"And what might that be ... this proposition of yours? By the sound of that word alone I know I'm not going to like it." Xiomara filled a tall glass with ice cold lemonade and slid it across the bar to Omar on a paper coaster.
"Just hear me out." He took a small sip of the lemonade, but his stare didn't waver.
"Go on."
Frown lines burrowed between his eyebrows and his lips curled into a thin line. "I want you to move in with me."
Holy shit.
"What?" Just as she reared back, her hands sent the pitcher of lemonade spinning across the counter until it landed on the tiles next to Omar with a loud crash. He didn't even flinch. Instead he walked around the counter and took her trembling hands in the palms of his owns.
"For the baby," he said.
For a moment, she was speechless. Her heart pounded too fast in her chest and it felt as if she had just entered a ninety degree sauna. She lowered her gaze to her trembling hands. Omar's touch was soft like cotton as he caressed her knuckles.
She swallowed and looked back up into this face. "Are you crazy? We barely know each other."
"That's my point. Don't you want to get to know me? I want to get to know the woman who decided to keep my child when she could have gotten rid of it."
"Wow," she breathed. "How classy of you."
"Why did you keep him, huh? Answer me."
"No."
"No?" He looked at her in confusion. "No what?"
"You heard me. No. No to all your damn questions." Turning away from him, she opened a drawer and took out three neatly folded kitchen cloths. As she went passed him, Omar grabbed her by the arm and took the towels away from her. He dropped them on the counter like they were spoiled goods.
"Stop acting like a child," he said. "We have a baby due in less than four months and I know this might be scary for you, but it is for me too. Not answering my questions and trying to evade me at every turn isn't going to change the fact that we - you and I - are having a baby. We need to talk and make plans. Whatever those are."
Xiomara couldn't move even if she wanted to. His words had stunned and glued her to the kitchen tiles. "So now you want a baby? All of a sudden you want to be a daddy? Last night at the gazebo I saw the shock on your face, the panic. And that couldn't have possibly changed overnight. Just so you know, I'm prepared to raise this child on my own. So you can stop pretending like you want this baby when you don't."
"I never said I didn't want children. I just didn't want them this way." When she glared at him, he added, "With a stranger."
"I'm only a stranger because you want me to be. You're the one who walked away from me after you fucked my brains out."
Oh boy, what was she doing? She had no filter once she started to talk.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "I came by the house the day after, and what did you tell me? You told me to stay away from you. And that you only wanted to see me if it was work related."
Xiomara chose not to respond. She was properly and utterly overwhelmed. The pregnancy. Omar. Her mother. Esmeralda. For once, she just wanted to put her feet up and relax and not have to think about any of it.
"Dammit, Xiomara. Talk to me. That's what you wanted right? Because I'm still confused as to how I came from fucking your brains out as you so eloquently put it to being kicked out on the curb like a dog. Twice."
Again, she remained quiet, because in a way he was making sense. And if she did open her mouth, she might explode and say something that she didn't want to say. Like the fact that she regretted asking him to stay away from her, and how she spent the last few months pining for something that was never meant for her in the first place.
Omar leaned in toward her, and dipped his head so that he spoke directly into her ear. "Did I do that, Xiomara? Fuck your brains out?"
She snapped her fingers and rolled her eyes at him. "Focus, Omar, this isn't about whether you did or not."
And still, her rebellious body reacted to his words, intimate places clenching as her nipples puckered into hard pebbles. She widened her stance in hopes of cooling down the fire blazing between her thighs. This constant state of arousal was not normal. To make matters worse, she couldn't discern if Omar or the pregnancy was the main culprit to blame. Or maybe, it was combination of both.
"I'm focused, believe me." Omar grinned at her, disrupting any effort she'd made toward calming herself down.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?" She shook her head. "I can't believe out of all the men in the world, I'll end up stuck with you for the next eighteen years. I mean, you're not even my type."
"What's your type?"
Jesse Williams, but she was not about to tell him that. "Well, I thought I had a type ..."
"Until you met me," he finished for her.
She peeked up at him and smiled. The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Do you ever regret it," he asked.
"Regret what?"
"Having sex with me. It was so good and felt so right to me, but I'll understand if it wasn't that way for you."
Xiomara covered her face with her hands and turned away from him. It was unsettling how she could recall the exact feel of his breath fanning her neck as he gripped her thigh and buried himself in her. Did she regret it? Maybe. Did she wish that the timing and circumstances under which it happened had been different? Definitely.
"I don't exactly regret it," she said. "Do you, now that I'm pregnant?"
Omar stepped even closer, lifted her chin, and forced her to look into his coffee colored eyes. "We could have been more careful, I must admit. But that's in the past. Let's just focus on getting the baby here safe and sound." He kissed her forehead and brought her in near his body, his large hand closing around the nape of her neck.
She closed her eyes and let him hold her. The last person to ever hold her like that had been her dad. She could still remember it so clearly. Him lying down on his bed, paralyzed from the waist down. She had joined him under the covers where he had pulled her close and whispered nice words to her.
"You're going to be okay, sweetheart," he'd said. "Your mom is taking you away to a better place. I can't take care of you anymore."
After she had bawled her eyes out and fallen asleep next to him, her mother had plucked her out of bed and shoved her on a plane. Never to look back.
Truly, she had never been in a position before where she felt the need to be held ... until now. It was laughable how the one man she hadn't expected such a gesture from, was the very same one providing her with comfort she didn't even know she craved.
"I can't move in with you," she said against Omar's muscled arm.
He was so strong. So powerful. And when he held her, it was like being enveloped by a great big comforter, but then one that was also bulletproof and could withstand the angry slashes of a machete. It was impossible not to feel safe in his arms.
In her minds eye, she could picture him play-wrestling with their son, teaching him how to protect himself from bullies. It was silly to think that far ahead when she didn't really see a future for them. He was too headstrong and serious, while she had a fiery spirit. They would clash .... like all the time.
Omar leaned away from her. "Why not? Why can't you move in with me?"
"First of all, we don't know each other. So that would be weird. Secondly, I have other people to consider beside myself. People who depend on me."
"Like your sick sister?" he asked.
She lifted her head in surprise. "Exactly. I take care of her on my days off." And she was not about to abandon her now. She refused to turn into her mother, who had forsaken her dad when he had needed her the most.
"Just give it some thought." Omar slowly let go of her waist and dropped another soft kiss on forehead.
Bliss. His lips on her forehead. The gesture was both affectionate and intimate, and she was afraid that every forehead kiss he gave her would slowly melt her and turn her into a puddle of want and need at his feet. And she was not used to wanting or needing anybody.
"So you want me to move in with you because of Donut?"
It was a moment before he answered. "Yes, but would it help if I said that you also intrigue me."
"Only if you mean it," she said. His eyes clouded over and zeroed in on her mouth. In response, her heart jack hammered in her chest.
"I think you're really interesting, Xiomara. I see how hard you work around here. You're one of the hardest working women I know after my mom. And it's obvious how much you care about your family. I see it in your eyes when you talk about your sister. To me that means that you will love our baby just as fiercely, if not more."
She bit down on her lip and chewed on the delicate tissue until it was raw and bruised. That wasn't the answer she'd expected.
But coming from Omar it meant more to her than she actually wanted it to. However, she didn't want to take the chance that he was only telling her this stuff because he wanted her to move in with him. "So whatever happened to conniving gold digger me? Did you forget all about her?"
He laughed, the sound unexpected. "You can be all those things and still intrigue me. Not to mention, I was also told that you're a thief. Add that to your ever growing list of virtues."
"Not funny." A weird feeling settled in her stomach. She lowered her hand to her belly, rubbing gently as she tried to appease the little one. Donut really didn't think his father's jokes were funny. They could both agree on that.
"Are you okay?" Omar asked with a frown on his face.
"I'm fine." She pushed passed him and went for the towels on the counter. It was about time somebody cleaned up the lemonade mess on the floor.
"I can do that," he said.
"It's my job."
"Look, I don't want you to cut yourself. So sit your pretty little self down and let me handle this." Again he grabbed the towels from her grasp. He strode around the counter and went to work. She followed him.
Well, damn. Omar was incredibly hot. Especially now with the muscles of his arms bunching as he wiped up the spilled lemonade from off the floor.
The glass jar had split in two. One piece lay under the bar stool and the other was at the door leading out to the backyard and tennis court. The maid in her couldn't resist, so she bent over to pick up the broken piece in front of the door.
Omar snapped. "I said to leave it! What part of I'll handle it don't you understand?"
She stopped halfway to the floor. "Don't you snap at me. I'm not a dog ... or a porcelain doll. I will not break. I do this for a living. Everyday since I was five years old."
"Well, you won't be for much longer," he muttered.
"Excuse me?" What in the world did that even mean? "I told you once already. Don't threaten me."
"That wasn't a threat." He got up and went to the broom closet next to the fridge where they kept all the cleaning equipment and came back with a swifter and a dustpan in hand. As he swept up the glass splinters, he sent her a side glance that caused her toes to curl. The man was irresistible, alright.
After cleaning up the mess under the bar stool, he mopped his way to her. "Forgive me if I'm a little over protective," he said.
"A little?" She smirked.
"It's the daddy to be in me, you know. Gotta protect what's mine."
Whoa. Down boy. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't need protecting. I can handle my own."
"I wasn't talking about you. Unless you want to be mine that is."
She laughed. That was ludicrous. Wanting to be in his bed and wanting to be his were two different things. "Over my dead body."
Omar flicked the last pieces of glass at her feet onto the dustpan. "No, no. You make sure you deliver my baby safe and sound first into my hands before you die."
"That was mean."
"It was a joke."
"You have a horrid sense of humor."
"Hey look, we're learning things about each other." He emptied the contents of the dustpan into the garbage bin. "If we keep this up, in no time we'll leave stranger land behind for good."
"I don't think I've learned that much about you. You're so mysterious sometimes." She narrowed her eyes at him.
'That's because you haven't been paying attention." His gaze lingered on her a moment too long. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything, including your deep dark secrets."
"That's exactly why you should move in with me. There's no better way to get to know a person." He winked at her, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement.
"Good one, but the answer is still no."
"Hey, a man can only hope."
******
Your votes and comments are highly appreciated. Thank you!
And while you wait on the next update ... why not check out the short story I wrote for WPAfterDark's GET LUCKY contest. The title is Making A Hurricane, and you can find it on my profile. Give me your honest opinion. It's the first writing contest I've ever entered.
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