The Rebound, page 2
I’ve been on my own for the majority of this pregnancy, and I know I can take care of the two of us by myself. Having my brother helicopter around me has been undeniably helpful, but an independent woman like myself can only take so much micromanaging.
I’m a freelancer, a profession I slid haphazardly into after one too many arguments with my raging asshole of a boss. I’m good at being my own boss, reveling in the freedom to create my own schedule and work on projects that I actually care about. I answer to no one but myself, and let me tell you, that’s been a game changer for my stress levels.
Now the primary stressor in my life is having this dang baby. That, and carrying this enormous package down the hallway to my condo. My joints scream in protest as I do my best to lift with my legs, taking breaks along the way.
“Little guy, I’m about to rip open this box and start carrying these books one by one,” I mumble, running a soothing hand over my belly. I like talking to him like he’s already a full person. Makes me feel a little less alone, you know?
I groan, struggling with the box. I asked my friend to mail me my library of books that she’s been graciously housing for the last few months while I got my life in order. I just didn’t think she’d send them all in one box.
Holy back pain, Batman.
“Need a hand?”
A man’s voice calls from over my shoulder, and I suddenly realize what I must look like from behind . . . leaning heavily against the wall, sweating through my pregnancy romper, my hair piled up on my head and looking like a perfect home for baby birds.
Wait until I turn around, buddy. You have no idea what you’ve signed up for.
I turn around, pregnant belly in full, magnificent view. “I would love a hand.”
But he doesn’t flinch at all when he catches sight of me. The voice belongs to a man in his late twenties, with a shock of dark blond hair that’s messy on top but tapers down into a close crop on the sides. He jogs the rest of the distance and lifts the box with the ease of an experienced weight lifter.
Why, hello.
“Where to?” he asks.
“End of the hall, second to last door on the right.”
“After you.”
I lead the way, talking to him while trying to catch my breath. “Thanks so much. I know that thing weighs a ton and a half.”
“Who’s mailing you bricks?”
“Books, actually.” I laugh, immediately appreciating his sense of humor. “Someone clearly didn’t think it all the way through when mailing the heaviest package in existence to the single pregnant lady.”
His gaze makes a quick perusal of my figure, but his expression remains impassive. “I always thought pregnancy gave you superhuman powers. Even more so when you’re single.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I unlock the door. “Not in my experience.”
Ignoring everything I’ve been taught, I open the door wide for a stranger, somehow knowing I can trust him not to be a serial killer. Inside, he sets the box gently on the living room floor. He winces a little as he straightens, twisting his torso from side to side until I hear a loud crack.
“Back issues,” he says with a crooked smile.
“Oh my God, are you pregnant too?” I tease.
His blue eyes dance on mine. “Not quite so lucky. I just overexerted myself.”
“Working out?” The question slips out of my mouth before I have the common sense to shut up.
Did I just ask a stranger if he works out? I mean, he obviously does. His baby-blue T-shirt and gray joggers stretch comfortably over lean, tough muscles. His forearms have those pronounced veins that trail down to his large hands, each of which are neatly manicured. The man takes care of himself.
“You got me.” He winks at me, and I can’t help but smile.
Who is this guy?
“What’s your name? I’m Kinley. I just moved to Boston this week.”
“I’m Saint. I live down the hall to the left. Welcome to the building.”
I reach out and shake his hand. His grip is firm, but not crushing like some assholes in the corporate world. Like, we get it, hearty handshakes make for good impressions. Don’t break my fingers.
“You’re really kind for a complete stranger.”
“Happy to help. Is there anything else I can carry in?”
I blink at him, a laugh hovering on my lips. “Really?”
He nods. “Really. I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Nothing better to do than help your pregnant neighbor carry her packages upstairs?”
“Seems like.”
I shrug, considering letting him off the hook. I mean, I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness, but then common sense gets the better of me. I’m seven months pregnant, and I don’t know why I thought I could manage all this on my own.
Hesitantly, I tell him about the awkward package shaped like a disassembled desk down in the mail room and ask if he’ll bring it up to me. It’s the same desk I’ve had since I graduated from college with nothing but a measly marketing degree to prove my worth. I bought the desk as my first real purchase—for me and only me. It’s small and worn, but it means the world to me.
Saint agrees. After retreating downstairs, he returns with the box in a matter of five minutes. When he offers to set up the desk for me too, I get suspicious.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask, my eyes comically narrowed.
It’s not like I don’t trust the guy . . . he’s been nothing but helpful. He hasn’t said anything creepy or tried to hit on me. But then again, since I got pregnant, I seem to have a sign taped to my belly that says DAMAGED GOODS—RUN AWAY in big red letters. Men don’t traditionally flirt with a woman who has a baby on the way. Which is more than fine, since I’m not in the market for a man anyway.
“Not a thing.” He flashes a brilliant grin that throws me a bit.
Every woman in this building must have a crush on this dude. I sneak a peek at his hands again. No wedding ring.
Interesting.
But his unexpected offer for help is exactly what I needed, if I’m being honest. I’m still adjusting to my new figure. I always imagined I’d be one of those cute pregnant people, maybe with the luxury of an expanded chest size, which is something I’ve never had.
The reality has been strikingly different.
For starters, I tire more easily. And don’t even get me started on my body. My boobs are still small. Actually, most of me is the same size—except for my belly, which looks like I swallowed a cantaloupe. It sticks out proudly, proclaiming my condition to anyone in the vicinity.
There’s no hiding my condition, not that I would want to. The belly has also come with a few unexpected perks, like people happily waving me up to the front of the line at the post office, and extra packets of ketchup from the fast-food cashier with my fries. The right amount of ketchup is very important.
Saint is still flashing that crooked smile at me, so it takes me a second to respond.
“I’m grateful for the help and want to do something for you. Hey, I’ve been craving Thai food, so I’m going to put in an order. I’ll get you whatever you want. And don’t say you don’t want anything, because then I’ll just order you something random and force you to eat it.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Pad Thai. Tofu, medium spicy. I’m a simple guy.”
“I appreciate simple.”
The food should arrive in thirty minutes, plenty of time for Saint to finish setting up my desk and for me to prop up my sore feet for a while. The little guy in my belly kicks hard, and I gasp.
Concerned, Saint looks up from his work. “You good?”
“Oh yeah. Channing Tatum here is just reminding me that he’s got some killer dance moves.”
Saint chuckles, and I can’t help but notice the adorable dimple in his left cheek. You’d have to be blind not to notice the guy is seriously attractive.
When the doorbell buzzes a short time later, I look wearily toward the door. Ten feet never looked more like ten miles.
“I’ll get it.” Saint jumps up and is at the door in no time at all, speaking in a low voice to the delivery girl.
In one minute flat, I have a warm container of gooey, delicious noodles sitting in front of me. Starving, I dig in, and when the flavors hit my tongue, I make a sound so involuntarily filthy that I can’t help but blush.
“Sorry, it’s just so good.”
“Don’t apologize.” Leaning against the kitchen island, Saint makes a whole show of slurping up his first bite, his eyes rolling back in his head and filthy sounds of his own filling the whole room. When he finally recovers, he smirks at me. “Gotta get your jollies wherever you can.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, chewing around a boisterous laugh. Saint is totally on the same wavelength as me with a sense of humor that I find most men to be lacking. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I haven’t had the chance to really stock the fridge.”
A look of concern crosses his features. “Do you have what you need?”
Thinking about it, I tilt my head. My brother left me with a couple of gift cards to some grocery stores that deliver. I’ve been wanting to explore the neighborhood more, though.
“I should probably try to get to the store soon.”
“Do you have a car?”
I shake my head. “I’ll have to research where to go.”
“Want me to take you?” Saint asks it so nonchalantly, like we’ve known each other our whole lives, not less than an hour. Like it’s as easy as breathing.
Is it crazy to say yes? Am I really that desperate for a helping hand? For a little companionship? Still, I can’t accept his offer. We just met, and he’s already done me two favors.
“No, that’s okay.” I take another bite but notice he’s still watching me.
Saint raises his brows at me. “I’m free tomorrow, so I could show you around. Since you’re new to the area and all.”
“No, I couldn’t. Thank you, though.”
He meets my eyes with a kind expression. “I really don’t have any other plans. It would give me something to do.”
Sensing that he’s serious, that maybe he’d just be sitting around bored and alone, I give in. “It would be nice to have someone show me around a bit.”
“Cool. Does tomorrow at two work for you?”
“Uh, yeah.” Anytime would work for me.
“It’s a date. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Smiling, I cock my head to the side. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.”
Saint gives me that crooked grin again. Wow. My insides do a little happy dance. “Helpless? Never said you were. You’re doing me the favor here. It’s rare I have something productive to do with my time. I was gonna throw myself out the window if I had to spend another moment flipping channels.”
I chuckle again. “If you say so.”
We spend a few minutes eating our noodles and making polite conversation, mostly about the groceries and houseware supplies that I need. For the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel like everything is going to be okay. Maybe things will work out for me here.
If an experience with a total stranger can be this pleasant—fun, even—then maybe my life in Boston won’t be so bad after all.
3
* * *
SAINT
If you had told me two days ago that I’d be comparing prices for prenatal gummies in the vitamin aisle, I’d have told the bartender to cut you off. Yet here I am, and stranger yet? It feels completely normal.
Kinley stands next to me, our shopping cart filled to the brim with houseware items and a few essential groceries. She peeks around my shoulder with a frown. “Woo, look at those prices.”
“Not great,” I say before tossing both kinds of gummies in the cart. At twenty dollars a bottle, they’re more than even I was expecting, and I take a lot of pricey supplements. “They’re on me.”
“No way,” she says, swatting my arm playfully.
“Ouch.” I cry out in pretend pain.
A man looking at protein powder peers down the aisle at us.
“Oh my God, stop.” Kinley giggles, gently rubbing my arm where she smacked me. “I didn’t even hit you that hard.”
“It’s those hormones,” I say. “You’re hulking out.”
Kinley scrunches up her nose in an adorable way, lifting her fists. “Then you’d better not mess with me.” Her smile is absolutely contagious.
“Copy that.”
We’ve been wandering around the store for more than an hour without a real plan in mind. Normally, I’m the kind of guy who finds shopping boring. I have a get in, get what I need, get the hell out kind of mentality. But with Kinley, shopping isn’t boring at all. For starters, I keep finding ways to make her laugh. And if the number of times she’s snorted between giggles is any indicator, she’s having a pretty good time too.
Coach and Reeves think I’m some reckless partier who needs to clean up his image. I’m not saying they’re wrong. I’m just saying, what could be more wholesome than taking your single, pregnant neighbor out shopping for life essentials? Prenatal vitamins, no less. I’m half waiting for some boy scout’s badge of honor to appear on my sleeve.
Although, my motivations for helping her have nothing to do with wanting to clean up my image. I’m enjoying myself and not overthinking things beyond that.
When we wander past the shoes selection, I snag a pair of plush slippers off the shelf and offer them to Kinley. She looks up at me with a grateful smile, and damn, if that doesn’t fill me with a warm sensation.
If I’m being honest with myself, this errand run isn’t just some do-gooder chore I’m checking off a karmic to-do list. Helping a neighbor in need is the right thing to do, of course, but I’m actually having a lot of fun while I’m doing it.
As we pass the freezer aisles, an idea comes to me that I immediately share. “I vote we grab ice cream after this.”
“Ooh. Seconded.”
“Do we have a third?” I look down to where her stomach sticks out, as if I’m waiting for the baby’s input.
Kinley laughs again before rubbing her belly with one slender hand. “My personal magic eight ball says, ‘all signs point to yes.’”
I chuckle. “Then it’s settled.”
When we’re ready to pay and leave, I find myself checking out more than just our shopping haul, stealing a few glances at Kinley while we load the items onto the conveyor belt.
She’s pretty, no question. Gorgeous, really, with her long dark hair flecked with gold and her wide hazel eyes. Kinley hasn’t told me much about how she ended up pregnant and single, but from what I’ve gathered, the guy she was dating didn’t care to stick around when he found out the news.
Which makes me wonder . . . what kind of man in his right mind would leave a woman like Kinley? She’s smart as hell, with a wit that’s got me stepping up my usual smack talk because the girl can handle anything. Not to mention her killer sense of humor. She makes me laugh and keeps me on my toes.
While Kinley is distracted, searching through her bottomless pit of a purse for her wallet, I sneak the opportunity to whip out my card and hand it to the cashier. He nods apathetically and runs it without a word.
When Kinley finally looks up, wallet in hand, I’m already shoving the receipt in my pocket. Her eyes are wide and an awed smile sits crooked on her face. “You didn’t . . .”
“I know. It wasn’t my place. But I did,” I say with an innocent shrug. I don’t know her well enough to know if she’s actually mad, or just plotting out a way to pay me back.
She shakes her head at me in disbelief, but the sparkle in her eyes is enough to tell me that she’s not mad. “You really are a saint, aren’t you?”
I’ve heard the line a million times, but for some reason, when Kinley says it, it feels brand new. “So they tell me.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m parking the car next to my favorite ice cream shop. It’s a little corner store with a classic red awning and a line of families spilling out the front door. I open the car door, feeling the summer heat roll off the asphalt in waves. It’s late in the afternoon at this point, and the sun is unavoidable with minimal shade options. I’m not about to let Kinley stand in this heat for God knows how long, so I leave the car running.
“It’s hot as balls out here, so you hang tight. Air-conditioning is here on the dash, or you can just roll your window down for a breeze.”
“Thank you. I’m burning up.” She sighs, leaning her seat back.
I catch a glimpse of her glistening cleavage as she adjusts her top, then look away before I can get any ideas. “I’ll get you a bottle of water too, if you like.”
“That would be amazing.”
“What flavor of ice cream do you want?”
She taps one finger to her chin, contemplating. “Hmm. Surprise me.”
“Surprise you?” Not what I expected . . . but I like a challenge.
“Yeah.” She cocks her head to the side, daring me. Kinley’s only known me for two days, and the woman can already tell how much I love a good challenge.
“You got it. And for the little guy?” I nod, glancing at her stomach.
She chuckles, patting her belly gently. “I think we’ll share.”
The line moves quickly, and in under ten minutes, I’m back with a little cardboard cup of limoncello for me and an ice-cold bottle of water and a cup of chocolate peanut butter for her. She squirms happily in her seat at the sight of the thick swirls of peanut butter and white chocolate chips.
“Yesss, you read my mind. Thank you,” she sings before wrapping her lips around a heaping spoonful. Her eyes flutter closed, and she hums in happiness.
Mission accomplished.
We eat our ice cream at the curb in comfortable silence. When we’re finished, I hop out of the car and shove the empty cups in the closest trash can.
As I get back in the car, Kinley stifles a yawn. “Wow, I’m wiped. How are you doing?”
