Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,174

Devils needed help on their pass rush and a more reliable kicker. He didn’t want to talk about it while he waited to see his kid.

A flip of his stomach at that. And where was she?

She came in breathless. A little flustered. Her hair slightly messy, her color high, her forehead sweaty, lugging her laptop case. He stood up, took it from her, bent down to kiss her, and said, “Hi. Everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just … I’ll tell you later.” She went up to the counter to check in, then came back to sit beside him. “First …” she said, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. Thanks for being here. Thanks for being on time, even when I wasn’t.” She smiled at him, a little misty-eyed, and finally took her hands away.

He wanted her hands back. Also, there was a lump in his throat. “Of course I’m here,” he said. “Of course I am. I said I would be. I want to be.”

She picked up his hand and threaded her fingers through his. “I know. Also, a little bad news.”

He thought, Oh, no. Here it comes.

“I may have …” She lowered her voice. “Told Blake about my piercing.”

Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been that. “What?”

“I lost my temper a little,” she said. “Partly at you, but mostly at him. I know that you want to protect me. I love that you want to protect me. But I can set Blake straight by myself. I’m pretty sure I just did.”

“By telling him about your piercing.” He started to smile. “Bet that surprised him.”

“I didn’t tell him exactly where it was,” she assured him. “But he was, you know …” She glanced around and lowered her voice some more. “Talking about the padlock again. I lost my temper. Like I said. I discussed the, uh, different sides to my personality. My stronger side. I may have given him a … false impression.”

Of what? That she was a dominatrix? He tried to picture her like that and couldn’t do it. She’d be the most apologetic dominatrix ever. Orbison’s head must have just about exploded.

He was still grinning when the nurse called her name. And then he went into the room with her, and he wasn’t.

The doctor had straight, shiny, swingy black hair and perfect makeup. She was as tall and slim as a fashion model. And she was wearing black leather pants and stilettos under her white coat.

Jennifer thought, You’re kidding, and wanted to laugh. Harlan had picked this practice, not her. He’d done it before she’d even got here, researching exhaustively and talking to his teammates who had kids. It was sweet, was why she’d let him do it. But he’d picked an OB with leather pants? Also, this exam room was nicer than her old apartment. The furniture was definitely nicer.

The scratchy paper on the table was the same, though, and so was the exam gown. She guessed they didn’t make fancy exam gowns. What would they even look like? Presumably they wouldn’t have that exam-gown pattern. They’d be paisley, or something.

She should go into the high-end gown business. Talk about an untapped market.

She glanced across at Harlan, wanting to share the joke, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked nervous. She needed to do something about that.

The doctor, whose name was Veronica Mansfield, which made her sound like a character on a soap, said, “So you’ve had one previous pregnancy, and one child, who’s now …” She looked up. “Nineteen.”

She hesitated. Why?

Oh. “My daughter’s with me,” Jennifer assured her. “Not given up for adoption or whatever. You don’t have to be tactful. She’s graduating from high school with high honors this week, in fact, and heading to the University of Washington this fall in engineering.” Which the doctor didn’t need to know, but which she was telling her anyway. She was telling anybody who asked, and now, apparently, people who hadn’t asked at all.

She shouldn’t have been a good mom. She had been anyway. From now on, she was pointing that out.

The difference between being ashamed of your past and proud of it, it seemed, was your point of view. Had you been weak to get into a bad situation? Or strong enough to move on from it?

“Congratulations,” the doctor said, possibly looking a little startled, though with that kind of eyebrow arch, who would know? Probably startled at Jennifer’s burst of confidence, though, like when you were sitting next to somebody in a waiting room and they