11. Tabby

ELEVEN

TABBY

B etween making arrangements for Ming-Yue’s new roommate, finding time to borrow a truck from Brooke, Jude’s girlfriend, and packing up all of my belongings—though I traveled awfully light—it had taken a few days to get everything sorted. But here I was, in Nate’s house.

A part of me still couldn’t quite believe I’d agreed to live with him. That I’d willingly disrupted the relatively stable life I’d built for myself these past few years. But his persistence had worn me down, and if I was honest with myself, some deeper part of me craved that connection, that sense of belonging.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Especially when my other option insisted on making me dinner while his dog, Lucy, sat at my feet, begging for attention. When I had shown up at the door, she’d peed all over the floor. Of course, I’d known about the wiener dog’s anxiety issues, had heard the horror stories of how she’d chewed clear through a chair during a thunderstorm, and had already met her multiple times, but I hadn’t expected pee-level excitement.

“You have to get used to me,” I whispered to her, still inspecting the surroundings of my new abode, a brick townhouse built in 1890 on a corner lot with a small, fenced-in backyard and beautifully updated interior. Located downtown, it wasn’t too far from Walt’s but closer to Nate’s new bar location, which he had yet to offer much information about.

The first thing Nate had told me when I walked inside was, “Heating works, and there’s no mice. Sit down and put your feet up. Drink some water.”

He and Jude had moved all my possessions inside and upstairs in two trips with the truck, while all I had to do was drive my RAV4 over with a few bags of my personal items. Now, I lounged on the couch like some princess waiting to be served.

“Come on, Luce. Let’s see what he’s doing.” The dachshund followed me, her nails click-clacking on the wooden floor from the navy-blue living room, through the pale-green dining room, to the white-and-gray kitchen, wide and open.

Lucy plopped down on the mat in front of her food and water bowls, helping herself to dinner as I made my way over to Nate. He stood with his back to me, something sizzling on the stove, and remained unmoving as I approached, his head bent down. I peered around him, noting his phone in his hand, as he obviously read some kind of pregnancy website. His thumb scrolled over the screen on what appeared to be a tracking chart. My baby was as big as a papaya.

Nate murmured something to himself, and that was when I understood the pomegranate comment from two weeks ago. He’d been tracking Frogger’s growth all along.

I breathed out a shocked yet delighted laugh, finally snagging Nate’s attention. He jumped. “Tabby cat!” He gasped, hand over his chest. “For fuck’s sake. I’m doing it. I’m getting you a bell. I’m not living here with you silently skulking all around like some kinda ghost.” He swiped his hand down his face. “Holy Jesus. I can’t—are you crying?”

“No.”

He set his phone down to cup my jaw, swiping his thumb over my cheek. “Must be imagining this tear, then.”

I nodded and picked his cell up from the counter. “What were you reading?”

“Nothing.” After a few moments of my staring at him, he gave in with a sigh. “Did you know there is differing information about how to compare fetus sizes? Some apps and websites will give you food comparisons, some will give you item comparisons. I personally prefer the fruit analogies. Easier to understand than saying, like, a cassette tape. Because, first of all, who still uses cassette tapes? And, second, I’d rather imagine my baby as a coconut. You know what I mean?”

I did and I didn’t, too overwhelmed by that my baby comment to comprehend his endearing babbling. Instead, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.

I kissed him for taking a chance on me when I’d most needed it years ago, for bugging the shit out of me until he made me laugh, and for understanding me when it sometimes felt like no one else did.

I kissed him because I needed to find out if his lips were as supple as his smile made them out to be and to learn what his hair felt like when I combed my fingers through it.

I kissed him like I’d wanted to for a long damn time.

He froze, stunned at my sudden attack, and pulled back, his hands on my waist, eyes flying back and forth between mine, mouth open and breathing hard. He quirked his brow. “Tab?”

“I needed to know.”

His gaze filled with so much tenderness my chest ached, even as he backed me up against the refrigerator. “Well, now you know.”

Then his lips were on mine again, all his surprise replaced by confident strokes of his tongue, searching for mine, and advancing touches of his hands, up my sides to my face and hair, holding me in place. As impulsive as my first kiss was, his responding one felt calculated. He touched me like he’d done it before, gripping my hair by the scalp, using it to angle my head, and licked into my mouth like he’d been imagining it. Many times.

Maybe as many times as I had.

I curled my hands into fists, gripping his T-shirt at his chest, as if I could keep him here, with me, all the time. But I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. If the past few weeks weren’t evidence enough, the steel pipe in his jeans grinding against my hip certainly was.

And like Gen had told me, didn’t I deserve this?

Yes.

Yes, I fucking did.

I pushed my hips out, giving in to the need to relieve the pressure building between my legs, and covered his hand with mine, guiding it from my neck to my chest, groaning in relief as he gripped my breast, my nipples contracting almost painfully inside my bra. With my energy up and my sex drive at what felt like an all-time high, I’d recently taken to masturbating every morning. I’d been too busy to do it today, and my body practically screamed for an orgasm now.

I grasped at his shoulders, urging him on, lifting my leg to his waist, but he stopped me, holding me at arm’s length, a half smile on his face. “Gimme a sec.”

He flipped around to shut off the burner and pointed a stern finger at the dog. “Luce, cover your eyes.” Then he faced me again, serious. “Here or on the couch or?—”

“Here. Now. I can’t stand it.” My heartbeat pounded in my ears and between my thighs. “I need to come. Now.”

He stood there grinning like an idiot, his gaze lazily roving over me as if he had all the time in the world, while I was here sweating and panting and losing my goddamn mind.

I gripped the hem of his shirt and yanked, glowering up at him. “Be a good boy and give me an orgasm before I tear apart your gorgeous kitchen.”

“ Our gorgeous kitchen,” he corrected, curling his fingers over the waistband of my leggings. He pulled them down just enough to slip his hand inside my underwear, his other hand up my shirt, teeth tugging at my earlobe. “I’ll be a good boy for you, and when you come, I want to hear you scream my name.”

I tilted my head, needing his lips on mine, releasing my first moan into his mouth as he teased his fingers up and down the seam of my pussy. He moaned right back at the wetness he found there.

Already, I was close, and he’d barely touched me, but that was pregnancy hormones for you.

Finally being allowed to touch Nate didn’t help either.

His fingertip circled my clit as he bent, licking at my nipple after he pulled the cup of my bra down. “Shit,” he murmured against my skin. “Do you know how long I’ve had to look at these tits and pretend they didn’t do anything for me?”

“About as long as—” I sucked in a breath when he plunged his finger inside me “—as long as I’ve had to put up with you rubbing my back when I solved some problem for you.” I licked my lips. “Or when you’d pat my hip when you passed behind me.”

He stopped his ministrations and raised his head to meet my gaze, eyes curious. “I didn’t even think about that. Do I do that with other people?”

I shook my head. “I think you might’ve seen my black belt come out more often if you did that to more people.”

“Huh.” He went back to teasing the overly sensitive bud of my sex, his eyes narrowed on my lips when I licked them again, my breathing fast, my heart rate spiked. “So, that’s what gets you going? Some friendly pats on the back?”

I rolled my hips, letting my head thump back against the refrigerator. “I liked that we were comfortable enough with each other that you could treat me like that. It was second nature. And I liked feeling special. You treated me special.”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed me again. “Because you are special. I’ve always known it.” He twisted my nipple between his fingers as he rubbed my clit, and I was so close, shaking in his hold. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I feel it. You wanna come?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Make me come.”

“You know what to do.”

I did. I knew what to do to make this thing between us real.

I stared at him, my eyes on his, unblinking even as I fought to keep them steady. “ Nate . I need you to make me come.”

He smiled into a kiss then he curled his fingers into me, finding that swollen spot inside me. With only a few strokes, I careened headfirst into an orgasm. The first one in months that I hadn’t given myself.

“God, that feels good,” I mumbled, arching my back as he licked down my throat, scratched his beard along my collarbone, and scraped his teeth on my nipple. “ Ooh , Nate, yes.”

“Want another?”

I wouldn’t mind another, but not at the moment. “I’m hungry,” I told him. “And tired of standing here with shaking legs.”

He chuckled and straightened up, dragging his wet fingers out of my underwear. Then he righted my clothes, careful not to smear my slickness on anything as he did it. “Go sit,” he instructed, turning toward the sink to wash his hands. “I made rice and veggie stir-fry. Are you still no meat?”

“I don’t know. Somebody walked by me with a cheeseburger at school the other day, and it smelled really good to me.”

He nodded as he dried his hands. “We can try tomorrow.”

“You going to cook for me again?”

“Every day,” he said, plating up the food to set it in front of me along with another personalized water bottle, this one clear with purple writing on it. Drink water and mind your business . He added some slices of fresh lemons and limes to it because this man paid attention.

Once he sat down, I asked him about the new bar. He told me he’d spoken with Liam’s brother, Collin, a chef who seemed interested in Nate’s plans. They’d made arrangements for him to visit for a few days, which seemed really positive. He also asked about school and my group project, which was going terrible. Surprise, surprise. But I was concerned about more important matters.

“We have to talk,” I said, and he nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Good. Because I have a list.”

I bit back a smile. “I love a good list.”

“I know you do. I have a list of things the baby needs and?—”

I coiled my fingers around his wrist, jerking on it so I could view his screen. “You have a list of things for the baby?”

He furrowed his brow at me like yeah, obviously .

While that made me so happy my heart danced beneath my ribs, other discussions had to come first. “We need to talk about us .”

He set his phone down, and with his full attention on me, those soft blue eyes taking in every inch of my face as he patiently waited, I almost didn’t want to ruin the moment. In case the other shoe dropped. Like it always did.

I forced my question out. “With me here, what does that mean for us?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Are we…? Dating? Together? Still boss and employee?”

He shrugged, totally unfazed. “Well, you won’t be my employee much longer, so I don’t think you have to worry about that. Plus, I am human resources, and if you have any complaints about your boss, you can direct them to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Besides, do you really want to be working at Walt’s that much longer? You can’t tell me you like being on your feet all those hours.”

“People have done more under worse conditions.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to. If you want to work for the next couple of weeks, fine, but I can already tell how you’re slowing down. The further along you get, the harder it’ll be.”

“I know,” I agreed eventually, hating to give up that part of me.

“I get it, though.” His hand found my knee under the table. “You’re independent and want to have your own money and your own thing. I’m sure it’s hard making these decisions, but I want you to know that you have more than one option of working until you’re in labor, okay?”

I nodded. If we weren’t eating dinner together after I’d spent the day moving all my stuff here, maybe I would be more worried. But I was here, at the kitchen table with Nate, and I didn’t have to worry. I knew that much.

“Now, as for your question about us.” He slid his hand up to my stomach, to the spot Frogger liked to kick. They weren’t currently moving right now, so Nate smoothed his palm to my hip bone, his fingertips dipping under the elastic band of my leggings. “I want to be with you. Not for fun and not for a certain period of time or until the baby comes. I’m committed to you, to us , and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you. To see you.”

“It’s not like I did anything about it either.”

“No. I should’ve…” He closed his eyes for a moment, jamming his thumb and index finger into them as if attempting to rid himself of a memory. “He’d come into the bar or I’d see you texting him, and I’d… I’d go out and find the closest woman to take my mind off of it. Of you with him.”

“Yeah.” I winced. “I remember when you’d started dating Denise. She came to the bar and…”

“Jesus,” he groaned, tossing his hands in the air. “She even looked like you! And I convinced myself that I wanted her, that I loved her. I was just so fucking desperate.” He reluctantly slanted his gaze to me. “I’m such an asshole.”

“So am I.”

“No, you aren’t.” He booped my nose. “You’re perfect.”

I thought back to Denise, the woman he’d dated for a few months about two years ago, when Nate had inadvertently become the other man since he hadn’t found out until the end that she was married. “I can’t believe you were so obsessed with her.”

He grimaced. “I know. But it should make you feel better that you drove me to her. Like some Shakespearean tragedy.”

“What would the name of that one be?”

He shrugged. “Ye olde pub and cuckold. I don’t know.”

I giggled, and his eyes lit up. “I love when you laugh.”

“You’re the only one who makes me laugh.”

He leaned in, slipping his hand around my neck. “You better get used to it. I got a lot more where that comes from.” He kissed my forehead before standing to clear the table. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m kinda tired, actually.”

“We could watch one of your shows,” he offered. One of my shows, meaning the science docuseries I enjoyed.

With my water bottle in hand, I waited until he finished loading the dishwasher to run it, admiring how the man cleaned up after himself. Honestly, how didn’t we see it? How well matched we were.

I’d been to his house before, for a handful of parties he’d thrown. I’d known he’d done a lot of the renovation work himself, with some help from the guitarist of the Anchormen, the band that played monthly at Walt’s. I’d been informed of the new AC and heat pump he had installed last summer, which he’d been awfully proud to get a good price on. “Those negotiation skills,” he’d said with an eyebrow waggle.

The house was colorful yet understated. The rooms displayed no stereotypical bachelor décor, and he’d clearly put some thought into the personal items he’d set out. A few pictures hung on the walls of him and his friends, his sister, one of him and Lucy at a campsite. This man had a full life, and he’d invited me into it.

Now, he was inviting me upstairs, where I’d never been. He held my hand as Lucy plodded up ahead of us. “I didn’t know where to put your stuff because I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” We stood at the top of the steps, the boxes stacked along the hall. He pointed to the different rooms. “I finished the attic upstairs, which you could use as an office or something. I’ve been using it as a catchall. There’s a bathroom, bedroom, smaller bedroom—” he caught my eye “—that might make a good nursery. And here’s the primary. I took down a wall, so it’s got an en-suite bathroom now. You have your pick of places to sleep. Up to you.”

I didn’t hesitate, squeezing his hand. “With you. I want to sleep with you in your bed.”

He grinned, eyes shining. “ Our bed.”

“Our bed,” I agreed, and I helped myself to running in and jumping on the mattress. Nate followed immediately, leaping on top of me, his head near my belly.

“Hear that, Frogger? You’re sleeping with me.”