Homewrecker Page 10

  I did, however, talk her into a trip south to L.A.

  In that talk, she decided it was time for her to return to the city, so we packed up her things and loaded them in the truck, closing up the White’s house.

  She’s not able to get into the lifted vehicle on her own, but I’m not complaining.

  “This truck is not conducive for pregnant women,” she complains after I help her up for the third time. We’ve stopped for pee-breaks no less than once every seventy minutes and every time she says she has to stop, she apologizes.

  “It is for the man who wants his hands on his woman,” I tease, sending a wink her way before closing the door. I can see her face flame red before I jog around to the driver’s side.

  We haven’t discussed what we are.

  I’d like to say more than friends, but it hasn’t been hashed out.

  I’d like to claim Dylan as mine; to claim her baby as mine. But that’s a caveman’s way of thinking, and if there’s one thing I know about Dylan, it’s that she can be stubborn when she feels she needs to be.

  The rest of the drive is done without breaks, but only because Dylan takes her afternoon nap.

  I knew she napped every day.

  She wakes just as pull into the city limits. We’re still a good fifteen minutes, by GPS, from her place.

  “I gotta pee,” she says on a sad sigh, and I chuckle. “It’s not funny. Sitting here hasn’t been great for my bladder. This boy…” Dylan shifts, and I catch her pressing her knees together.

  “We won’t make it to your place?” I ask, reaching out to put my hand on her tight thigh. Nope. We probably won’t make it to her place.

  “Maybe to my parking garage,” she mumbles, her thigh bunching under my hand again. “But I’ll probably still piss in your truck.”

  I know of a Whole Foods coming up, so I make my way to the left lane, knowing I’ll need to turn shortly. Besides, she’ll likely need groceries, so we can get it all done at once.

  The grocery store is almost in view, and Dylan is subtly dancing in her seat.

  I grin over at her. “We’re almost stopping. Thirty-seconds.”

  But we catch a green light where I was hoping for a green arrow, and we have to wait for a decent amount of traffic.

  “I’m going to pee in your truck. Oh my God, this is so embarrassing,” Dylan is mumbling beside me.

  It would be funny if she peed in my truck. I have enough young guy in me to think bodily fluids are mostly funny.

  But I also don’t want her refusing to see me because she’s embarrassed.

  It feels like a lifetime, but finally I’m able to make the turn.

  Of course though, as luck would have it, the parking lot is full, with only open spaces in the back.

  “Whole Foods has pregnancy spots. Surely one is open,” Dylan says, her voice rushed.

  “How about I drop you off at the doors?”

  She shoots me a glare.

  “What?”

  Dylan looks ahead again, before begrudgingly admitting, “I’m not exactly ready to be seen, and it would be easier if you were with me.”

  Well, if that doesn’t just hit a guy in the feels.

  I feel like a fucking peacock, showing off his blue and green feathers.

  Thankfully, there is a pregnancy spot open and Dylan has her door open before I pull the key from the ignition.

  “Careful, babe,” I say as I jump out of the truck, the endearment not even a passing thought.

  I reach her side and she grabs for my hand, holding it tightly.

  Because she has to pee that badly?

  Or because she’s nervous?

  Either or…

  I get to be her guy.

  That damn inner peacock is puffed with pride right now.

  We make it inside the store and to the restrooms, where I stand guard just outside. With my arms crossed over my chest—today’s attire is another one taken straight from my days of motocross—I watch as people filter in and out of the store. Soon, I hear water running just beyond the bathroom door and when Dylan comes out again, she once again grabs my hand, using her other to nervously pull at the hem of her shirt.

  She went with leggings today, and a loose shirt that tends to hang off one of her shoulders.

  I’m good with this. This being her support person.

  I squeeze her hand once. “Grab some groceries? I’m sure your place is empty.”

  With my gaze on Dylan, I see her glance nervously around the front of the store.

  I shake her hand in mine. “You’ve got this, Dylan.”

  She nods. “Okay. Yeah. Groceries.” And like a woman marching into a battle, she leads me into the store.

  ***

  We would have been better off with a cart, the hand basket had gotten extremely heavy, but we had enough food to get us through the next day or two.

  After which, Dylan said she’d do her click-to-order groceries and I’d pick them up for her before heading back to Reno, to go back to Vancouver.

  Damn, but I’m already dreading that trip.

  I also probably won’t be able to make it down next weekend. My guess is that I’m going to have to put in extra time on set, and that grated at me.

  Tim was probably pissed.

  But that’s okay.

  I have something that will probably piss him off even more.

  During the drive, when Dylan was sleeping, I was taking in my truck.

  Taking in Dylan sleeping comfortably beside me.

  Taking in the stickers decorating my back window.

  Thinking about the days I once drove this beast of a truck, with my bike strapped in behind me.

  “Tell me you didn’t love that more than acting.”

  Acting was fun.

  I loved being someone else.

  But in the matter of two weeks I realized that I loved something else more.

  And I know I could love someone more.

  Already I can guess that the weeks apart from Dylan are going to wrack havoc on me. I met her at both the worst and best of times.

  Worst, because I was locked into a job that will have me leaving her often.

  Best, because there was nothing more that I wanted to be, than to be her rock. I want to help her through these next few weeks. I want to stand beside her when she welcomes her little boy into the world.

  “Charleigh had the cleaners come through yesterday,” Dylan says from the passenger seat, her gaze on her phone. She texts a message back to Charleigh before slipping the phone into the door. “If you go up to the gate, I can give you the passcode to get into the garage.”

  “Will I fit in the garage?” If there is one thing a lifted truck is bad for, it’s the inability to get into most garages.

  Dylan scrunches her face as she thinks. “Eh. Maybe not.”

  “Is there room to turn around, if we try?”

  She nods. “Yeah. As long as someone doesn’t crowd in behind you.”

  So, I try. And I make it into the garage by an inch.

  Every level I travel, my antennae bings and bounces, and Dylan shrinks in her seat. “That’s really close.” She winces again as we go under another and I laugh.

  “There’s plenty of room.”

  As Dylan winces yet again, she directs me to a place to park. “My car is in my spot, but there should be a second spot next to it. We all have a guest spot, but sometimes my neighbors take it.”

  I didn’t ask when we left the White’s house, but at the mention of her car, I decide to. “Who brought you to the house? Charleigh?”

  Dylan nods. “Yeah. She wanted to settle me in.” She says the last bit with a small laugh, but I can see Charleigh doing just that.

  After pulling my truck into Dylan’s guest spot, I help her down and grab our three bags of groceries. She reaches for the back door, but I stop her. “I can bring your things in later.”

  “Okay. I just ne
ed my keys then.” She digs through one of her bags and pulls out her set of keys.

  Arranging the bags to my left hand, I take Dylan’s right hand in mine as we walk toward the elevator. It’s not long before Dylan’s leading me into her small, and incredibly modest, apartment.

  My place looks like a palace compared to hers.

  And I suddenly hate my place.

  It’s too big. Too wide. Too white.

  I like Dylan’s place, with the sensible furniture and splatter-type paintings on the wall.

  “The kitchen is just this way,” she says after letting go of my hand, bringing me further into her space.

  “I like it,” I say truthfully, taking in the way she’s decorated. I drop the bags off on the only kitchen counter and look around. The kitchen is mostly white, with stainless steel appliances and stained-wood shelving.

  “Make yourself at home. I’m going to check out the baby’s room.” Dylan leaves before I can offer to go with. I give her her time though. I let her go and try to figure out where things go in her cupboards and fridge.

  Hard to do, when there are the bare necessities; the few non-perishables she still has around.

  Once the groceries are put away, I decide to try and find her.

  Not hard to do.

  The place is small enough. The kitchen is in the back; the living room right when you walk in. There’s a small hallway just off the living room and the first door on the left is what appears to be Dylan’s room. The first door on the right is a bathroom, and just beyond that is one more door.

  It’s in there that I find Dylan sitting in a chair that seems to glide more than it rocks. Her hands are rubbing the arms up and down, slowly, and her face is wet with tears that fall slowly.

  When I walk into the room, she moves her attention from the grey-washed crib and to me. “I’m not ready to be a mom,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m going to screw him up. He’d be better off if I put him up for adoption. I can’t give him what he needs. I can’t—”

  I step further into the room. “Dylan.” One step, two steps, three, and then I’m kneeling in front of her. “I’m pretty sure every first-time mom thinks those things.”

  She shakes her head again, and I nod.

  “I think you’ll be an awesome mom.”

  “I don’t even have a job,” she says on a sob, bringing her hand up to her mouth and I know it’s the wrong thing to do, but I chuckle.

  “Dylan.”

  “Oh, what do you know?” Dylan waves her hand out in front of me and I grab it, bringing it to my lips.

  It’s first time I’ve kissed her hand.

  It’s the first time I’ve kissed her in the middle of the day.

  I think it startles her.

  It’s different when it’s first thing in the morning, when you can blame it on sleep. But I don’t want her blaming something on sleep, or lack thereof.

  I push to a stand, and pull her up from the chair, too. She stands directly in front of me and I pull her closer, bringing her hand to my chest as I put the other on her hip. “You’re going to be an awesome mom,” I say again.

  She still shakes her head, so I take her face in my hands, stopping her from the movement but also angling her face upward.

  I see it in her eyes.

  She knows what’s next.

  Good.

  I’d hate to startle her.

  I lower my mouth to hers and take her lips in a soft kiss.

  Her sigh echoes the thoughts in my head.

  Finally.

  I keep my lips on hers gentle, a soft brushing of lips to lips. It’s only when she timidly brings her hands to my neck that I try urging her further, into a deeper kiss.

  And she obliges.

  Her mouth tastes as sweet as the cola she drank earlier, with an added hint of cherry from the Chapstick she applied after stopping at Whole Foods.

  My cock is stirring to life below my waistband, and there’s no hiding it; not when wearing cotton shorts.

  There’s something else stirring too, and I can’t help but smile as her boy decides now is a good time to be active.

  “That doesn’t get old,” I murmur against her lips, pressing one last small kiss to her lips before bringing my head back.

  “It doesn’t weird you out?” Dylan asks, but makes no move to step back, her belly remains pressed to me.

  “It doesn’t weird you out to have my hard-on pressed to your pregnant stomach?” I ask back.

  Because I guess, if I really thought about, that was a little weird. Baby maker pressed to the baby.

  Dylan’s face breaks out in a grin before she giggles sweetly. Then blushes at her giggle.

  And quickly, she sobers.

  “I keep feeling like you’re too good to be true.”

  I brush my thumb under her eye, as I stare into their gray depths. “You deserve all the too goods.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dylan

  “Do you have an extra set of sheets? A pillow?” Cade asks over the back of the couch as I walk out of the bathroom from a shower. He showered before I did, and apparently, he’s getting ready to not join me in my bed. In the act of pulling my hair into a low, wet bun, I frown.

  “To sleep,” he clarifies.

  I’m still frowning when I tell him, “You can sleep in my bed.”

  “You are not sleeping on the couch.”

  I stop at the back of the couch and grin down at him. “It’s cute how you’re being a gentleman.” The afternoon was…interesting.

  After my little breakdown in the nursery, and the lovely make-out session shortly after, Cade sat beside me as I called my lawyer and agent. I had a press statement ready to go in relation to the Grant Maxwell story.

  My lawyer is currently working on going through tapes; apparently these parties weren’t supposed to have recordings, but there actually were quite a few of them.

  Including a set from the night I was at the house.

  It made me nervous; part of me was still fearful that I did something to put myself in that position.

  But having Cade at my side made me want to stand taller.

  Stronger.

  To be a voice for those people who feel they’re little more than a statistic.

  I even re-activated my Tatum O’Malley social media accounts. Already, the press was going crazy over that, over something as simple as them being accessible again. I’m still not convinced I’ll ever “be” her again, but one step at a time.

  Tomorrow, my statement will be released.

  Tomorrow, I’ll make my #MeToo post public, truly sharing my story.

  I just hope I’m not ridiculed over it.

  Cade will be beside me though. He doesn’t have to return to Vancouver until Sunday night; I have him for another thirty-six hours.

  After the way the day had gone, I am anxiously anticipating how the next hours will go.

  And they will not be spent with one of us sleeping on a couch, and the other in a bed.

  We slept in one another’s arms the last however many nights we’d been in each other’s company; I’m not about to have that change.

  “Come to bed with me, Cade,” I say, far more brazenly than I feel.

  The man stares at me…

  Stares…

  Stares.

  And finally, he stands. “Let’s go to bed.”

  ***

  Cade likes to hold me.

  And hey, I like when he holds me.

  I like his arms around me, his legs bracketing mine and one of his hands slowly rubbing over my stomach.

  But I’m starting to feel like the man has a fetish or something. Likes to pet my stomach, watch it move.

  Other than our kiss this afternoon, or the few kisses he’s pressed to my skin this week, he hasn’t made a move to do anything more.

  The man clearly wants sex.

  His erection is pressed against my ass and
even when I wiggle subtly, he doesn’t so much as groan.

  I stretch my lower back, pushing my bottom into him as I shift my weight from one hip to the other. It feels great on my back but still, nothing from Cade.

  He’s like a man made of stone.

  I scoot away from him and roll so I can face him.

  A frown wrinkles his brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Forgive my forwardness but…” Push through. You’ve got this. Get it out there. “What’s a girl gotta do to make you want to have sex with her? You’ve been poking me with that thing too much,” I add, bravely reaching out to cup him through his shorts.

  Now…

  Now the man groans. And I swear, his eyes roll back too.

  “Dylan…”

  His tone is warning but…

  I pay no mind.

  “Do I have to take the upper hand?” This wanton thing is so not me, but I feel like in all of his “I’m going to be your guy” talk, he’s willing to be the martyr and that’s not happening. I gently squeeze his erection and it twitches under my grasp.

  I squeeze again, harder, and this time when Cade says my name his eyes don’t just roll, but they close.

  Pushing up to sit, I look down at the man who’s clearly at my mercy. He’s still lying on his side, the arm that was under my neck before still straight out as he grasps the bed sheet near my edge of the bed.

  I drag my grasp up the length of him, and as I do, he grows more, the head of him straining to the top of his shorts.

  “Look at me,” I whisper, and he lifts his eye lids. His eyes immediately lock onto mine, watching my face. I readjust to sit on my knees, letting go of his hardness, and he rolls to his back. In tandem, his hands and mine push his shorts down his ass; he kicks them off as I take hold of him once again.

  I wish the light was on.

  I want to see his cock; see the girth I feel under my hand. See the way the head flares out into the mushroomed tip. When my thumb gets to very top of him, it comes into contact with a drop of precum and I gently swirl it around.

  My mouth is salivating and at once, I’m remembering the article in Cosmo but before I can lower my head, Cade has a hand over my mouth.

  “Baby, I want to be in your mouth badly, but I want to be in you this first time. You want sex? Let me make love to you.”