Page 53 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Ryan

Thirty-four weeks, I think, glancing down at my bump. Baby Flip is the size of a cantaloupe, according to the baby book. And according to Hot Dr. T., she’s ahead of the curve and probably not far off the size of a small watermelon.

Because her daddy is country strong.

As the sentiment echoes in my head, my mouth curls before I let rip a giggle because there’s no one around for me to have to explain to. It’s one of the things I remember thinking about Matt the night we met. Despite the tux and his polished appearance, the man looked country strong.

And it seems his offspring is following in his footsteps. I’m gonna have a daughter who’ll play basketball. She’ll be eight years old, and I’ll be holding her hand while looking up, not down, at her. But that’s okay because I’ll love her so much. As will everyone else.

Little Flip is ahead of the curve in another way too. Her head is already engaged. And though that sounds terrifying, Dr. T. assures me it’s perfectly normal.

I’m having a baby. Real soon!

Last night, Matt had arranged a group call with his family, so I got to meet them virtually. His parents hadn’t visited as they had planned. They were needed in Spain after Matt’s grandfather took a nasty tumble. He broke a hip, but he’s had surgery and is on the mend.

Meanwhile, Matt thought chatting with me might be a good distraction for them, something to lift their spirits. Can’t say I have ever been referred to as uplifting, but I understood his sentiments. That’s not to say I wasn’t looking forward to the call like I would a pelvic exam.

Anyhoo, next thing, the call became a whole thing—a group call with the Romero tribe.

Letty and Clo from their home in North London; Sebastien and Hugo, his brothers in Spain; the supposed hellion twins, Lola and Lucía—who seemed very lovely—from their apartment in Sydney; Catherine and Antonio, Matt’s parents; and even his cute abuelo from his hospital bed in Cádiz.

My baby has a grandmother, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather who all can’t wait to meet her.

And uncles and aunts who laughingly said they were good for gifts but not to put them down for babysitting duties.

Except for Letty, that is. Matt replied that was fine—that he wouldn’t trust them with a guinea pig.

Which then prompted Clo to ask where her Uncle Matty got a guinea pig and say how unfair it was that she wasn’t allowed one.

The call was a blast! Raucous and loud, people talking over each other, arguing and laughing and calling each other names while Antonio, Matt’s dad, played the straight man.

This family. They just vibe. I’m so happy little Flip will get to be one of them. So happy she’ll be loved by them.

Thirty-four and a half weeks, and I am huge. Just enormous! My stomach has grown so much, I feel like it’s changed my center of gravity. But my skin is fantastic—I’m frickin’ glowing—and I have the hair of a supermodel, all swishy and glossy.

On the not-so-good side, I’m as horny as all get-out.

My poor wand will be worn out by the time this baby arrives.

I caved and bought a new one after Matt and I ... yeah, that.

I didn’t bring my favored model from the US—I dumped it before I left. There were the voltage issues to consider, but more than that, no way was I going to be stopped coming through customs with that thing.

Anything to declare?

One overworked sex toy and a crush on an Irish sex worker, m’kay?

An Irish sex worker who turned out to be kind of perfect. For Flip, at least.

No need to include me in that equation.

Sex on the brain turned out to be a moment at the clinic a couple of days ago when I went for a routine scan.

I couldn’t look the poor tech in the eye after she whipped out the probe thingy, my mind bending to the previous night, when I’d used my wand and I’d tried not to think about Matt.

Inevitably, my brain had gone there anyway, and seeing him there, in the room, watching me as I lay on that bed in that totally unsexual and sterile setting, still made me feel all shivery.

Maybe I’m just a pervert. Or maybe it was those eyes, the intensity in that green-gold gaze.

When the tech produced a bottle of lube, I had to bite my lip to keep from announcing I was so turned on, that wouldn’t be necessary.

I began to giggle at the ridiculous thought, embarrassed and, yes, still kind of turned on.

I snort-laughed and almost peed myself, Matt’s attention turning from intense to bemused.

When he asked later what had made me laugh, I couldn’t think of an answer that was anything other than your cock .

Truly. Your cock. And I almost said that.

Pregnancy hormones are insane .

I’m trying to shake off the recurring cringe as my bare feet pad across the warm wooden floor on the way to my desk when my phone vibrates with a text.

“Who can that be?” I say to Flip. “My money’s on Daddy.”

Did I say that a little smuttily? A girl can dream. And she does. Often.

Matt : I have a dinner this evening, so I won’t be home for long.

I frown down at my phone, my mood dipping along with my head. I was looking forward to hanging out with Matt tonight. I’d had a good day and was feeling kind of peppy.

Not anymore.

Me : Okay. Well, you have fun!

Matt : It’s nothing special. Just dinner with the guys from Maven and their better halves.

My heart gives a little wobble. I should’ve met them all by now, but I’ve been so caught up in my own head. And now I feel like it’s just too late. I mean, I will meet them. I’ll have to, because Matt has already spoken about asking them to be godparents— padrinos and madrinas , so he says.

He asked if I had anyone in mind, but I just shrugged and said he could choose because it meant more to him than me. Who would I ask, anyway?

Me : I hope you have a good time. You deserve to let your hair down.

He rarely goes out—barely drinks around me.

Matt : They’d all love to meet you, if you’re up for it.

But they’re married. And we’re not together. Don’t you think it’s a little strange?

Though I begin to type this out, I delete it all while ignoring the chicken that has begun to cluck in my head.

Me : I will meet them but not tonight. I’m beat.

Matt : The offer’s there if you change your mind.

Me : Thanks, but I won’t, but you have fun. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Matt : Oh, the possibilities.

Me : Of fun?

Matt : Of the kinds of things you wouldn’t do. Given the kinds of things I know you’ve already done ...

His text seems to arrive with a taunting inflection and that velvety tone of his. Is he flirting, or am I imagining things?

Me : That’s an origin story we won’t Ever reveal to Flip.

Matt : It would certainly make the “where do babies come from” conversation very awkward.

Me : Agreed!

Matt : A child will always be too young to hear how he was conceived, especially when the tale includes pseudo sex workers, green lingerie, and the kind of mind-blowing sex that ruins you for all other encounters.

I type Matt, please.

“Please more” or “please stop”? Conflicted, I delete the text again.

Matt : Just so we’re straight, I mean me. The best night of my life was playing whore for you.

I press my palm to my cheek, my skin suddenly feeling as though it’s been pricked by a million hot pins. Oh, Matt. This isn’t allowed.

Matt : So what do you say?

I say he’s not alone in that. For me, there will never be another man like him.

Matt : You should come with me. Then you could make sure I won’t get up to no good ...

“Oh.” My hand drops, my stomach along with it. Does he mean what I think he means, what it sounds like? That he has plans of ... hooking up?

No. My denials are almost instant. Not Matt. No way. I know he hasn’t ... not since I moved in. Unless there’s a stash of condoms at work and his hookups are between office hours.

“ A man is a man is a man. Not one of them can be trusted. ” My mother’s voice whips me back to the past. One of those evenings she was drunk and sad and looking for validation. “ If they’re smilin’ and treatin’ you nice, it’s because they’re hiding somethin’. ”

But those are her experiences. And, okay, they’re also mine, in the past. But Matt isn’t Pete, and that’s not what’s happening here—it’s not what his text meant because that’s not who Matt is. I know this as clearly as I know my own name.

Yet my chest still aches, my stomach knotty and tense. I put my phone down on the desk and make my way to the nearest bathroom, where I splash a little cold water on my face.

“We’re not together,” I tell my reflection. “But he still wouldn’t disrespect me like that.”

But my eyes fill with tears anyway as I realize why I feel so sad.

It won’t be tonight, but the time will come when I’ll lose Matt to someone else.