Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden #2) - J.M. Darhower Page 0,103

It was a distraction. A project. Something to focus on. So, he got it, but it worried him.

What would happen if she never got it started?

Would she take it personal?

For now, though, she looked content.

He hadn't seen her so happy since that first day they met, back in New York, before she learned how wrong he was for her. She was adjusting and settling, some of that burden on her shoulders lifting, like she truly believed they could make it on their own.

Sweat coated her flushed face, smudges of grease smeared along her skin. Her dark hair was wrapped up in a knotted bun on top of her head—unwashed, he gathered, since there was a twig stuck in it. A pair of cut-off jean shorts barely covered her ass, while a dark tank top clung to her, especially around her stomach. Matty's eyes were drawn right to it. Twenty weeks along, already halfway through the pregnancy. Time seemed to be flying.

"What are you doing?" he asked, dragging his eyes away from her to instinctively look for a watch he still hadn't replaced.

"Uh, messing with this little bracket thingy near the thermostat. It's crooked, so I'm trying to do the Lefty-Lucy thing to straighten it up but I Righty-Tighty'ed so good that the bitch isn't moving now, so I might have to break it off." She sat up, eyeing him warily. "Something tells me that's not what you're asking. What's going on?"

"What's going on is we have a doctor's appointment in an hour," he said. "If we don't leave soon, we're going to be late."

"I thought that was on Thursday."

"It is Thursday."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "Shit."

Matty helped her to her feet. Dirt covered her from head-to-toe, the smell of sweat and grease clinging to her. Grime covered her hands, blood trickling down her right middle finger from a cut on her knuckle.

"You should be more careful," Matty said, looking at the small wound. "You should probably also get a tetanus shot."

She rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. "What I should do is take a quick shower."

"No time." He stopped her before she went inside. "I'm not kidding, we have to go or we're going to miss the appointment."

"At least let me take a bitch bath. I'm disgusting."

"A bitch bath."

"Yeah, you know, wash the goods and all that."

She kissed him once more, her cheek brushing against his, transferring a black smudge along his jawline. Shaking his head, he wiped it off with his hand as she skipped inside, leaving the radio on, Tutti Frutti blaring from beside Matty's feet. He reached down and clicked it off before walking through the house, enjoying the stream of cool air coming from the vents. The air conditioner would never be strong enough to keep up with the outside temperatures, despite it being fall now. October.

He waited in the foyer, glancing at his watch. A minute passed, and another, and another… after five, he started pacing, and after ten, he grew anxious. "Genna, please, we've got to go!"

"Geez, calm your tits," she muttered, coming down the steps. "I'm ready."

Matty's eyes took her in. She'd pulled herself together, wearing a pair of black shorts and a crisp white tank top, all traces of dirt gone. Her hair had even been brushed. As she approached him, he could sense the perfume, the scent sweet and flowery, one he hadn't smelled before on her. "You smell nice."

"Yeah? It's kind of strong, and who knows how old it even is, but I figure anything's got to be better than how I did smell," she said. "I guess it belonged to the lady of the house."

"You are the lady of the house."

"The other one," she clarified. "Found it in a drawer in the master bedroom."

"I like it," he said, grasping her by the hips when she stepped into the foyer. He dipped his head, nuzzling into her neck, his nose running along her skin.

"Down boy," she said. "We've got to go, remember?"

He grudgingly pulled away. "I remember."

The small OB-GYN clinic was located in Las Vegas, a non-descript brown building near the University Medical Center. Guilt nagged at Matty every time he stepped foot into the place, every time he sat in one of those flimsy plastic chairs in the packed waiting room and looked around at those bland tan walls with nothing on them. The place was a non-profit, catering to the uninsured, the kind of place that didn't ask many questions and just

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