Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,48

and put my things in storage. She’s hiring a person to stage the house and bring in her own furniture—Nate is the one who requested it.

“I’ll support you no matter what,” he states and then says, “We should start packing what you’ll be taking with you. Demetri arrives tomorrow to take care of the rest.”

“Your butler?”

“House manager and assistant,” he corrects me.

I narrow my gaze, studying him. “You’re dragging him from New York just to do this?”

“He’s flying from Seattle,” he clarifies. “D manages all my properties, and he’s due to come to Denver soon.”

“You have more than two homes?”

He shrugs. “I like to travel. Which reminds me, you should probably pack a separate bag to take with us to Seattle.”

“I’m not traveling,” I argue. “I haven’t told my parents and I have to—”

“You already made a lot of decisions within the last twenty-four hours and are changing your life radically,” he finishes my sentence.

“Come with me,” he insists. “There’s plenty of room, a pool, a dog who apparently is in love with you. I’ll be working so you’ll have the house all to yourself. I think that’s better than living with your parents. Persy told me that they have zero regard for their guests and can be noisy at night.”

I squeeze my eyes and shiver remembering the times Persy caught them having sex while she was staying with them for a few days.

“Okay, I’m going for a few days,” I agree, looking at him and wondering if this is a good idea. My attraction to him is increasing, and at the moment my plate is full, and there’s no room for him to be around.

Am I doing the smart thing?

He’s a good friend. It’s not like he’s offering you an arsenal of orgasms while you’re in Seattle. So far, he’s been supportive about your situation, and he’s focusing on the baby.

“But before we leave, I need to talk to my parents, and I’m not driving tonight to see them.”

He grins and I stare at his lips, longing over that kiss we shared on Sunday. What if we do it just one more time before I have to become celibate for the next eighteen to twenty years?

“Tomorrow then?” he asks, taking me away from the trance.

“Can I think about it?” I ask because this might be a bad idea.

The next day, Nate arrives around six in the morning.

“Isn’t it a little too early?” I complain.

“I’m still on Eastern time,” he states. “I’ve been working for the past couple of hours.”

“Too early,” I complain. I sit on the couch and call Brock who jumps up next to me and rests his head on my lap.

“Get ready, I want to leave early,” he prompts me before heading to the kitchen.

This is what I call a real friendship with benefits. The guy is a good cook. I wouldn’t mind keeping him for a long time. Once he’s done preparing oatmeal with berries, he calls me to join him.

Today isn’t any different from any other morning this week though, I eat a little breakfast and within minutes I’m throwing up. There’s something different about the routine. This time, Nate runs after me, holds my hair and rubs my back. It feels nice, even relaxing, to have someone by my side while I feel like I’m throwing my entire life into the porcelain bowl.

When I’m done, I brush my teeth. He looks at me with such tenderness I want to hug him, but I don’t.

“You know what’s sad?”

“That my oatmeal was fucking awesome and you wasted it?” he jokes.

I laugh. “Yes.”

It is sad, but what I want to say is that I wish I wasn’t doing this alone. Not that I want Edward involved in my life but…this should feel different, shouldn’t it?

The baby book I read yesterday kept talking about what my partner should be helping me with, and I’m longing for this partner that I’ve never even had in my life. I was too busy building a nest egg that I never planned on a future.

Nate’s phone buzzes. He growls and asks if he could use my computer.

“Of course,” I respond. “I’ll take a shower and while you’re working, I’ll drive up to my parents.”

“Why don’t I take you?” he asks, his focus is on the computer.

“Because you’re working, and I think it’ll be best if it’s just them and me,” I say but then rectify when I picture my parents smothering me with hugs and attacking me with all kinds of questions.