Page 26 of Please Open Me
“Three kids are enough, thanks,” I muttered. It didn’t even sound convincing.
“Plus, I don’t want to be pregnant right now!” Mason added quickly. “Lucian and I have our wedding in eighteen months, and Rosie isn’t even crawling yet.”
I snapped my fingers and pointed at her in agreement.
Case closed.
But Sophia wasn’t done.
“Oh, come on. Picture it—Mason with a baby on her hip and a big ol’ belly. Isn’t that, like, super cute?”
God help me, she was right.
My brain went rogue: Mason, visibly pregnant, holding hands with a toddler, Rosie balanced on her hip like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My heart did a weird flip.
... And my cock twitched.
Could elation cause erections? Apparently.
I shifted, adjusting myself quickly to hide it.
The girls started to bicker, but I didn’t hear it. Not really. Instead, my mind was too busy with fantasy. A life I’d never had. One I hadn’t realized I ached for until this moment.
Mason barefoot in the kitchen. Hair pulled back in a messy knot. Rosie tugging on the hem of her shirt. A baby we hadn’t met yet balanced on her hip, sucking on two fingers and drooling on her shoulder.
Cameron would be in the doorway, arms crossed, lecturing her to sit down, and rest, and Mason would stick her tongue out and ignore him. Maybe the oven would be on. Maybe the kitchen would smell like sugar and vanilla, and Mason and Rosie would wait impatiently for something to cool.
I’d probably sneak up behind her, slip my hand under her shirt, rest my palm on the swell of her belly, and I’d ask something stupid.
How are you feeling?
Just to hear her say,better now.
The ache spread across my chest like a bruise.
How the fuck had I gone from a contract killer tothis?
I didn’t notice Mason had gotten up, nor did I notice her collecting the almost-empty tray and carrying it toward the kitchen. Not until I heard her trip.
It wasn’t loud, just a soft, surprised gasp and the dull clunk of the plastic lid hitting the floor.
I snapped back to reality in time to see Mason stumbling over one of Jasper’s many toy dinosaurs, the ones he always swore he’d pick up and never did.
She wobbled once more, and the last soggy wedge of cake slid off the cardboard base before landing directly on my bare stomach.
Cold.
Sticky.
Wet.
My lungs locked.
Whipped cream smeared down my abs. Glazed strawberries clung to the sharp line above my hip. The sponge crumbled against my skin as sugar smeared across my waistband.
I sucked in a sharp breath and held it, trying not to flinch.
