Page 13 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Twelve

Quincy

I wake up warm and content. Hartley’s snowy, woodsy scent is everywhere. Flashes of last night file through my brain, and my teeth dig into my lower lip.

He has a filthy mouth, and I loved every second of it. He was so sweet and tender when it came to making sure the baby was safe, but absolutely feral as he wrecked me in the best way possible.

My cheeks heat as I remember some of the ridiculous things that spilled from my lips.

I begged him to bite me.

The yearning I felt as I pleaded with him to bond me hits me square in the chest. I’ve been lonely, but that’s no excuse to pressure someone into a lifelong commitment.

My bladder is uncomfortably full, but it’s tempting to stay in this safe little bubble with him. The baby stretches, and it’s a huge relief to feel her in there, moving around.

Hartley’s warm skin is wrapped around my back, and he has a hand planted possessively on my stomach.

I frown.

He might wake up totally freaked out.

If you’re not used to it, it kinda feels like an alien is trying to climb out of my skin.

Our pheromones and instincts were in charge last night, and I have no way of guessing how he’s going to react.

God, I hope he doesn’t freak out.

It would break my heart. Outside of Sutton, he’s one of the only people I have in Vermont. Ruining that relationship would suck.

Dr. Lindsay was right when she said my body was asking for what it needed. Seeing how I reacted to being so close to his pheromones is eye-opening.

I didn’t think I was that bad off, but watching it play out in real time… Dammit, I probably should have listened to her advice weeks ago.

The last thing I want is to make poor choices that negatively impact my daughter. I’ve been so focused on Ridge, and how he would feel about everything, that it kinda left me in limbo.

Hart gently pushing his way into hanging out was exactly what I needed. It showed me how desperate my body is for access to alpha pheromones and embarrassingly enough…semen.

Alpha and omega biology is so out of pocket, but for the first time in months , I actually feel well-rested.

My eyes pop open, and panic sets in for a few seconds until I remember it’s my day off.

“What’s wrong?” Hart mumbles, running his hand over my stomach. “You were relaxed and snuggly, but you went stiff.”

“I forgot it’s my day off.” I run my hand over his. “And I really need to pee, but getting up feels like a lot of work.”

He snorts. “I’m not looking forward to having to trek outside to grab my overnight bag, but my boxer briefs are done for. I used to be a big fan of going commando until I had a zipper pubic hair incident that damn near scarred me for life.”

I snort, but then realize he might need his clothes because he’s about to bolt.

“Are you supposed to be opening?” I ask, trying to keep the anxiety out of my tone.

The thought of him leaving sends an uncomfortable pang to my stomach.

My eyes ache like I might burst into tears, and I have no idea what’s causing the ridiculous overreaction. Logically, I understand he has work and other responsibilities outside of lying here, cuddled up with me, but my instincts are on edge.

He should stay here where it’s safe .

I frown.

Wow, my impulses are acting even more bizarre than usual.

“Nah,” Hartley says, leaning up and kissing my temple. “I texted Harrison a little after five and told him I wouldn’t be in today.”

“Is he upset?” My fingers tease through Hartley’s to hopefully give him a little hint of how much I appreciate him not sneaking out before I woke up this morning.

“He’s the one who told me that he’s ready to get back to work.” He shrugs. I can’t see it, but I can feel his muscles move behind me. “It’s what we were talking about yesterday in the office. He said he planned to open this morning so he could audit the schedule while it’s not busy.”

My chest gets tight.

Does that mean he’s looking to fire a few employees?

Or is he going to switch around our hours to make our shifts less costly?

During shift change, the morning servers usually stay an hour to overlap with the afternoon crew.

They pay us a lot higher hourly wage than what I got serving in Florida, so it might actually be taxing the business.

I don’t even know if that’s how they’ve always done things or if it’s something Hartley implemented.

Now I’m panicking that Harrison is going to take over and fire me. That, or cut back my hours until I have no choice but to quit.

“All right. How about I help you up?” Hart suggests. Holding his head up on his palm, he stretches around enough that he can see my face. “I know you need to pee. I’ve got to run down and grab my bag from my SUV, then we can have breakfast and some more snuggle time.”

I need to ask him what’s going on between us. Guessing could prove disastrous if I assume all the things my instincts are busy trying to convince me of.

Either way, I’m not brave enough to push for answers right this second, but I can’t let myself get any more attached to him either.

Not until I know where his head is at.

I’ve slipped and fallen into an alternate dimension. There’s no other explanation for how drastically things have changed over the last few days.

By the time I take a quick shower, dress, and make it downstairs, Hartley has changed. He’s in a pair of thin, dark gray sweats and a T-shirt. Seeing him barefoot, unloading take-out boxes on the coffee table in my living room, is surreal.

The black gauges in his ears catch the light, and his wavy blond hair falls over his forehead as he checks out what’s in each box and pours syrup over something.

The baby wiggles, and my hand flies to my stomach. She’s been moving like crazy this morning, and I can only hope it’s a good sign.

Hartley’s head tilts, and a playful smile tips his lips as he spots me. “Is the nugget hungry?” He laughs. “I’m starving .”

Little crinkles appear around his eyes and mouth with how wide he’s smiling, and my stomach flip-flops with butterflies. For being one of the hottest men I’ve seen, he’s surprisingly down to earth and easy to be around.

“Come sit with me,” he says, standing to his full height. “I know if I’m hungry, you’ve got to be famished.” His T-shirt seems stretched to capacity over his strong chest, and I swear my brain short-circuits.

He must get tired of waiting for me to comply because he strides over, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the couch.

Once we reach the edge of the sofa, he spins around and plants his hands on my hips. “Mmm, you smell nice. Did you have a good shower?”

My heart thumps erratically, and I nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His head dips, and he barely teases his lips over mine. “I was kinda hoping you’d spend the day smelling like me.” He chuckles and guides me to sit on the couch. “This just means I get the joy of covering you in my scent all over again.”

I blink, trying to decide if I missed an important conversation somewhere. A huge part of me wants to roll with whatever is happening between us, while another piece is just confused.

“I like you,” I blurt out before I can think it through. “A lot. I like you a lot, Hart, but I’m so confused.”

“I’ll bet you are.” He snorts, grabbing one of the Styrofoam containers and taking the seat directly next to me. “Sorry, sweetheart. I really suck at this whole relationship thing. In my defense, I haven’t asked someone to be my girlfriend since high school.”

“Girlfriend?” I hear myself whisper as he opens the box of food.

“Yeah.” He plucks out a piece of bacon and offers it to me. “I mean, that word feels a little silly when you’re pregnant?—”

“The baby isn’t yours,” I say, and my face burns.

He knows the baby isn’t his.

It’s a known fact, so I have no idea why I said that.

I think Hartley’s hotness factor actually makes me less intelligent, like all my brain cells melt away when he’s close by.

“Take a bite,” he murmurs, shoving the bacon against my lips.

It smells delicious, and I open, doing exactly as he commanded.

“See, here’s the thing, and I’ve thought about this in detail.

” He stretches out a long arm, grabbing a to-go cup and offering it to me.

I move to grab it, but his head shakes. “Nuh-uh. Let me. Feeding my mom breakfast is one of the things my dads fight over to this day. And I get why. My instincts love seeing you eat from my hand, and apparently, that extends to holding your drink too.”

His blue eyes sparkle, and he wiggles the cup.

Everything in me wants to please him, and it’s such an easy concession to make. I’m used to being pretty independent, but I’ve never been the type to cut off my own nose just to spite my face.

Not to mention, my instincts seem to think it’s the most romantic thing in the world that he wants to feed me by hand. Leaning forward, I wrap my lips around the straw and take a long swig.

The Coke tastes minty, since I brushed my teeth after my shower, but I love the fizz when the carbonation hits my tongue.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling back.

“What was I saying?” Hart takes a quick drink and puts it down on the coffee table before grabbing a packet of plastic silverware. “Oh yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot, and it doesn’t really matter that the nugget isn’t mine.”

My pulse picks up so loud that I can hear it in my ears.

I love that he has a special nickname for the baby.

It came from him picking on me about eating so many chicken nuggets during my first trimester.

I really did eat a lot of them. It was one of the few foods that if eaten at the right time of day, I didn’t get sick.

I had killer cravings for ranch dressing, and sometimes fries just didn’t cut it.

“Sasha has four alphas in her pack,” he says, referencing his brother’s omega.

“But only one of them fertilized the egg. Harrison might have hit the DNA jackpot, or he might not, but let anyone try to tell him the twins aren’t his…

” He’s been working on cutting up a biscuit topped with spicy-smelling sausage gravy.

He offers me a bite, cupping his hand and holding it under the fork to avoid any spills.

“That’s just part of being an alpha. We grow up knowing there’s a good chance we’ll end up raising children that aren’t biologically our own, but honestly, biology isn’t what makes a family. I love all my dads the same.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I grew up in a pack too. I guess it just feels different? I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Ahh, I see.” Hart nods, offering me a bite of eggs. “I used the wrong word. I shouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend.” I take the bite, and he grabs the drink, offering it so I wash down the eggs. “I want to court you, Quincy.”

It’s a good thing that he offered me that drink…

I sputter and choke.