Page 94 of Pinch

“I like what you’re wearing right now.” It’s a low rumble, and the tingles turn to heat filtering through my inner thighs, all the way to my toes.

Arching my back, I put my hands on his cheeks, pressing my lips to his. He rolls me onto my back, kissing my jaw, making his way down my neck, and I exhale deeply, surrendering to his possession.

“Echoes of Galileo”is the theme of the gala, and I’m wearing a flowing white dress with a scooped neck and a large silver necklace, similar to what Princess Leia wore at the end of “A New Hope.” It’s a fancier version of my Halloween costume, which makes my insides all zippy at the thought. Good thing you can’t get pregnant twice.

It’s not a very forgiving dress, and I spread my hands over my stomach, checking every angle in the full-length mirror to be sure I don’t look pregnant.

At this point, I haven’t popped. None of my clothes fit, and I’m thick in the middle, but I’ve been hiding it in leggings and oversized sweaters. I can’t hide my chubby cheeks and bigger boobs, so I’ve been making a big show of eating my breakfast in front of Gigi and Mav.

The baby books suggest raiding your husband’s closet at this stage of pregnancy, and while I’d love to wear Gavin’s clothes, I think the husband envisioned in that advice wasn’t a six-foot-two hockey player.

Walking down the stairs, I try not to blush when Gigi squeals and Mav grins, nodding.

“Our little girl is all grown up,” he quips.

He’s dressed in a traditional black suit with a light purple shirt and dark purple tie for the Champions colors. He looks very handsome, but my eyes search for my man.

Gavin stands with his shoulder propped against the doorjamb leading into the kitchen. He’s wearing black slacks and a black tee with a brown suede bomber jacket on top and a cocky smirk curling his lips.

It’s not quite Han Solo, but it’s pretty damn close. His dark hair is shaggy around his head, and when our eyes meet, I feel something distinctly like a baby kicking inside my stomach.

The books all say we’re right in the zone of the baby’s first movements. I want to tell him so badly. I want to grab his hand and press it to my stomach, but I have to settle for smiling as my eyes heat with happy tears.

Don’t cry, pregnant Haddy!I internally scold myself. How would I possibly explain that?

“Y’all look so good,” Gigi gushes. “I wish I was going now.”

“Dude.” Mav’s shoulders drop, and his dark brows pulltogether. “I could have totally hooked you up if you’d said something. Donovan asked?—”

“It’s okay!” She cries, waving to the three of us. “Stand by the fireplace so I can take a picture to send the family. Or would it be better outside under the trees? Or on the patio under the twinkle lights!”

Her green eyes widen, but Mav puts his foot down. “The car is waiting outside, Gina. Just take it by the fireplace.”

“You are going to have to get over that attitude when you have kids of your own,” she fusses.

“I’ll worry about that when it happens, now get it done.”

Pictures taken, Gavin pulls my hand into the crook of his arm, leaning closer. “You’re gorgeous, Princess.”

“So are you, my knight.” I rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and his expression changes slightly.

It’s almost like me saying those words hits him differently tonight. My chest squeezes and the other three words I’ve been thinking over and over since our reunion night press hard against my lips.

The gala is at the Griffith Observatory, and the entire place is decorated like a 1960s space event with shiny silver accents, planetary table toppers, silver balloons, and rockets.

Maverick’s date meets us at the door. She’s a blonde in a gorgeous red dress. Gav tells me she’s one of the reporters who covers the team, but he doesn’t think it’s serious.

I’m not so sure his date got that message when I see the way she looks at him. Sometimes I don’t think Maverick understands the power he has over women.

Flashes go off nonstop as we walk up the red-carpeted stairs. The guys pause, nodding and giving friendly smiles to all the photographers shouting their names.

They yell “Princess Leia” at me, and while I haven’tencountered photographers at this level in my pageant career, I’ve definitely been trained in how to stand. Shoulders square, hand on hip, smile slowly, side to side.

The guys are the celebrities at this event, and I’m happy to fade to the background so they can have all the attention. A man in a black tux with a black shirt beneath shakes Maverick’s hand then pulls Gav in for a photo with his arms over both their shoulders.

“The dream team,” he shouts to the photographers, and the flashes go crazy.

Gav finally breaks away from the line, catching my hand in his and hustling up the steps. “You’re going to love this.”