LOVE ‘EM(52)
Bax mirrors my position on the opposite end of the couch. “What chapter are you on? I’m on chapter six. Men want honesty. I’m not so sure I care about honesty. Do you?”
“Honesty? Shit, I don’t know. I’m on chapter ten. I don’t get ninety-five percent of this. I must be a fucking idiot. Or maybe that’s the problem, I’m not a man—like the kind of man a woman should want.”
I could have wined her, dined her, wooed her—I should have let her see that there’s more to me than my cock.
Bax points to the page. “She says women should tell men what they need. Fuck that. I just need her to want me. Men can figure out what their women need. Can’t we?”
My mind races. I’ve never felt so out of my depth. “I’m going to ask her.”
Bax snatches the book out of my hands. “The hell you are.”
“Why not? She wrote it; she can explain it.” I try to take the book.
Bax yanks it out of my reach. “Don’t tip your hand like that, you fucking idiot.”
The phone vibrates. I check the screen.
Jackson.
Do I answer? Of course I answer. Why does he make me act so ridiculous?
Giddiness gathers in my chest, even though I’m still pissed. I dig deep to summon at least a little backbone from the puddle of hormones quivering at my feet and begging me to run to him, fall into those muscular arms, and forget all about the fact that he’s an ass who would do away with our baby—and that he set me up to look like a fool.
I force the small lilt of excitement out of my voice. Deadpan it. That’s all he deserves. “Hello.”
“Hey, Peaches, I miss you.” The soft rasp in his voice goes straight through my heart and right on down to my pussy.
Play it cool. “What’s going on, Jack?”
His long inhale comes through the line. “Since you haven’t called me, I figured I’d call you. Want to get together?”
I close my eyes and rub the little ache between my eyebrows. “I don’t know—”
“Wait. Don’t turn me down. Listen, I was thinking of having a Valentine’s week run up to the big day. You know, bring a little something extra to the viewers. We had some pretty good ratings when you were on, so I thought maybe you’d consider coming on again.”
What the hell? “Shay hasn’t even had a go at Dave yet.”
He chuckles. “Oh, no. Not what I meant. I’m just talking about you. Come on the show and we’ll chat a bit more in-depth about your book.”
“Really? The last time, you all but threw it in the garbage right on stage.”
“Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry for that, Ronnie. I’ve actually been reading a bit of it here and there. You bring up some interesting theories. After the run-in with the guy at the bookstore, I thought maybe you could go through some of the traits women should look for in a man.”
Exhilaration zips through me. This could mean a big boost in sales—doubly so if Jack is on board and isn’t out to trash it. “Maybe we can stick to four or five. I shouldn’t give all of them away, because then people won’t buy the book.”
“Four or five would be great. I’ll pick a couple, and you choose one or two. That way we can have a real conversation about them.”
A real conversation. With Jack. About what traits are desirable in a man. This should be interesting.
I brush the hair away from my damp forehead with shaky hands. The acid in my mouth makes me feel the need to puke again, just to get it out. I stand and push out of the stall, staggering to the sink.
A lady with silvered hair thrusts a paper towel into my hands. “How far along are you, dear?”
I step back from her, pointing to myself. “Me?”
Her sweet smile widens. “Who else?”
“But I’m not—I—”
She crosses her arms, her green eyes sparkling with a knowing look. “Oh, it’s all right. We all go through it. Morning sickness is rarely confined to the morning. How far?”
I lean over the sink and crank on the water. I splash my face and rinse my mouth, hoping she’ll disappear before I finish. But when I look up, she stands behind me, another paper towel at the ready.
I take the offered help. “Thank you. I’m not sure how far along exactly. I haven’t been to a doctor yet.”
Her dimples deepen. “Well, you get on in to see one and make sure everything is going all right. The sickness should get better before long.”
“I hope so. It always seems to happen at the worst possible times.” I straighten my dress, apply a fresh coat of lip gloss, and fluff my hair.
“Hang in there. Before you know it, you’ll be carrying that babe in your arms, and then it will be hanging off your elbows, and one day you’ll turn around and he’ll be all grown up, making a life of his own. My son didn’t stay little nearly long enough.”