Mario backs away, as does Pete, and we’re alone at the bar, me in a stunned silence and Jesse busying himself with water pouring duties to avoid facing his astonished wife. He knows that I’m gawking at him; he damn well knows it.
I turn myself back to the bar, all calm and unruffled, but I’m quietly raging. He just can’t help himself. “If you don’t go to that kitchen, change my order, and get me a glass of wine, then I’m one step closer to moving in with my parents for the rest of this pregnancy.” I know he’s looking at me now. I can feel his shocked greens burning a hole in my profile. I take my glass of water and slowly turn my face to his. “You are not trampling my diet, Ward.”
“You’ve already got yourself pissed while you were pregnant,” he spits quietly. He’s not happy, but neither am I.
“I was mad with you.” I still sound calm, but now I feel guilty, too.
His eyebrows shoot up. “So you thought you would take it out on my baby?”
I soak up the resentment pouring from him. “You keep saying my baby. It’s ours.”
“That’s what I meant!”
“Then say it!” I snap.
I’ve shocked him because he’s not coming at me with a counterattack. He’s just severely chomping on that bottom lip. His mind’s cogs are racing at a million miles per hour, and he finally sags, swinging away from me on his stool, his hands diving straight into his messy array of dark blond. “Fucking hell,” he curses quietly. “Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“I mean it, Jesse.” I reinforce my threat. I was wrong to go out and get myself pissed, aware that I’m pregnant, but it was only a result of what this man does to me—what this man spikes in me. I won’t be getting pissed again, but a small glass of red wine won’t hurt and a half-cooked steak is harmless. Don’t even get me started on the eggs.
I see his eyes clench shut and he takes a deep breath before turning toward my calm face. He takes my water and places it on the bar, and then holds my hands in his. “I’m sorry.”
I very nearly fall off my stool. “You are?” There’s no escaping the shock in my voice. Even if I was threatening him with confidence, I had absolutely no faith that he would take any notice of me.
“I am. I’m sorry. This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Jesse, this is hard enough to cope with without dealing with an enhanced control freak.” I let out an almighty sigh and stand up, positioning myself between his legs. “I want my baby to have a daddy. Please, try to reduce the risk of a stress-induced heart attack by chilling out a little.” I kiss every part of his face that I can lay my lips on, and he lets me.
“Hmmm. I’ll work on it, baby. I’m really trying, but can we at least compromise?”
“Compromise how?”
I feel his hand slide onto my head and grasp my hair, pulling my busy lips away from him. He pouts. “Please don’t drink.” His eyes are pleading with me, and I realize all too quickly how important it is to him. He’s a recovering alcoholic, even if he won’t admit it. For me to drink in normal circumstances would be thoughtless. While I’m carrying his baby would be way past that. It would be cruel.
“I won’t,” I agree, and the relieved look that washes over his face makes me feel awful. Really, really awful. “Go and get me a medium-cooked steak.” I peck his lips and pull out of his hold, placing myself back on my stool. “And I’d like that dressing on my salad.” I nod past him.
He gives my cheek a quick stroke and leaves me at the bar to go and fulfill his obligation of getting his pregnant wife a medium-cooked steak.
As my eyes wander around the bar, I immediately notice that it’s busy. Did they hear anything? Oh God, have we just revealed to a bar full of members that I’m expecting? My eyes flick across various groups, all drinking and chatting. The curious interest that always surrounds me when I’m here is everpresent. I spot Natasha in the corner with voice one and voice three, and I’m mortified when her eyes drop to my stomach. My face heats, and I swing back toward the bar, hastily escaping her inquisitive look. It’s so easy to forget there’s a world happening around us when we’re so wrapped up in each other, whether we’re arguing, making friends, or just plain getting our fix of each other.
“Evening, Ava.” Drew’s reserved tone pulls my attention away, and I’m more than thrown to find him in jeans. He has a formal shirt tucked in and his black hair is perfectly placed, as usual, but jeans?
“Hi.” I can’t help my eyes making repeat up and down motions over his body, and when he shifts uncomfortably, I realize that he’s caught me making my examinations. I quickly snap myself out of my rude observations. “How are you?”