Page 32 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

When I walk through the door, I find Wren curled up on the couch, wrapped in the throw blanket from my bed, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when she hears me, and just like I predicted, her whole face lights up.

Unfortunately, I don’t know if it’s for me or the food, but I’m choosing to believe it’s me.

"You're back!" She makes grabby hands toward the bag. "Gimme."

"Hold your horses, woman." I kick off my shoes and head to the kitchen. "Let me at least put this nasty thing together for you."

She follows me, hovering as I unpack the groceries. "Did you get the right pickles? The garlic ones, not the sweet."

"Yes, Pink, I got the right pickles." I hold up the jar. "Give me some credit. It’s not my first time."

I grab a bowl and start assembling her monstrosity—pickles sliced lengthwise, drizzled with chocolate syrup, topped with crushed cheese puffs. It looks like a really fucked up ice cream sundae.

When I hand it to her, she actually moans in anticipation, a sound that goes straight to my dick. I watch in horrified fascination as she takes the first bite.

"Oh my god," she groans, eyes closing in bliss. "This is so good."

"I'll take your word for it." I pull out the ice cream and grab a spoon. "Strawberry ice cream, as requested."

She sets down her pickle creation long enough to take the ice cream, digging in with an enthusiasm that would be cute if it wasn't for what she was eating.

"You want to try some?" She holds out a pickle dripping with chocolate.

“I’d rather lick the floor of my workshop, but thanks.”

She shrugs as she takes another bite. "Your loss."

We move back to the living room, settling on the couch. She curls against my side, alternating between bites of chocolate-covered pickles with a cheese puff crust and strawberry ice cream in a combination that makes my stomach turn just watching.

Don’t get me started on the way it smells.

"So," she says between bites, "I still can’t believe this is my life.”

"Same." I drape my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "A few months ago, I would've said you were more likely to poison my beer than sleep in my bed."

She laughs, the sound soft and warm in the quiet house. "To be fair, I considered it once. After you took the last tap slot at Sun Breaks last year."

"Yeah, well, I earned it." I tug gently on a strand of her pink hair. "And if I remember right, they signed with you two months later anyway."

"Because they realized their mistake," she says primly, scooping up more ice cream.

“You know they still stock my beer.”

“Okay, so not a mistake, but an… oversight, I guess.”

I watch her eat and fuck, I can’t get enough of her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" She looks up, a dab of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.

Without thinking, I lean in and lick it off, earning a soft gasp from her. "Why pickles and chocolate? Of all the weird combinations?"

She sets down her bowl, considering. "Honestly? I don't know. It's like my body just decides it needs something specific and won't shut up until I get it." She rubs a hand over her belly. "I've never had cravings like this before."

"You’ve never been pregnant before.”

"Yeah." Her voice softens. "It's strange, having my body not fully be my own anymore. Knowing he's in there, changing things, making demands."

I slide my hand over hers on her stomach. "Is it hard? The changes?"

She goes quiet, like she's really thinking about her answer.

"Sometimes. My body feels... different. Not just the belly, but everything.

My skin's more sensitive. My boobs hurt.

I cry at all sorts of stupid shit." She looks up at me through her lashes.

"And I want you pretty much all the time, which is deeply inconvenient. "

That last part catches me off guard, heat spreading through me. "All the time, huh?"

"Shut up." She shoves my shoulder. "I say it all the time. Pregnancy hormones are a bitch. It's not my fault. I blame you for both the baby and being so hot. I hate it."

"Good, I’ll take the blame all day, baby." I run my fingers along her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in their wake. "And you know I’m always down to help with that particular craving."

She sets aside her bowl, turning to face me more fully. "Is that right?"

"Absolutely." I wrap my fingers around her throat in a light hold that makes her body melt into me. "Any time. Day or night. In fact, I consider it my husbandly duty to take care of all your needs."

Her eyes darken at the word 'husbandly,' that same look she gets whenever I remind her of what we both already know. I've been calling her my wife since that night on the kitchen table, and while she might still dodge the label in daylight hours, her body never lies about how it affects her.

"Your husbandly duty, huh?" Her voice drops lower, taking on that husky quality that drives me wild. "That's awfully generous of you."

"I'm a giver." I tighten my fingers the tiniest bit, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingertips. "It's a burden, but someone's got to do it."

She laughs, the sound vibrating against my palm. "And here I thought you just couldn't keep your hands off me."

"That too." I pull her into my lap, settling her thighs on either side of mine. "In fact, now that you mention it, I'm having a hard time remembering why my hands aren't on you right now."

She rolls her eyes, but her body tells a different story—the way she presses against me, the flush spreading up her neck, the slight parting of her lips. The harness of her nipples where they poke against my shirt. "Maybe because I need to brush my teeth after eating that?"

"Like that would stop me." I slip my hands under her shirt, finding warm skin and the swell of her belly. "Nothing could stop me from wanting you, Pink. Not even your bad breath."

Her laugh turns into a moan when my thumbs brush the undersides of her breasts. "Kasen..."

"Yeah?" I lean in, my lips hovering just above hers. "What can I do for you, Pink?"

Her answer is to close the distance between us, her mouth hot and demanding against mine.

She tastes like that unholy combination of pickles, chocolate, cheese, and strawberries, and somehow it's not terrible.

Or maybe I'm just so far gone for her that I'd find anything that's part of her irresistible.

We kiss until we're both breathless, her hands fisting in my hair, my hands claiming every inch of her like I'm staking territory no other man will ever touch again. When we break apart, her eyes are half-closed, pupils blown wide.

"Bedroom," she whispers against my lips. "Now."