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concentration as she fought sleep. “She’s having a . . . a b-baby, and it might be your baby, right, Ben?”
    “I don’t think it’s my baby.” I choked on the words. We were seriously discussing this now ? I almost considered leaving her to sleep but I was too curious to hear what else she might say.
    “Me and you are gonna make pretty babies,” she said.
    Holy shit . Was she serious? I didn’t want a baby.
    “The prettiest,” I agreed. “Now sleep, honey.” I patted her butt and she let out a soft groan.
    Fuck . I paced the living room floor. I couldn’t handle seeing Emmy like this . . . and then hearing her talk about wanting a baby . . . with me? Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but shit. I was nowhere near ready for a baby. I was still learning about how to be a boyfriend. And I wasn’t even very good at that.
    Too keyed up for sleep, I sat down on the armchair with my iPad.

5
    Emmy
    The room was much too bright, and my throat felt raw and scratchy. I blinked my eyes open and attempted to swallow.
    Ouch .
    It was raw and irritated.
    What the hell happened last night?
    Oh God. Memories flashed into focus. Fiona with her perfect little baby bump. Me binging on liquor. I struggled to remember what happened after that.
    I blinked at my surroundings. Ben lay next to me, asleep and resting peacefully, his hair rumpled from sleep and a crease across one cheek.
    I was glad I was here with him but how had I gotten into his bed?
    Memories of getting sick in his bathroom and him tucking me into bed danced in my subconscious.
    God, my head was pounding.
    I flung off the blankets and climbed from the bed on unsteady legs, trying to be as quiet as possible. I wanted to let him sleep. I shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water. I’d downed half of it when my stomach grumbled loudly. Rather than finishing the water, like my parched throat craved, I heeded the advice of my stomach and set the glass of water on the counter. We’d need to take it easy today.
    I heated up the shower to wash last night’s makeup and grime from my skin. The water felt divine, and after shampooing my hair with Ben’s all-purpose hair-and-body wash that smelled like light, crisp cologne, I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and shuffled back to the bedroom. I redressed in the pajamas he must have put me in—boxers and a T-shirt.
    When I climbed in beside him Ben rolled toward me and covered my body in a hug. “Mmm, morning, baby. . . .” he mumbled, his lips brushing my collarbone.
    “Morning.” I curled into him, tangling my legs with his.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Okay. A little queasy,” I admitted.
    “I can make you some toast if you like.”
    “That’s all right. I should probably get home.” Nothing like overstaying your welcome. He was used to having his own space, peace, and quiet, I was sure.
    His arms tightened around me. “You’re not going anywhere today.”
    I laughed softly. “Oh, really?”
    “You’re mine today. Know that.”
    I smiled at his conviction. I loved knowing I was his. Hopefully I didn’t do anything too awkward when I was drunk last night. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
    “Of course, baby. You were kind of cute.”
    My brows squeezed together, struggling to remember what I might have done or said. “Did I, um, say anything embarrassing last night?”
    His body stiffened over the top of mine. “Don’t worry about that. You were drunk.” He climbed from the bed, tossing a T-shirt over his head and leaving me to wonder what I’d possibly said that had him acting standoffish.
    Shit .
    “Ben?”
    He looked down at the plush carpeting. “You, ah, mentioned something about us having pretty babies.”
    “Oh.” Well, that was dumb. Sheesh, why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? Alcohol was like truth serum for me. Things I didn’t mean to say just spewed out, apparently. “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized weakly.
    He shook his head. “I’ll make you something to