Page 29

29

Holt

This has been the longest day of my life.

I tried distracting myself with my physical therapy.

I tried distracting myself by playing pinball at Fletcher’s place.

I tried distracting myself by dreaming up new ways to convince my dog to like me.

I finally gave up and decided the best way to distract myself would be to step out of my comfort zone and make Ziggy dinner for once, and even that hasn’t fully occupied my brain.

But she’s finally here.

She’s home.

Smiling at me as she pulls out of kissing me. “Where’s Jessica?”

“I got her a doggy pool. She’s outside living the life of her dreams. ”

“No.”

“Yep. Got her an umbrella too. She’s in heaven.” Just checked on her a few minutes ago.

With the temperatures finally dropping and only an inch of water in the pool, she’s fine.

“You’re too good to all of us.” She pecks my cheek. “I smell food.”

“Twice-baked potatoes, bean salad, and fake wine.”

Plus candles.

Two place settings at the kitchen table with Caden’s fancy dishes.

Soft jazz.

Her lips part. “Fake wine?”

“It’s a substitute. I found a thing with tea and juice and bitters online. It probably sucks, but?—”

She cuts me off with another kiss. “You are the absolute best,” she whispers against my lips as she strokes my cheeks.

“Tell me about your doctor appointment,” I say.

“You first.”

“I ditched the crutches. Two more weeks in the boot. Then the hard PT starts, and I can’t fucking wait. Your turn.”

“I have a dozen pictures of the baby.”

And that has been the worst part of my day.

Waiting for her to get home to see the images of Tater Tot.

A bunch of guys on the team have already seen the baby, but I barely got a glance.

Didn’t want to see.

Not if I couldn’t see it with Ziggy.

While I’m touching her. Smelling her. Listening to her describe every photo in detail .

The oven buzzer goes off, and I reluctantly let her go so I can pull out the potatoes.

No idea if my lumpy offering will meet her standards, but she’s the type who’ll give me credit for trying.

And if they’re awful, I have a food delivery app on my phone.

Anything she wants, it’s hers.

“Those look amazing,” she says.

“Go sit. My turn to serve you.”

The table’s against the window overlooking the side yard and the neighbor’s house, angled just right for one of us to keep an eye on Jessica.

Table’s also small.

Just the right size for two.

We can fit a high chair though.

And the fact that I’m thinking about high chairs tells you how far I’m gone.

This isn’t Ziggy’s baby.

This is our baby.

I will go to the ends of the earth to protect this baby.

The guys might’ve seen the ultrasound images first, but I’m the guy who falls asleep with my hand on her subtle baby bump every night. I’m the one watching her belly swell and grow and measuring it by how much of my hand covers the baby. I’m the one who caught her looking at a baby name website last night.

And I’m the one she’s smiling at as she sniffs the red wine substitute, swirls the glass, holding it up to the light, and then sniffs it again.

I brace myself.

I’m not a wine guy. I have no idea if it’s awful. I don’t know if it’s doing the thing it’s supposed to do when it gets swirled.

I don’t even know why people swirl wine. Something to do with air. That’s all I’ve got.

She takes a sip and her brows furrow.

“Is it awful?”

“No.” She frowns at it, swirls it again, and sips once more. “It’s surprisingly good, actually. Not that I doubted you. I don’t mean that. I mean?—”

“I doubted me.”

That smile lights up her eyes. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

I’m limping slightly in the boot as I carry our plates across the kitchen to the table.

She leans over, peering out the window. “Tell me you have a picture of the dog.”

“I have many, many pictures of the dog.”

“In the pool?”

“Endless pictures of the dog in the pool, because I knew you’d want to see them.”

“You are the best.”

“Not even close.”

She smiles at me as I take my seat. “Agree to disagree. Want to see the baby?”

“It’s all I’ve wanted all day.”

She pulls out her phone and opens an album, and soon I’m flipping through black-and-white images as she digs into her potato.

“Oh my god, this is so good,” she says.

I lift my gaze from a blurry black-and-white image to eye her.

“It is ,” she says.

“Okay, chef. ”

Her foot slides along my calf. “It’s far easier for you to make a good meal than it would be for me to be impressive on the rugby pitch.”

“You’re not allowed anywhere near a rugby pitch.”

She grins. “What about in the stands?”

“Only if I get to pick your seats. Ball sometimes goes up there. Don’t want you or Tater Tot getting hurt.” I look down at the image again. “Is that a leg?”

She leans across the table and points out various parts of the baby’s body in a dozen different pictures.

“Healthy?” I ask.

“All looks good. Strong heartbeat. Right on target for development in all of the areas that matter.”

I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that until my eyes get hot. “Good.”

Ziggy squeezes my hand.

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to.

I haven’t explicitly told her Caden’s cancer was genetic, but I’ve told her I have shitty genes. I haven’t explicitly told her it’s a little terrifying to me that she has no idea if her baby will have any genetic disadvantages either, but who says that to a pregnant woman?

She has enough on her plate without adding my anxieties to it.

And no matter what this baby needs, I’ll be here for them.

Just like I’ll be here for her.

“I ordered Tater Tot something,” I confess.

“ Holt . You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s a teething ring in the shape of a wine glass. Should be here Monday.”

“I stand corrected. You did, in fact, have to do that. ”

I grin at her, then flip through the images again before I dive into my food.

And she’s not wrong. It’s edible. Even decently good.

Cooking isn’t something I learned to do when I was younger, and it’s always been more of a necessity than a joy.

So making something with flavor that’s not just an energy delivery mechanism is new.

You could say having a professional chef cooking for me the past couple weeks has inspired me.

We catch up on everything—her banquet plans, my physical therapy orders, her still dealing with the gut-instinct feelings of wanting to text her former best friend ultrasound pictures before the reminder that they’re not friends anymore sets in, Jessica getting up and shaking off and resettling herself in the pool, Fletcher being annoying, Goldie inviting her to lunch with her besties soon.

That has me grinning. “You’re gonna love them.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that with that exact shit-eating grin?”

Because Goldie’s besties are a trio of seasoned citizens who speak their minds and have given their last fucks.

They’re awesome. And I’m absolutely not ruining the surprise. “It’s impossible to explain Goldie’s friends. You just have to meet them for yourself.”

“Has Miranda met them?”

“No idea. They come to matches sometimes. But to the best of my knowledge, you’re the only office staff Goldie hangs out with.”

When we’re finished, Ziggy rises to wash the dishes.

I join her at the sink.

Feels fucking good to have the use of both of my legs again. And my arms .

“You made dinner. Go sit,” she says.

“You make dinner and do the dishes every night. You go sit.”

“Holt.”

“Ziggy.”

“I like doing dishes.”

“No one likes doing dishes.”

“I like doing dishes for you .”

That one hits right in the center of my chest.

It’s nice to be taken care of.

No, it’s fucking amazing to be taken care of.

My parents didn’t do it. I was older, so Caden didn’t do it. I’ve had coaches and teammates try, but never like this.

Ziggy had no obligations to me when she made me breakfast that first morning I was home.

Teammates, coaches, teachers—caring is their job.

It’s not hers.

But she’s done it for me anyway.

I slide behind her and dip my face to her neck, kissing her soft skin. “Maybe we should leave them for tomorrow and see who’s up first to take care of them.”

“You’d cheat and set an alarm.”

“I don’t have to set an alarm to wake up before you do. I can just tell my brain to wake me up and it will.”

She cracks up, and truly, there’s nothing better than holding a laughing woman in my arms while I kiss her neck again.

Her happy sigh as she leans back into me gives me life.

I like this woman.

I like her entirely too much.

She turns the water off and rotates in my arms until she’s facing me, sliding wet hands over my shirt .

“I’m your towel now?” I tease her.

“Seems fair, considering you’re the biggest reason I get wet these days.”

I get hard so fast it’s like a gut punch. “Tell me more.”

Her eyes are sparkling even as her pupils dilate. “When I see you walk past my office, my breasts ache because I want you to touch them.”

Fantasies of sneaking beneath her desk to eat her pussy while she’s working fill my head.

She slides her hands up my neck. “And when I see you doing everything in your power to win over the dog, I want to kiss you until I can’t breathe.”

“You can always kiss me. Always.”

“And when your hard-on presses against my belly, I get wet between my thighs with how badly I want you.”

My cock pulses harder. “Are you wet now?”

“I’ve been wet since the first bite of dinner.”

I angle my hand between us and stroke between her legs and fuck me.

She’s soaked through her linen pants.

Her head falls back and she purrs, spreading her legs wider as I stroke her again.

“These pants have to go.” I can barely get the words out. I’m hoarse. My mouth is dry. My balls ache.

I need this woman.

I need her now .

“ Your pants need to go.” She shoves my shorts down, then grips my cock in both hands and strokes me from root to tip and back again.

Fuck me, it feels so good when she’s gripping me.

“Ziggy,” I gasp.

That’s all I get out before she’s on her knees, licking the pre-cum off the tip of my dick, swirling her tongue around my head, and then sucking me into her mouth while she cradles my balls.

She glides over my cock with her mouth, sucking on me and teasing the underside with her tongue. My fingers curl into her hair while I make unintelligible sounds, letting the world outside disappear while I melt into nothing but the thick, electric sensations radiating from my cock while she takes me deep, then pulls off and sucks me into her hot, wet mouth again.

My hips jerk and my grip tightens.

Hold on , I tell myself.

“Ziggy—” I rasp out.

She rolls my balls in her hand and sucks harder, those wide blue eyes watching me while she puts her other hand between her thighs, touching herself.

My legs shake. My hips thrust on their own.

She knows.

She knows she’s driving me wild, that I’m close.

“Kitten, I can’t?—”

I cut myself off as she takes me so deep that I can’t think anymore.

Can’t think.

Can’t catch my breath.

Can’t control myself.

Can’t stop the hard, fast, sudden release that comes as she sucks even harder once more.

I strain into my orgasm as she holds me in her mouth, vaguely aware that she’s jerking one hand between her own thighs too while she squeezes my balls with the other.

I come so hard that I’m not sure my eyes will ever uncross. And as the last of the shudders leave my body, my dick spent, Ziggy slides off my cock, presses a kiss to the very tip of my wet, drooping hard-on, and smiles at me.

“Thank you for dessert,” she whispers.

Her shoulders shudder, and she slides her eyes closed, and I get to watch as she brings herself to orgasm too.

It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and by the time she slumps back against the cabinet beneath the sink, I’m hard again.

Fully hard.

No questions.

I need to get this woman into my bed.

Now.

And then figure out how to keep her.

Because this thing with Ziggy?

It’s not temporary. It’s not a distraction. It’s not subconsciously self-sabotaging my career.

It’s real.

It’s heavy.

It’s everything.

And I won’t let her go.