Tonight’s practice had been the worst, though and Donovan entered his apartment feeling disgusting, likely reeking of funk as he dropped his bag and shoes on the floor next to the door.
One look at him and the smile of greeting on Layla’s face vanished. “What’s wrong?” She rushed from the sofa and met him in the middle of the living room. “Did you get hurt?”
“Just my pride.”
Layla frowned, though Donovan thought that after almost a month of her father’s torture she should have expected him to be exhausted and an utter mess after practice. “What did he make you do?”
He landed on the sofa in a flop, sliding against the leather so that his head rested against the back cushion. “Scrub the toilets in the locker rooms…”
“Well that’s not so bad.”
“And the rest of the stadium.”
“Shit.” She sat on arm of the couch, rested her hand on his bare arm and Donovan closed his eyes, forgetting for a second that he was dog tired, that her father was punishing him for destroying his daughter’s life. For almost a month he’d forced himself to ignore her touch, the small grazes of her fingers on his shoulder, across his back when she passed him or reached for something in the cabinets as they cooked together in the kitchen.
The vibe, that energy between them had not died, but Donovan didn’t know how to act around her. He didn’t know if he deserved to touch her after ruining her life. He wanted her so much. He wanted her to let him touch her. He wanted to kiss her and hold her or do something that would relieve at least a little of the suffocating tension between them.
It didn’t help that Layla, already flawlessly gorgeous to him, was becoming even more tempting as the pregnancy progressed. Donovan had never been around a pregnant woman before. He’d heard horror stories his mother and her friends shared about their deliveries when he was a kid and always thought pregnant women were never to be looked at, much less touched. But three months in and Layla’s pregnancy had made her breasts fuller. It had rounded her hips, made her already plump ass even curvier.
Her sitting next to him, wearing her tight yoga pants and a snug t-shirt that just weeks before had fit across her tits loosely, had him grabbing a pillow to hold it over his lap. He already stunk. He didn’t want her remembering what a pervert he was too.
“I’ll survive,” he told her, trying not to focus on the squeeze of her fingers against his arm and when he looked up at her, catching the sight of her breasts, lowering his gaze at her stomach, Donovan couldn’t keep himself from reaching for her, resting his hand on her thigh as he looked at her hips.
“What?” she said when he shifted his eyes from her stomach, to her face and back down again.
Donovan kept his gaze on her face wondering if it was okay to touch her, thinking that maybe he didn’t have the right, but then Layla smiled, curious and he laid his palm just below her navel. “You’re getting a pooch.”
The second she slapped his hand away, he knew he’d fucked up. “It happens, Donley. I’m pregnant. I’m not going to stay a size four.”
“Layla…” but she slammed into the bedroom cutting him off before he could explain himself. I suck at words. All of them, he thought, resting his arm over his face. The mood swings. Jesus that was something else no one ever told Donovan about. Being around Layla was as close as Donovan would ever come to being in the thick of a mine field. Sensitive, dangerous and ready to explode at any moment.
Last week, Dr. Mullens had told him to be wary. She just didn’t tell him that caution was a necessity every damn minute of every damned day.
“Are all pregnant women a little…”
“Insane?” Dr. Mullens had asked and Donovan had found the humor lighting her eyes to be downright rude.
Donovan had shrugged, relieved when the doctor smiled.
“Hormones, honey. Her body is doing weird, weird things and the hormones rage like an inferno. If Layla’s anything like I was when I was pregnant, well…”
“What?”
“Oh, sugar,” she’d said, patting his arm, “get a better couch, make sure it’s comfortable. A pull out would be better, pillow top. You’re a man. It’s processed into your genetic makeup to say stupid shit and always at the wrong possible moment.”
Donovan had rolled his eyes, shoulders lowering when the woman laughed at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I sleep here anyway.”
“Why?”
He hadn’t known how exactly he’d ended up in that conversation, discussing their non-relationship with Layla’s mother, but he had no one else to talk to about it. Declan was still a little irked at him for knocking Layla up and her friends had no experience being pregnant. Donovan’s own mother was, well, if the conversation wasn’t about her, she wasn’t generally interested. So he confided in Dr. Mullens because she was nice, because she was smart and because she loved Layla. “We’re not… you know.”