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27

NOAH

“You’re pregnant?” My heart is in my throat, hand resting on Charlotte’s cheek.

Her hesitant eyes bore into my soul, and she nods. “I am.”

“But we?—”

“Used the very ineffective pull-out method because we were stupid and horny? Yeah.”

We were so reckless.

I haven’t even figured out how to be a boyfriend and play football. How am I going to be a dad and put in the work to succeed as a pro player? I thought it would be years before I had the chance. Definitely after I settled into the NFL.

“You don’t…” She trails off. “You don’t have to…” She clears her throat, eyes dropping to her hands as she picks at her fingernails. “I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t.”

My hand falls to hers. “What?”

“You don’t have to be involved,” she murmurs, and my chest tightens.

She thinks I’m going to abandon her in this?

Sure, I may be having the biggest inner freak-out of my life, but I can save that for later.

“Charlotte.” I take her face in my hands, and her gaze meets mine. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She gnaws on her lower lip. “But what about your five-year plan?”

“We already agreed to fucking it up months ago. Remember?”

“The clink of plastic spoons and a forced fake relationship shouldn’t ruin your life.”

My muscles tighten, every nerve ending in my body igniting. “ Fake ?” I grit out, and her eyes widen briefly. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant with my baby , and you’re going to look me in the eyes and tell me you still believe we’re faking it?” I place my hands on her thighs, and she sucks in a breath as I slide them up to rest on her waist under the hem of her T-shirt. “Does this feel fake to you?” I tug her against me.

“Noah.” She gasps, her center pressed to my stomach. “What are you doing?”

Cupping the back of her neck, I brush my mouth over hers. “I said, does this feel fake to you, soffione ?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” she rasps.

“Have the past few months not felt real? Falling asleep tangled in one another? Our dates? Late nights FaceTiming?”

“Yes, but?—”

“How about the things I’ve shared with you that I haven’t told anyone else? Ever.” Memories of how absolutely understanding she was flood my mind. “Does it feel fake when I hold you like this?” My grip on her hips tightens. “Does it feel like I’m faking it?” She shakes her head again. “How about when I make you moan my name until you collapse in my arms? Does that feel fake?” Another head shake. “Say it out loud.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

She sucks in a breath. “It doesn’t feel fake.”

“Because it’s not. You and I are the real deal, and I can’t pretend any longer. Especially not when you are walking around growing our child.” I bring my lips to her ear. “I’m a strong man, but hell, Charlotte, I’m not that strong.”

“Are you sure you want me?” She places a hand on her stomach. “Want us?”

I pause millimeters from her ear, releasing a low, breathy chuckle. “Charlotte, I’ve told you so many times. Mi fai impazzire. ”

She goes rigid. “You’re happy we’re friends?” The false translation I told her.

I drop my head in the crook of her neck. “It means you drive me crazy,” I mumble against her skin.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” she mutters.

“ Soffione .” I pull away, looking into her shocked eyes. “I’m crazy for you. I thought about tasting every inch of your skin for months before we started things. Months. I’m not just attracted to you.” I hook a strand of hair behind her ear, rubbing her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “I’m weak for you. I crave you. I think about you from the moment I wake up to the second I fall asleep.”

She studies me. “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

“I appreciate that… But just because your feelings for me are real, doesn’t mean this ”—she places a hand on her stomach—“has to be real to you.”

“It’s real for you, isn’t it?” I ask, and she nods. “Which means it’s real for me too.” Her eyes swim with uncertainty, and I tap my forehead to hers. “I’m right here. And I’m always going to be here . For you and our baby.” Placing my palm over her stomach, I remind myself that as much as I want to be a father, I also can’t force this decision for her. “Or whatever you decide to do, I support you.”

Her brows furrow as she rests her hand on mine. “What do you mean?”

I clear my throat. “Your body, your choice.”

She looks down at her stomach. “I’m keeping the baby, Noah.”

“ We are keeping the baby.” Taking her chin between my fingers, I tip her gaze to meet mine. “No more ‘I.’ It’s you and me. For real this time.”

Her lips quirk with a smile. “Okay, then what comes next? I don’t think you covered this in the syllabus.”

“Move in with me,” I say, placing my hand back on her stomach.

She huffs a laugh. “That’s not necessary.”

“You already have a key,” I say, knowing damn well I gave her one hoping she’d make it her second home. “And I’m pretty sure there’s no room for a nursery in your apartment.”

She tilts her head back and forth. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be worried about you all the time. Wondering how you’re feeling or how baby is.” I worry enough as it is. Add our baby in the mix, and I’ll be an anxious fucking mess.

“Phones do exist,” she says, but her tone is teasing.

“ Please move in with me?”

“I don’t want to intrude.” Is that her concern?

“Let me ask a better question. And, for a moment, I need you to expel any worries that you’re intruding or not welcome or whatever that pretty little head of yours is thinking.” She fights a smile, her eyes meeting mine. “Would it make you happy to live here?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation.

“Then welcome to Casa Caruso.”

* * *

Charlotte rolls a suitcase up the driveway, and I trail behind her, a heavy box in my arms. It took her a few days to pack, but we retrieved her things today, and she’s finally, officially, moving in. I’ve been fighting to suppress my inner anxieties, my hyperfixation on ensuring our home is a safe space, not a house of horrors like my childhood was.

Right now, my job is to support her, and there’s no time to let my toxic past get in the way. No time to curse myself for being so stupid. For knowing better than to keep hooking up without some kind of safe sex talk.

But as we get to the front door and she stands up the suitcase to dig in her purse, I’m reminded of why she’s here. Filled with pride knowing even though this was definitely not in the five-year plan, this woman is growing my baby. Our baby.

She retrieves the key, her cornicello pendant dangling off it. I hope it protects her and baby when I’m away. The thought of leaving them puts a pit in my stomach, but it’s part of the job. And I love my job. After pushing the door open, she grabs the suitcase, rolling it inside.

In the foyer, she pauses, looking from my room toward the other side of the house.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting the box on the floor by the front door and shutting it.

“I can keep my stuff in the guest room?” she suggests. This woman.

Walking over, I take the suitcase handle in my hand with a wide grin and pull it to my bedroom. Our bedroom.

“Wait!” she calls after me. “I don’t want to take up all your space.”

I hoist it onto the mattress so she doesn’t have to bend down when unpacking.

“Noah.” She puts an arm on mine, tugging me away from the luggage.

“You are sleeping in my—our—bed,” I tell her. “Your things will be in our room.” I point to the empty dresser I cleared for her. “That’s yours. But if you need more room, you can have mine too.” I take her face in my hands, and her gaze meets mine. “I want you taking up every inch of my space.” Bending down, I kiss her softly on the mouth, then push up her shirt, splaying my fingers over her stomach. “Both of you.”

“I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Charlotte. I have spent so much time in my life feeling like I don’t have a choice.” I brush my fingers against her belly. “But this? I want this.” Even if I’m freaking out, I can’t deny how much I want this. I tap my forehead to hers. “And I want you .” So. Damn. Much. She smiles, and I nuzzle her nose. “So please stop fighting me and unpack your things in our room, yeah?”

She nods.

“I’ll bring the rest of your stuff in, but let me show you a few things first,” I say, walking toward my nightstand.

“Okay.”

She may not like this, but it’s important. “Remember how I told you Mom and I got our concealed weapons permits?”

“Yes?” she says, tone curious.

Sliding open the drawer, I grab the pistol I keep there. “This is for emergencies,” I say, showing it to her, and her eyes widen. In case the cornicello doesn’t do its job. “Do you know how to use one?”

She nods. “My parents made me take a self-defense class in high school, and gun knowledge was one of the lessons.”

“Good.”

After ensuring the safety is on, I return it to the drawer, making a mental note to buy a safe before the baby comes. My phone rings, and I tug it out. Mamma is displayed on the screen, and I blow out a shaky breath, shoving it back in my pocket. I’m not ready.

I head to the bathroom, and Charlotte follows me. “You can take whatever drawer, vanity, cabinet you want.”

“Noah.”

“Charlotte.” I pin her with a look. “This is our home. I could not care less if you allot me a single drawer.”

“How much stuff do you think I have?” she asks with a laugh.

“I’m just trying to make a point,” I tell her and point to the tub. “I bought you some salt and bubble stuff. You’ll have to keep the water warm instead of scalding because of the baby, obviously, but it can help if you get any back pain.”

“Noah Caruso, have you been doing Daddy research?” she asks, grabbing my arm and pulling me to her, looping her hands around my waist.

“Gotta make sure Mommy’s taken care of too,” I tell her. She reaches up and rests a hand against my face.

“I adore you.” She presses her soft lips to mine, and a warm feeling spreads across my chest. “Now show me the rest of our house.”