Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,23

The nickname was starting to grow on me. “Sorry—I was getting out of the shower. Lost track of time.”

Yeah. I’d have been a little lost with Jude in the shower too.

I plastered on a smile and greeted my assumed boyfriend as if I were used to seeing him shirtless and dripping from a hot shower. He ruffled a towel through his wet hair.

That was okay. I didn’t need to breathe, not when I could gawk instead. The air rushed from me as if he had wrapped me in his arms and squeezed until I popped. It was probably the first time I was glad he didn’t hug me. The slightest pressure would have squeezed every crazy, hormonal emotion out of me like I was a tube of manic depressive toothpaste.

“Did you find the place okay?” Jude tossed his towel over his shoulder. The edge tickled over his abs—thick and shadowed with rippling muscle. His jeans hung low over a trim waist, hinting at that lovely V between his hips.

“Yeah,” I said. “Thought I’d need a retina scan to get in though.”

He laughed. “The penthouse is a little nuts, but it was the only furnished place I could find this close to the practice facility. I wanted to focus on training camp, not moving and real estate.”

Ah, the ramblings of a mad, football-obsessed millionaire. I wasn’t surprised. Even when we were kids, we had to drag him to movies, beg him to play video games, and bribe him into cultural events. If it wasn’t football, it wasn’t important. At least he’d hired someone to buy his groceries and clean his house or the man would have died to the elements in the middle of an end zone.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jude said. “You’re really gonna brighten this place up.”

“You realize a pregnant woman has invaded your bachelor pad?”

“As long as you’re not giving birth in my penthouse, I think we’ll work it out.”

“I’ll try to keep up my end of the bargain.”

“Just keep those legs crossed.”

“Oh, where was that sage wisdom four months ago?”

Jude stretched, and every muscle in his chest tightened with him. Only twenty-two weeks of this torture to go.

“Are you here for good?” he asked. “Staying the night?”

Did my mouth actually have to water as I stared at his lean, toned, gratuitously-sexy body? Stay the night? Hell, he’d be lucky if I moved off of the stairs.

Until this point, the pregnancy cravings hadn’t extended beyond orange juice and chocolate. Now I wanted something different.

A meat popsicle.

A lick of his loins.

A peck of his pecker.

Maybe a cheeseburger too.

And now I was sweating. Hungry. Panicked. Horny. Still hording coupons for breast pumps.

I wasn’t falling for Jude; I was falling apart.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asked.

Breathe. Blink. Swallow.

Don’t choke on the tongue.

“Your…butler took my purse already.”

“My butler?” Jude frowned as his dog trotted to the landing. “Oh…him.”

The dog had returned, and in his adventures, he had somehow found a lamp shade. He set it at Jude’s feet, proud of his vandalism.

Then he began to gnaw.

I didn’t ask what had happened to the other pieces of the lamp. Best to let certain mysteries rest.

“I can’t believe you have a dog,” I said.

“Yeah.” Jude stared at the creature, giving him a wide birth. “That’s Phillip.”

“Phillip?”

“My sister got him for me last year, after the concussion. She wanted me to have some company after the family and physical therapists left.” Jude took the lamp shade from Phillip. “It must be dinner time. What time is it?”

I checked my watch. “Four thirty.”

“Yeah. He attacks the lamps if it’s after four.”

“…Why?”

“Phillip has a strict routine. He alerts me if we’ve lost track of time.”

“I doubt your lamps are fans.”

“Nah, I’ve gone through about seven. He’s even scaled a wall and assassinated a sconce.”

“So…” I gave Phillip a pat as he sat at my side. “He attacks lamps when he’s hungry.”

“I’m still learning the rules. He’s got a couple weird cues. He’ll only answer to Phillip, gets offended if you call him Phil. He won’t take a bath after nine at night. Won’t walk before six in the morning. Dinner is served at four or the lamp shades are in peril. He doesn’t like country music. I think he’s afraid of the laundry machine. And if you hit snooze on an alarm…he’ll steal all the toilet paper in the house.”

“Okay…that’s insane.”

“He prefers particular. Oh, and he’s a smuggler.”

“A…smuggler?”

“Protect your socks, anything shiny, sponges, and soap.” Jude frowned. “Pretty much anything starting with the letter S.”

Wow, I was very