“You’re not like any other woman I’ve ever met.” I lace my fingers with hers and kiss her knuckles. “So yeah, I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, and sure, maybe they came from money, or maybe they hid behind a façade. Honestly I don’t ask a woman to show me her bank balance before we fool around. I couldn’t give a fuck how much money you have. I’m not judging you. In fact, I’m crazy as fuck about you. So crazy that, yeah, when I pulled up in front of your building, I thought she deserves a better home. Because I want you in mine.”

  Her eyes widen and her lips part, a small breath escaping her.

  “I can’t explain this feeling I have when I’m with you any more than I can explain how the moment I put on skates, I knew I was meant to be a hockey player.” I feel as vulnerable as fuck right now, but I can’t stop myself from being honest with her. “I want this, Savannah. You. All of it. So please just let me get to know you.”

  She’s quiet, searching my face for a long moment. So long, in fact, that I worry I’ve scared her. That she’ll jump off my lap and usher me straight out the door.

  But when her shy smile returns, the anxiety in my chest dissipates.

  “What do you want to know?” she finally asks.

  “Everything,” I admit, not having a clue where to start. “Anything you’ll tell me. Maybe start with your favorite movie?”

  She hums, her lips twitching. “Really? That’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask what you want to know about me?”

  Amusement floods me, along with relief. “I figure we can watch it after dinner. I’ll rub your back. Then, maybe, if you feel more relaxed, we can have a conversation without all the stress.”

  The light returns to her eyes. “That’s—” She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “That’s a really good idea.”

  I roll to one side, forcing her onto her back, her head on the pillows, eliciting a squeal from her. With a quick peck to her mouth, I stand and shuffle to the table to unpack the supplies I brought. First out is the bear I won for her.

  “Oh my god, you brought our love bear!” she squeals.

  I chuckle at the ridiculous term she continues to use. “Didn’t have a babysitter and I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t take care of him properly.”

  She breaks into a face-splitting grin, and when I hand him to her, still dressed in his Burberry sweater, she squeezes him tight to her chest. “I trust that you were an excellent daddy to our first baby.”

  Halfway to the table, I spin back to her. “First, huh?”

  Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open, but no words come out.

  Before she can get too worked up about her slip of the tongue, I chuckle and get back to unloading the bags.

  “So, um,” she says, voice full of nerves, “what else did you bring?”

  “French fries and ice cream to start. We’ll eat those first, since temperature matters.”

  She laughs, her expression easing.

  “I also have chocolate. Watermelon Sour Patch candies because my sister says she craves them during her period too. I got the kid ones too, because why not? And Twizzlers, peanut butter cups. The big ones. Oh, and I picked up a few magazines. Honestly, I went to the store and picked up everything I thought Aiden Langfield would bring on a normal travel day.”

  She snorts like she thinks I’m kidding. Clearly she doesn’t know my buddy well enough to know that he has one hell of a sweet tooth.

  “Okay, I agree,” she says. “We should start with the ice cream and French fries. Oh, and the peanut butter cups.”

  I grab the requested items and go in search of a spoon. It’s not hard to find, since she has a whopping three kitchen drawers.

  She’s a big fan of rom-coms, so we turn on Wedding Crashers, and for the next two hours we snack and laugh our asses off. When we’ve officially overdosed on sugar, I clean up and dig out the heating pad.

  I plug it in and spread it out on the bed, then urge her to lie on her stomach so she can watch the movie while I rub her back.

  Without hesitating, she pulls her cozy top over her head and then unclasps her bra, revealing her perfect heavy breasts and instantly making my mouth water.

  “Hate wearing a bra at home,” she tells me as she spins and positions herself on the bed like I asked.

  I bite back a groan, willing my dick to stand down. That’s not what tonight is about. With a long breath out, I go back for the bottle of massage oil and bring it over to the bed. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me. “Right. My belly is bulging from all the junk food, my hair hasn’t been washed since yesterday, and I’m in old sweats. Hottie, right here.”

  I dig my thumbs into her shoulders and lean down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “If you think a single one of those things turns me off, then you seriously don’t have a fucking clue.”

  Her eyes fall shut and she hums.

  I massage her shoulders and upper back, then work my way lower. In minutes, though, she’s squirming beneath me, making me wonder if I’m being too aggressive.

  “Too much pressure?”

  She drops her head and gives it a shake. “No, I’m just—” She groans into the comforter beneath her. “I’m horny. You’re making me really fucking horny.”

  Laughing, I clutch her by the hips and flip her over.

  Eyes widening, she tries to adjust her tits, but before she can wrangle them, I duck down and suck a nipple into my mouth.

  Her mouth drops open, and she whines. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  I pull back and drink her in. She looks so goddamn delicious, her nipples pebbled, begging for more.

  With a wicked grin, I bite down on the other. Then I lick away the sting. When I tug on her waistband, she squirms and grasps my wrists, stopping the movement. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not afraid of a little blood, baby girl. I’m going to make you come on my tongue, and if that’s not enough to satisfy you, I’ll fuck you until you come all over me.”

  I grasp the elastic band of her pants again, but she squeezes my wrists harder, her body tensing. “Wait.”

  She’s breathless, chest heaving and pupils blown out. Yet there’s anxiety there too.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She squeezes her eyes shut and blows out a breath. “I’m not on my period.”

  I pull back, confusion washing over me. “What?”

  Eyes open again, she pushes up to sitting and glances at the door before turning back to me but not meeting my eye. “I’m not on my period.”

  “So when you texted, you were trying to blow me off?” I sit back a little, surprised by the sting that comes with that realization.

  She rests a hand on my thigh and squeezes. “No.” She swallows thickly, like there’s more on her mind, but doesn’t say anything else.

  “No, what? Please tell me what’s going on, because my mind is running with lots of ideas, and none of them are good.”

  “I wasn’t telling you I was on my period. And I wasn’t trying to cancel on you.” She grunts, focus fixed on the floor. “But I figured you’d cancel on me after getting that text.”

  I’m so fucking lost, and I’m still spiraling.

  “The point of the calendar wasn’t to tell you that I was on my period. It was an ovulation calendar.” She peers up then, embarrassment shining in her eyes.

  “Ovulation,” I repeat.

  Her lips slant, like maybe she wants to laugh. “You know, like how you figure out when you’re ovulating?” She says it like it’s a question, her voice going up at the end.

  My stomach drops when her meaning registers.

  “Wait, you want me to knock you up?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CAMDEN

  “She said what now?” Daniel nearly stabs his face with his fork, the piece of pancake falling to his plate rather than making it into his mouth.

  War gawks at me, mouth hanging open, coffee cup hovering in front of him.

  Noah bursts out laughing.

  I glare at them one at a time. “She said it was an ovulation calendar.”

  “Because you’re getting old,” Noah says around a laugh.

  Irritation simmers in my veins. “I don’t need you to repeat my words back to me.”

  “He might, considering how old you are,” War mutters.

  “I’m younger than you, motherfucker.”

  War narrows his icy blue eyes, channeling the team captain he was so long ago, and on instinct, I shrink back into the booth. We’re at breakfast at our usual spot, and yeah, there are kids around. It’s a Sunday morning, so the place is packed with families. And this is my family, so once a month we get together for breakfast. Brooks’s sons had some football thing this morning—because much to his disappointment, not one of his three boys has any interest in hockey—so he’s missing this important update in my life.

  Thank fuck.

  “How did you respond?” Daniel doesn’t take his eyes off me as he successfully shoves a bite of pancake into his mouth.

  I shrug. “I said okay.”

  War, who’s finally sipping his coffee, chokes and spits the warm liquid all over his own plate and the table in front of him.

  Without a second of hesitation, Noah throws a napkin at him.

  Daniel, on the other hand, slumps back and groans. “You spit on my pancakes.”

  “I’ll buy you new pancakes,” he grits out. “This idiot told my daughter’s twenty-seven-year-old best friend that he’d knock her up.” War pats his face with a napkin, the glare he’s fixed on me scarier than I think I’ve ever seen from him.

  “No, I said okay to the possibility. Which isn’t all that unbelievable. There’s a chance we will eventually be ready to discuss ovulation calendars and shit like that.”

  Noah scowls. “That’s the least sexy way to discuss baby-making with a woman.”

  “Not if you have trouble having kids,” Daniel says.

  “And what the hell would you know about that?” War points out.

  “Mills had trouble, and she used those things,” Daniel says with a shrug. Millie is his twin.

  “Right, but Savannah hasn’t known Camden long enough to find out whether her period is even late, let alone to discuss problems with making a baby,” War grumbles.

  Noah rests his forearms on the table and studies me from behind black-framed glasses. “Do you think she was serious?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. She seems so fucking normal. And she’s absolutely incredible in bed.”

  “Earmuffs,” War grumbles.

  “What, you can’t hear about sex because you’re married? That’s new.”

  “No,” he growls. “I can’t hear about you having sex with my daughter’s best friend.”

  I wipe my mouth with my napkin and toss it to the table. “Get over it. She’s hot as fuck and she’s dirty as fuck, and honestly, I’m crazy about her.”

  “But she might be a little crazy,” Daniel sings.

  With a pointed look at him, I shrug. “Possibly.”

  Noah barks out a laugh. “She’s gotta be fucking with you.”

  “She’s a little quirky, yeah. She brought up kids the first night we were together.” I don’t mention the love bear or the baby outfit. Honestly, both are a little funny on their own, but added up like this, maybe her actions are a little more on the concerning side.

  War sets his napkin down and studies me like he would an opponent. The scrutiny is unnerving. “She had a rough childhood,” he says. “Parents who didn’t want her, who never bother to visit.”

  My stomach drops. I kind of assumed that was the case based on some of our conversations, but she hasn’t mentioned any of that directly.

  “So maybe she’s a little overeager to have a family of her own,” he adds. “What did you say when she brought up kids that night?”

  That’s what’s so wild. I didn’t actually freak out. With anyone else, I’m certain I would have. “I told her that I’d always wished I had them, but that the timing was never right.”

  Daniel points his fork at me. “You set yourself up for this, then. She’s just trying to give you what you want. That’s what women do.” He stabs another piece of pancake. “Women that aren’t Hannah, at least. She takes whatever the fuck she wants, and I just give it all to her.”

  Noah groans. “Please don’t talk about what women do in bed while discussing my sister.”

  “Knock it off,” Daniel taunts. “Your sister and I have been married for almost two decades. You should be used to this by now.”

  War turns his stern look on Daniel. When he turns back to me, his expression has only softened a little. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. You asked for this.”

  I push back from the table a couple of inches. “How did I ask for an ovulation calendar?”

  “You basically told her your clock was ticking. She likes you and she’s trying to show you that she’s listening to you.”

  I scowl. “Men don’t have clocks.”

  “I’m telling you, you asked for this,” he says.

  “And if you want Mav on your team, you’ve gotta make this relationship last,” Daniel reminds me through a mouthful of pancakes.

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Not because I have any interest in ending things with Savannah but because the last thing I need is a reminder of that damn bet.

  War points at me. “You better fix this.”

  Not that I agree with him, but even if I did, what the hell am I supposed to say to her now?

  TWENTY-SIX

  SAVANNAH

  Daddy: What type of wine should I bring?

  I stare at the text like it’s come to life, equipped with three heads and dancing before me.

  What type of wine should I bring?

  He’s still coming? After he rushed out of here before I’d fully woken up this morning, I was sure I’d never hear from him again.

  Sure, he stuck around last night. And we had sex. But I figured that was goodbye sex. Like, wow, she’s hot and I don’t know how to reasonably extract myself from this situation, so I’ll fuck her one more time before I disappear.

  Honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him.

  I’ve known him for a matter of weeks, and I sent a fucking ovulation calendar to his phone and basically told him I wanted him to knock me up. What reasonable man would stick around?

  When he dipped out, mumbling about meeting his friends for breakfast while I was still blinking the sleep from my eyes, I will admit a wave of sadness hit me. Okay, more like a tsunami. I was gutted. Because the man behaved like a picture-perfect boyfriend last night.

  He showed up with supplies because he thought I had my period. He watched rom-coms with me and binged on junk food right alongside me until our stomachs ached. He was willing—happy, even—to have sex with me while I was bleeding. Even if I wasn’t really.

  Every single one of those actions told me more about the kind of man Camden Snow is than anything he could have told me on a date. He puts others first. He’s caring and sweet and fun as hell to be with. He’s the kind of person I would want to date for real.

  And then I scared him away by telling him I wanted to have his babies.

  It makes sense. Hell, it’s what I expected. But still, watching him scurry out, then being left in my silent apartment with nothing but time to come to terms with how I’d chased him away was hard.

  Though it isn’t nearly as hard as figuring out why the hell he’s texting me about wine now.

  Does the man have no sense of self-preservation? He’s really coming back for more?

  Me: Did you mean to text this to me?

  The three dots appear right away, and almost instantly, his reply comes through.

  Daddy: Obviously. Who else would I bring wine to?

  Me: After the way you left this morning, I figured you wouldn’t come tonight.

  Daddy: I said I was coming.

  Me: Yeah, last night before…I said what I said.

  Daddy: I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you say something weird?

  I roll my eyes, picturing the cocky smirk he’s wearing right now.

  Me: Don’t play coy.

  Daddy: Tell me what kind of wine to bring, baby girl. Or would you rather discuss what you said last night?

  I grunt. He’s infuriating. Is this man seriously coming back for more?

  I navigate to the girls’ group chat, alerting them to the 911 situation on our hands. Then I tell Camden that Rosalie only drinks Chianti and not to spend too much. She’s a cheap date.

  Two hours later, I’ve parked myself at a table at a coffee shop close to home, and I’m staring at my computer screen while I wait for Josie.

  A blank screen.

  Because I don’t have a clue what I should write. Every word feels like a lie.

  Don’t sleep with him on the first date—whoops did that.

  Talk about yourself, not your exes—unless he begs you to tell him about everyone you’ve fucked and makes you come while you do it.

  Jealousy is toxic—or he’ll find it insanely attractive when you claim him.

  Each of those scenarios on their own could be looked past, yeah, but the future baby conversation? That shouldn’t be negotiable. I should be able to tell my readers with complete certainty not to do it. But Camden has me questioning everything I’ve ever known about dating.

  “You look pissed.”

  Startling, I straighten and snap my head up.

  Josie is standing over me, an amused expression on her pretty freckled face.

  I blow out a breath. “More like confused. Befuddled. Lost.”

  “Befuddled, huh?” Smirking, she pulls out the chair across from me and picks up the coffee I ordered for her.

  “Okay, get this,” I say, snapping my laptop closed. “Last night I sent Camden my ovulation tracker⁠—”