Page 9

King

“You’re right,” I tell Gabby, who is mostly zoned out.

Her eyes are on the movie that’s playing on her television.

I get the feeling she’s not really watching it at all.

Still, she ate some sausage and peppers that Dragon fixed over the grill and all of Nicole’s banana pudding, so I couldn’t complain.

I got food in her belly—which was the main goal.

I’m reclined on her bed, my back to the headboard, a pillow tucked between.

Gabby is much the same, her hand on her stomach, eyes locked on a television that again, I’m not sure she’s even seeing.

“Hm?” she hums, the small sound vibrating between her lips.

“Gabby?”

“Yeah?” she says, still not taking her eyes away from the television.

“Look at me,” I instruct.

It takes her a minute, and it seems harder than it should be, but eventually she turns to stare at me. “What?”

“I said you were right.”

She blinks and slowly her eyes clear as she focuses on me. “I was right?” she asks, to which I nod affirmatively. “What was I right about?” she asks, making me smile.

“Nicole’s banana pudding is the bomb.”

“Told you,” she says with a smile.

“You did. Although you also lied.”

Her body jerks and I see the panic in her eyes. I don’t like that look on her face and can’t pretend to understand why it appeared, but I ignore it for now. I figure Gabby has a lot of landmines in her head that can be triggered at any time. I know, because I do, too.

“I didn’t lie,” she denies at once, her body tight, and it dawns on me that she’s thinking the worst from my words.

I reach out and tag her hand, wrapping it around hers. I force her fingers to separate as I intertwine mine with them and squeeze. “You did.”

“I di?—”

“You told me Nicole’s pudding was healthy because it had bananas in it. Woman, there were no bananas in that shit.”

“It all tastes like bananas though, and that’s the important part.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m not quite sure I can agree with that. Are you engrossed in this movie or just lost in your head?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Nicholas Cage does great movies.”

“Uh …”

She laughs, already knowing what I’m going to say. “Okay, Nicholas Cage does two kinds of movies. They’re either really good or really bad. There is no in-between.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, and this one, Con Air, is probably his best.”

I find myself grinning again as I put my now empty container of banana-less banana pudding on the nightstand.

I take a minute to reflect exactly how I’m feeling.

I’m in a room that is like almost every other clubhouse bedroom I’ve been in.

It consists of a queen-size bed, two nightstands with matching, cheap-ass lamps, and a television sitting on a chest that is about six drawers high.

The walls are covered in a neutral, shitty paint color that looks more dirty than clean.

There’s a flag with the club’s logo on the wall, with a small closet to the left, and a bathroom attached to the right.

That’s it. There’s no window, and it’s dark as hell despite the lamp on the nightstand shining and the television going.

It might be like other rooms I’ve been in, but I feel more at peace than I have in a really fucking long time—maybe even years.

I definitely feel better than I have since Shelby began whatever shit she began that I never understood and probably never will.

I also think it has more to do with my company than anything else.

Things are easy with Gabby. The two of us understand one another.

She doesn’t expect shit from me, and I don’t from her either.

There’s nothing sexual, no deep emotions.

It’s just a mutual respect. She’s like one of the guys, but a hell of a lot prettier to look at.

Or rather, she usually is. Right now, she looks drained and wrung out.

Now that I have her fed, it’s time to make sure she sleeps sound.

Her gaze has gone back to the television.

She’s not completely zoned-out again, but it’s enough that I can plan my attack— which I do.

I gently reach over and pull her body down and move her exactly where I want her.

Halfway through, I feel her body tighten, but I ignore it.

I move her pillows where they’re plopped up, but her head is on them.

Once that’s achieved. I grab her hand, link our fingers and pull so that she’s forced to rest her arm against my stomach.

I do all of this without pausing to take her in.

I do it as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary—which it’s not.

Still, I know Gabby has trouble being alone with anyone now—especially men.

That’s another tidbit that she shared with me back in my room late one night when I let her drink her sorrows away in a safe place.

It occurs to me she was pregnant that night.

Of course, she didn’t know, had even taken the morning-after pill.

She said the doctor told her the baby was healthy, so I push my worries aside.

I go back to concentrating on the here and now.

I need Gabby to rest. The woman has been pushing herself way too much.

I know why, I’ve done similar. It doesn’t mean I have to like that she’s doing it. She has a baby to take care of.

“King, maybe you should go?—”

“The Rock,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the television.

“Huh?”

“Another kick-ass Cage movie. Arguably his best. The Rock,” I explain.

“Oh.”

“Your turn,” I continue. I’m going to get her to relax if it kills both of us.

“Raising Arizona.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s the funniest movie ever made. It was hil-lar-eeee-uss,” she says, drawing the word out and pronouncing it not exactly right but in a way to exaggerate it even further, making me smile.

“It was pretty good,” I allow.

“You know it,” she insists and then she settles into her pillow, turning on her side and watching the television. I chance a look at her to notice there’s almost a smile on her lips. It doesn’t touch her eyes, but I’ll take it.

“Face Off,” I counter.

Her grin deepens. “I’m sensing King is a man who likes his movies full of guns and car chases.” She’s not wrong, so I say nothing. “I think you need to broaden your horizons, so I’m going to say Sorcerous Apprentice.”

“Say what?”

“It’s action and adventure, but you get to throw magic in there. It’s also about a love so deep that it lasts no matter the obstacles. Plus, it’s a love that’s not even about sex. It’s emotional and therefore, the movie is a classic.”

“I will accept your choice because it’s a pretty cool movie. That said, I’d like to warn you that you are slowly going off the deep end here and you need to rein it in. If you try to name that freaking PIG movie, you lose your movie rights for a week.”

This gets me a giggle. “Did you even watch that movie?” she asks.

“Nope, and I don’t want to.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Woman, he plays a truffle hunter. I’m not even sure I know what a truffle hunter is.

I do know that I’ve been in a lot of woods.

I’ve seen deer hunters, rabbit, squirrel, elk, and even bear hunters.

What I have not seen is a fucking truffle hunter.

” My rant gets me a full-on laugh, and this one manages to reach her eyes. Goal achieved.

“You’re a nut,” she mutters—still smiling.

“I’m right,” I argue.

“Whatever you say, crazy man. It’s your turn to pick again.”

“Gone in 60 Seconds,” I say at once.

“Gross,” she mutters.

“Why is that movie gross?” I ask, fighting my own laughter.

“Two words.”

“And those would be?”

“Angelina Jolie.”

At that, I can’t keep my laughter in. “What the fuck is wrong with Angelina Jolie?”

“Name one movie she was in as the main attraction that was worth watching,” she grumbles.

“Is this where I tell you I don’t watch a lot of movies?” I laugh.

“This is where you tell me I’m right about Angelina Jolie.”

“I’ll semi-agree. How’s that?”

“How can you semi-agree?” she asks, her forehead curling in confusion.

“Woman, I can’t paint a broad stroke on her when I’ve only watched two of her movies in my life.”

“Which two?” she asks. I give her a look and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, besides Gone in 60 Seconds, which movie?”

“The Bone Collector.”

“Oh, that’s a good one, but because of Denzel, not her.

He doesn’t know how to make bad movies. He elevates horrible movies into passable movies based solely on his talent and total alpha aura.

” I stare at her, and I know I’m doing it like the woman has developed three heads. “What?” she asks. “It’s the truth.”

“You’re whacked,” I laugh.

“I’m not—” She stops talking abruptly, her hand going to her stomach.

“Gabby? Are you okay?”

“The baby,” she whispers, and panic hits me.

“What’s wrong? Are you having a contraction? I knew that damn doctor didn’t check you out thoroughly. You weren’t in there long enough. Let me go get a truck and I’ll?—”

“King, I’m okay. The baby just kicked me. It was stronger than I’m used to. I’m starting to think my jellybean is a future NFL linebacker or whatever.”

I look at her stomach. “He’s kicking you now?”

She takes our joined hands and places them on her belly. Hers lay over mine as she moves it around, gently pressing. All at once, I feel it. There is a flutter beneath my hand and then another—this one a little stronger. Then all at once, there is a swift punch against my palm.

“Did you feel it?” she asks, sounding excited. I force my gaze to move from her stomach to Gabby’s face. She has a radiant smile on her face, and this one definitely hit her eyes.