Page 73 of Pregnant By the Playboy

“Don’t want it to get to your head.”

“I think you’re the one with the big ego, not me.”

“Me?” he says. “Never.”

He pulls out of me slowly, and I slide my fingers inside.

“Can you grab that towel?” I ask, and Vince gets the towel on the rack beside the bed. I place it under me.

Eventually, we make it to the washroom to clean up, and he fucks me again while I’m sitting on the bathroom counter, something he admits he’s fantasized about.

By midnight, we’re back in bed together, cuddled up and sated...at least for a little while. He falls asleep first, and I lie quietly beside him, listening to his breathing, reveling in the soreness between my legs, wondering if having sex with Vince tonight was the best idea.

I couldn’t help myself, though. I wanted him so badly.

But I’m not ready for everything he’s prepared to give me. If I weren’t pregnant, this would be so much simpler. I wouldn’t feel like I had to figure out everything quickly.

Except this baby will be coming in less than six months. I like Vince, but there are already so many changes in my life. And while he’s been sweet to me—when he’s not trying to push my buttons—I’m still having a bit of trouble reconciling that version of Vince with the one the rest of the world knows. I trust him, I enjoy his chats with our baby, but I feel like I don’t know him completely.

For now, though, sex has left me tired, and my mind is emptying of thought.

Chapter 20

Vince

“Maybe I should not say anything.” Marissa’s mother, Bev, helps herself to some noodles. “I usually wouldn’t, but this time, I will say it anyway.”

Marissa and I exchange an oh-shit look.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Bev says. “You act like you are a couple, but you are not, right?”

We’re at Marissa’s mother’s home for Sunday dinner. Up until an hour ago, the weekend had revolved around sex, and we didn’t talk about this dinner with Bev and Larry. Or about where our “relationship”—can I call it that?—is headed.

I’m tempted to tell the truth. Not the truth about what we were doing all weekend, but something along the lines of, I love your daughter, and we’ve started seeing each other.

However, I don’t know what Marissa told her mother in the past and what she wants to tell her mother now. I don’t wish to go against what she wants.

Marissa remains quiet, though, so perhaps I ought to say something.

“You’re not like my family,” I tell Bev. “They love to interfere, and they will always speak, even if it would be better for them to keep their mouths shut.”

Admittedly, I’m like that, too. Especially with Julian. But there are some things I don’t talk about with my family.

Bev chuckles, then does something I was dreading.

She speaks to me in Cantonese and shoots me a smile afterward.

Even though I was prepared for this moment, I find myself unable to form words.

“He doesn’t speak Cantonese,” Marissa says.

I never told her that, but it’s obvious I don’t.

“Right, I remember now,” Bev says. “Your family is Toisanese, yes?”

I nod. “But I don’t speak it. My parents were born here, and they’re most comfortable speaking English. They didn’t make a point of speaking Toisanese at home, and there are no classes for that. They put us in heritage language classes for Cantonese instead, but...” I shrug. “All the other kids spoke it at home, and the class was mainly for learning to read and write. So I was lost the whole time. My older brother picked it up, but I’m terrible at languages.”

“It is just surprising because your family is...” She gestures vaguely.