Ready For It (MacAteer Brothers #2) - M.L. Nystrom Page 0,10
recliner, picking up the TV remote, and relaxing after a long and hard day’s work. Very domestic.
Instead of the remote, he opened his phone and began typing. How did those gigantic thumbs manage a tiny digital keyboard? I shook my head and grabbed the remote to click on the TV. A mindless sitcom appeared. Not one I watched, but I let it play simply to have some noise in the room. Owen kept at his phone, while I slowly ate the soup and crackers. My stomach did a happy dance now that I was putting something in it that would stay down.
I glanced at the man ensconced in my chair. Even though his knees were almost at his chin, he seemed comfortable. He concentrated on his phone, and I guessed he was texting someone. I realized I knew very little about the man other than that he was Connor’s brother, had a twin named Garrett, two other brothers, a sister, and worked construction. That was it.
Time to do a little recon. “So, Owen. How long are you in town?”
His focus stayed on the screen, and he shrugged.
“Do you like the city?”
He put out a hand and waggled it in a so-so gesture.
“Think you’ll stay and find work?”
Another shrug. Fuck me, I figured out a long time ago he doesn’t talk much, but this is ridiculous.
“Is it just me you don’t want to talk to, or are you naturally shy?”
He raised his eyes to meet mine. Damn, he was a good-looking man.
“Shy.” The low rumble of his voice spread from my ears to my toes in a delicious thrill.
I couldn’t help myself. I burst into laughter. “Good one. At least you’re honest.”
He rewarded me with a big grin. “Better?”
I thought he was asking if I felt better. “I’m good. You don’t have to babysit me anymore. Did you call that Uber yet?”
“Cancelled.”
“Why?”
“Sick.”
“You’re not feeling well?”
“You.”
“You planning on spending the night?”
“Yes.”
“Not happening, big guy.”
“Sick.”
He was either the most stubborn man in the world or the most obtuse. If I flipped a coin, either side would be right. “I’m not that sick.”
“Worried.”
“I’m not worried at all.”
“Me.”
I got it. He was worried about me. I could’ve burred up and gotten angry, but his face showed genuine concern, and I had to admit, it was nice. “That’s really sweet, and I’m flattered that you’re anxious about me, but I can promise you, I’m fine. I’ve eaten the soup. I’m drinking the water, and I’m not running to the bathroom in vomitus delirium. Don’t get me wrong, but right now, I need my own company more than I need yours, okay? My plans are to crash in the next ten minutes with a good book.”
No reaction from him other than to hand me his cell phone. “Number. Text if t-trouble.”
I laughed. Most of the time when a guy asks me for my number, he has some cheesy line to go with it. Owen wasn’t asking me on a date or flirting. He simply wanted my number so he could check on me. “Okay, big guy.” I typed in my number and handed him the phone back.
He looked at the name I listed, chuffed, and grinned. My Favorite Girl.
I grinned back. “You know it’s true. Now get that Uber back and get outta here so I can go pee and get to bed.”
Owen lay back on the creaking bed and put his hands behind his head. Beverly hadn’t waited for him to return before going to bed. She had kept a plate warm for him since he hadn’t eaten yet, and he made a mental note to thank her for the consideration. He couldn’t ask for a better sister-in-law. Connor had stayed up long enough for Owen to get in the door and eat. He kept talking to a minimum, as both of them were tired and ready to crash for the night. No mention of Melanie’s condition came up, but Owen already knew. He stared at the ceiling and replayed the conversation.
“I’m about six or eight weeks, I think. I took the test this morning. It’s for real. I’m knocked up.”
He hadn’t meant to overhear something private. He had been outside the door, worried about Melanie’s state, and when he heard her crying, he’d had to stop himself from running in and doing… doing… what?
Owen flopped to his side, and the bed shuddered. The queen-sized frame barely fit him.
Yeah, what could he do? Stand over her staring? His stuttering speech kept him from talking much. Part