exactly where mine was just minutes ago. “Our kid, I guess.”
I chew on my lip and shut my eyes, knowing this very much doesn’t fit the Christopher Vice Plan Of Accidental-Baby Management.
“Ellie, please.” He gently holds my chin and angles my head up to meet his gaze. “I have to be there. I can’t be like my dad. I just…I can’t.”
“Your dad?” I ask under my breath, my heart tugging a little.
“Wasn’t exactly…around.” He half smiles to lighten the gravity of that comment. “Point is, I’m not doing that. I don’t care if I have to spend my entire life earning approval from your terrifying family. I need to be a father to my kid.”
I hold his electric gaze, noticing how goodness seems to just shine through his eyes. I cock my head toward the door of my suite. “Do you wanna come in?”
He sighs with visible relief. “So fucking badly.”
Seven
Matt
Well, she invited me in. That’s a step in the right direction.
As we walk through the doorway, I glance around and take in the huge, fancy, money-dripping Vice Penthouse Suite.
“Damn, look at this place.” I shake my head and laugh at the glossy, full-sized kitchen and oversized living room with couches that don’t look like they’re made to sit on.
Ellie presses her lips together and shrugs. “It’s nice. I stay in this suite at every location all over the world, and they all look pretty much the same.” She walks toward the kitchen and sets two glasses on the counter. “It’s the Vice standard of quality.”
I follow her around the shiny countertop, running my finger along the surface. “‘Quality’ is right.”
“You want a drink? I have a bottle of whiskey in here. I’m having Sprite, for obvious reasons.” She rolls her eyes and smirks a little.
That’s the first time she’s joked with me about the pregnancy. Or even said something remotely lighthearted.
I can’t help but smile. “Sprite sounds good. I’m trying to stay away from alcohol completely until after the season ends.” I take the cup of fizzy liquid from her and sip it. “Gotta stay sharp.”
“I imagine you do.” She nudges me and winks. “Being the starting quarterback and all.”
I should not be thinking about banging her. Or imagining it. Or wanting it. A wave of heat rolls through me, but I try to push it away.
“So, this is the kitchen.” I gesture around us, desperately attempting to get anything on my mind other than the way she looks in those damn black jeans. “Can I get a tour of the rest of the place?”
Ellie laughs softly. “Sure. It’s nothing crazy, just an oversized, overdecorated, over-the-top hotel room.”
We walk into the living room with the stiff-looking couches and a floor-to-ceiling window showing the breathtaking Miami skyline. “Jesus, what a view.”
She glances over her shoulder and gives me a smile. “You should see the one in Dubai.”
I stop for a second and wonder what country Dubai is in. Or maybe Dubai is a country? Middle Eastern geography is not my forte, but I just nod at Ellie and let myself enjoy her spirit.
“And…” We walk through an arched doorway and into a huge bedroom with more giant windows and a king-size bed with four posts sticking out of it. “This is the bedroom.”
I look around and notice a black suitcase on the floor in the corner, a couple of pieces of clothes sticking out of it.
I point to the suitcase. “You haven’t unpacked?”
Ellie laughs a little and crosses her arms, her brows knitting together in thought. “No…I guess I haven’t. I never really unpack, I’m so used to the suitcase. But, then again, I haven’t been in the same place for nine months in a really, really long time.”
I wander over to the walk-in closet. It’s completely empty. “You’ve got this big-ass closet,” I say on a chuckle, looking back at the lonely suitcase and realizing I’m pretty sure that everything she owns is in that one bag.
I peek around the hotel suite some more. It’s insanely nice and bougie as hell, but it’s exactly that—a hotel. No photos with family or friends, no unique personal touches, nothing that she loves or owns or even picked out herself. Nothing that makes this Ellie Vice’s home.
I have to remind myself that Ellie Vice doesn’t have a home. She lives in hotels. And this is just an extended stop on her never-ending journey.
I can’t be into her. I can’t feel anything for her, because all she ever does is zip up that