do yet. So much to expect that I haven’t even thought of. Babysitting Mabel and Ainsley is easy. Pop in a Wii game and let them go nuts. But a baby? That’s a whole different thing I’ve never done before.
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About M.E. Carter
My name is M.E. Carter and I have no idea how I ended up writing books. I’m more of a story teller (the more exaggerated the better) and I happen to know people who helped me get those stories on paper. I love reading (read almost 200 books last year), hate working out (but I do it anyway because my trainer makes me), love food (but hate what it does to my butt) and love traveling to non-touristy places most people never see. I live in Houston with my four kids, Mary, Elizabeth, Carter and Bug, who was just a twinkle in my eye when I came up with my pen name. Yeah, I’ll probably have to pay for his therapy someday for being left out.
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