There wasn’t much in the van, but the drive had been harder than I’d expected. My arms and legs were tired, and muscles I hadn’t even known existed were sore just from sitting.

But I had the rental for another day. I could take my time.

“Never said you couldn’t,” he shot back. “Got nothing to do with you being pregnant.”

“Then what?”

“Just ’cause you can do something doesn’t mean you gotta.” He lifted his chin toward the house. “Go sit, Mama.”

It was the second time he’d called me that, and the second time it’d sent a potent rush of far too many emotions twisting through me. The hormones did that enough, I couldn’t let him add to the havoc.

“Mac,” I blurted before amending, “my name is Mac.”

“Hollywood,” he bizarrely said.

“Uh, Vegas?” At his grin, I felt my own mouth pulling into a matching one, albeit smaller.

I couldn’t even remember the last time that’d happened without me forcing it.

“Are we not naming off random cities?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s what people call me.”

“Your name is Hollywood?”

“My name is Ward but the only people who call me that are telemarketers and cops.”

My eyes went so big, I thought they were gonna pop out of my head.

And then I started choking.

On my own spit.

This is just a fantastic way to die. Choking to death on my own spit in front of a hot guy named Ward who goes by Hollywood.

Perfect.

While I was happy to stand there, begrudging my luck in life and death, Hollywood wasn’t. His panicked gaze dropped to my stomach, like I was going to cough until my baby shot out of me, torpedo style. “Water.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when he gripped my arm. He dragged my coughing self into the tiny house that smelled like moth balls and dead flowers. He didn’t waver before leading me straight to the kitchen. Not that it was a giant house, but I had no clue what was where, so his ease of navigation was surprising.

It took him a couple of cabinets before he found the glasses that’d been left behind. Filling one from the sink, he thrust it at me.

I took the water and chugged it.

Gross.

I wasn’t the biggest fan of plain water anyway. As my dad used to say, fish peed in it. But tepid was the worst. I’d rather guzzle hot sauce.

Hollywood pulled out a wooden kitchen chair that was covered in the same lace doily as eighty percent of the surfaces in the house. “Sit.”

“I’ve been sitting all day. Standing feels good.”