Well, not easily physically since the old furniture was sturdy and built to last. But I could’ve delegated the task to Ward. Preferably a shirtless Ward.

“I don’t get what’s wrong with me,” I said, talking about the restlessness, not the lasciviousness. I knew what caused that—the combination of hormones and all that was Ward.

“You’re nesting.”

“What?”

“Lotta pregnant women get the urge to organize and get ready—”

“I know what nesting is.” My voice was full of exasperation at him mansplaining a pregnancy instinct to a pregnant woman.

Though truth be told, I hadn’t realized that was what it was. But he didn’t need to know that.

I turned to eye him. “I’m just surprised you know.”

Are there a multitude of mini badass Wards scattered across the nation? The continent? The world?

Oh, sure. Tonight hasn’t been straining enough. Let’s add a spike of irrational jealousy to the mix.

I hadn’t realized a scowl twisted my lips until he pressed his thumb against them. His mouth was curved in a cocky smile, as if he could read my thoughts.

As if he liked my immature and ridiculous reaction.

“My buddy Nox’s wife is pregnant. He said she’s been arranging and rearranging their place.”

There was solidarity in that. “Good. I’m not the only one losing my mind.”

“Nah, it seems to come with the territory.”

I playfully smacked his chest. “How far along is she?”

He lifted his shoulder.

“What’s she having?”

Another shoulder lift.

“Either you’re the worst friend or there is no Nox, and you’re just bad at lying. Like your girlfriend that I wouldn’t know because she goes to a different school and lives in Canada.”

“And is a syrup bottle?” he finished for me.

“Exactly.”

“Nox is my buddy, not his wife. He doesn’t bring his work home to Gus, and he doesn’t bring her to work.”

I nearly asked for him to pass along my info to Gus since it would be nice to have another expecting woman to talk to—or at least the option to talk to her. But she probably had enough on her plate.

And I wasn’t exactly a stellar friend.

“You work together?” I asked instead.

“Similar businesses that occasionally overlap.”

Opening my mouth, I closed it again before worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. Hesitantly, I asked the question I’d been dying to know. “What kind of business?”

“Private security.”

Well.

That was unexpected.

And anticlimactic.

His answer was vague—which was fair because my question was vague. I got the feeling there was more to it.

I just wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

I’d kissed him. He’d made me come.

Yet getting to know him was the thing that seemed too intimate.