Pierre,” I told him. “You’ll probably meet him one day. I still see him a couple times a year.” You know… if Jonah was around in the four months he had off from work.
Fuck.
I turned forward again and kept heading up the stairs, listening in to the fact that I was almost all the way to the top before I heard his footsteps again.
“Why didn’t you say anything about it?” he called out after me.
“Because it’s not a big deal.” I paused. “And because sometimes people make fun of him when they know. People say he’s cheesy and stuff, but he’s always been great to me. I don’t like him being made fun of. If it hadn’t been for Blood Games, I don’t think MMA would have ever blown up the way it has because he inspired so many kids who are now adults, you know.”
His footsteps stopped again as I made my way down the hall, passing the master bedroom, the spare, and finally getting to Mo’s room, separated from mine by the bathroom in between. Jonah stopped just to my side and, without prompting, took the baby out of my arms and into his, his biceps bunching and showing off the fact that one was just about as big as Mo’s entire body.
The boy was ripped.
And that wasn’t saliva pooling in my mouth at the memory of running my hands up and down those arms while he’d—
Nope.
I forced a smile onto my face. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and change. Just holler if you need anything.”
I ducked into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, washing my face, and rubbing some moisturizer into my skin didn’t take long and neither did applying deodorant. On the walk from the bathroom to my room, I heard Jonah talking quietly, but I had no idea what was being said or done. He’d been around long enough. He knew what he was doing.
I stripped down to my underwear and sports bra, deciding to leave that sucker on because the last thing I needed was a boob to pop out in mid-swing push, and had just put on my high-waisted black leggings when I heard a cough from the doorway.
“The door was open,” Jonah murmured as I turned, one hand in my drawer as I pulled out a sweater.
Mo was holding a toy in one hand, gnawing and drooling on it at the same time.
I had never been too-too ashamed of my body even after having her. I wasn’t back down to pre-baby weight yet—and I sure as hell wasn’t at my competing weight or body composition—but I was getting to what was becoming my new normal. And, well, a lot of things had changed and moved around a bit, but I had expected that to happen from the books and blogs I’d read while I was pregnant.
But now, all of a sudden, standing there in my high-waisted pants, I got self-conscious for what might have been the first time in my fucking life.
“I’m almost ready,” I told him, tugging the sweater out, suddenly aware of how much of a mess my room was. There was a pile of laundry on the floor in one corner, another rocking chair I’d used pretty often with Mo over the last few months that was covered in clothes that I’d worn but could wear again. Then there were the handful of toys all over the floor that I hadn’t put back up after bringing them over for my booger to play with while we hung out in my room.
The bras hanging off the doorknobs of my closet were a nice touch too, I thought, knowing there was no way to miss the giant bra cups.
And that was where his gaze went straight for.
I’d swear on my life that his eyes moved down to my boobs for a second. And I’d swear on my life too that his Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at them. They’d always been big, and had only gotten bigger with Mo, even if she’d decided a couple months ago that she was too good for breast milk.
Was this kinky bastard….
“Are you staring at my boobs?”
His gaze flicked back up, eyes wide. “No,” he spat out before pausing, shaking his head and giving me the start of a bashful smile. “All right, yes.”
Well, well, well.
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and only let myself smile when it was covering my face, wiping it back off once my head popped through the top.