16
Neva
In the passenger seat of Patrick’s car, my stomach wriggled like a sack of kittens. It was hard to believe that a few hours ago, he’d offered to pretend to be the father of my baby. He’d suggested we pretend to be a couple. He’d even introduced himself to Gran as my boyfriend! If it was anyone else, the intent would be clear. But Patrick, the player, couldn’t be interested in me—could he?
He pulled up outside my apartment. “Here we are.”
“You never answered me before,” I said. My head was too full of thoughts to try to weave it more naturally into conversation. “Why would you want to do this? Pretend to be the father of my baby?”
“Would you believe I have a thing for redheads?”
I let the silence be my answer.
Patrick sighed, exasperated. “Come on, Nev.”
“Come on, what? Tell me. If you want me to say yes, I need to know why.”
“Are you really going to make me say it?”
“Say wha—?”
With a flick of his seat belt, he silenced me. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and bent toward me. I held still, not even breathing. His lip curved up at one side. It was the most gentle, tender smile I’d ever seen from Patrick. Perhaps the most tender smile I’d ever seen from anyone. But I only got to enjoy it for an instant before he pressed his lips to mine.
The world slipped away. His lips were soft but firm. Gently, he pulled me closer. Involuntarily, I moaned.
My approval did something to both of us. Patrick’s tongue slid into my mouth, and deep inside me, a fire ignited. It was like watching a movie with a foreshadowed twist; I hadn’t seen it coming, but now I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. Not just the way Patrick felt about me. But the way I felt about him too.
When he broke away, I saw stars. It might have been the light, or the fact that we had just kissed, or perhaps the pregnancy hormones, but I wondered if I were dreaming. More than anything, I wanted to go back to sleep.
“Does that answer your question?”
“Uh … what was the question?”
“The reason I want to do this.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I think we’re good for each other, Nev. I’d hoped we’d get to this point and then conceive a baby but … if the baby’s been conceived and … you’re telling me the guy’s out of the picture, then … I’m still in. If you want me.”
I blinked. It was just too impossible to be true. And yet …
“Are you in?” he asked.
“Yes.” I sounded hoarse but sure. I nodded several times. “Yes. I’m in.”
We stared at each other. Patrick chuckled. “Okay, then. Well, I’m going to leave you to obsess about this all night,” he said. He refastened his seat belt. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to stay?” I blurted out. Immediately, I wanted to retract it. Sort of.
Patrick looked startled.
“Um,” I said. “I mean—”
He smiled. “I think I’m going to go home tonight. I’d love to stay,” he said, perhaps in response to my flaming cheeks. “But after all this time, I want us to do this right.”
The next day, he called during my lunch break. “Hey, there, baby momma.”
I blushed, even though I was on the phone.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yep.” Actually, I was tired. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning and obsessing over the kiss, the relationship, the offer to pretend to be my baby’s father. “Sorry, just a little distracted. I’m juggling two mothers in labor, early stages.”
“Then I won’t keep you. I just wanted to tell you that I haven’t told anyone yet. About being the father of your baby. So you still have the chance to change your mind.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Damn.” His tone was typically dry. “I really wanted to tell Marion.”
I laughed and held up one finger to Ruth, my birth assistant, to let her know I’d be right in. I moved into a quiet corner and lowered my voice. “Are you sure about this? You’ve really thought it all through?”
“Yep.”
I traced my finger against a groove in the wall. “You’re crazy, you know that? But … okay. Tell Marion. Tell the world.” Then another thought occurred to me. “Actually, don’t tell the whole world. We’ll tell everyone else that you are the father, but not Grace and Gran.”
“Why not?”
“I … don’t know.”