Enemies with Benefits

Chapter Thirty-Four

- Caleb -

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled, wanting to throw the pot of boiling water that had just splashed out and burned the living fuck out of my hand.

It was simple—or it should've been. A quick, easy alfredo. But it wasn't quick. And it wasn't easy. Not today. Not while I was nervous as all hell, knowing Rachel would be at my door in mere minutes.

I groaned down at my hand and shook it off, turning the heat down on the burner. The last time I tried to show off the cooking skills I learned over the last near-decade also hadn't gone well. Mostly because I'd ended up between Rachel's legs and entirely forgotten the food.

My dick jumped to life at the memory.

"For fuck's sake," I groaned, wiping my good hand down my face. "Focus, Caleb. It's just Rachel. It's just—yeah, this isn't working."

I was shaking, despite my piss-poor attempt to calm myself. I threw the noodles into the water and stirred the sauce, trying and failing to ignore the trembling that was wracking my body.

When I heard a knock, I froze. God, it was like a first date all over again. She hadn't known it, but I'd about lost my head on that walk to the diner all those years ago.

When she knocked again and I realized I was still an idiot of a statue in my kitchen, I realized just how little had changed.

"Caleb?" Rachel's voice jerked me back.

"Shit," I whispered to myself and cleared my throat. "Door's open!"

"Hey, I—Holy fuck, it smells good in here."

I chuckled, though her reaction helped minutely in the nerves department. I felt her without turning, knowing she'd planted her perfect ass on the arm of the couch, watching me from afar. Like she was worried about getting too close. I frowned at the thought and tried to push it away.

"How'd your appointment go?" I offered, unsure what it had even been for.

The possibility of one specific type had been running rampant in my mind all day. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew it was the largest part of why I was so finicky now.

When Rachel came back with a quick, nonchalant, "Good," I wanted to beat my head against the wall.

What the hell was I supposed to say back?

'Good'? 'Great'?

'Are you pregnant?'

I dropped the spatula in the sauce at the image of Rachel, naked and pregnant in bed. In the shower. On the couch. Smiling. Laughing. Living and loving.

Under me, above me, and every and any which way she'd let me have her.

Jesus Christ, the woman was my walking fantasy. And apparently had given me a breeding kink.

"Caleb!"

"Boy!" I panicked at how close Rachel had gotten without my knowing, yelling the word and tossing the Parmesan over my shoulder. Thankfully, the wedge had still been enclosed in its plastic.

"Uh," Rachel's brow lifted and head cocked to the side before she bent down to grab the cheese. She set it safely on the counter. "What?"

I suddenly stopped caring about dinner. About impressing her with food or being nervous for the night.

Instead, I searched her eyes for anything and everything. A sign that she wasn't happy to be here with me, a message that said she wanted out.

I found none.