Grey’s lips twitch. “Are you suggesting My Romp With the Rogue is going to have my mom waking up my dad in the middle of the night to have a romp of their own?”

“Yup,” I say, grinning.

“First of all, ew. Second—the sex scenes are that good, huh?”

“They’re that good.”

“As good as ours are?”

The question hangs in the air between us for one beat. Another.

I’m grinning. He’s grinning.

Feeling blooms inside my chest. Along with the heady longing pumping through my veins, it’s a lethal combination.

“Jury’s still out,” I say at last. “Think I’m going to need to experience a few more before I decide.”

“That can be arranged.”

He slides his hand up my thigh. Growls when his pinkie flirts with the inner seam of my jeans.

“You’re hot,” he says. “You feel hot right here.”

“No shit. You smell so good—Grey, you look so good—I’m surprised I haven’t melted into a puddle yet.”

He growls again.

“Fu-uck, Julia.” He pulls back his hand and spears it through his hair. Takes a noisy breath through his nose, lets it out as he cuts me a glance. “Dinner will be two hours, tops. We can make it ’til then, right? I want you, baby. So bad. Right now. But once I start touching you I know I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

I resist the urge to squirm.

“We can make it. I think.”

Greyson puts the car in drive. “Brunch. Talk to me about how brunch with the girls was before I break the zipper of my fucking fly.”

“Brunch.” I clear my throat, giving my most stretchy pair of jeans a tug. “Right. The girls want to throw me a baby shower, which means I should probably put together a registry. I’d like your help with that. Researching what we need. Picking it all out.”

“I’m in. Name the date and time.”

“Thinking we can start researching now. Pick everything out when we—fingers crossed—make it to the second trimester.”

He nods. “Sounds like a plan. Could be fun, too. I imagine it will really start to feel real then.”

Looking away, I fight a grin. Not quite sure why I fight it, exactly. Maybe because I don’t want to count my chickens before they’re hatched. But the idea of browsing the aisles of Hello Baby with Greyson by my side is kind of really, really appealing.

When I first got pregnant and decided to keep the baby, I assumed I’d be doing that stuff without a partner. Without Grey.

Fills me with happy tingles to know I will have a partner, and that Greyson and I will tackle that task together. Seems a lot less daunting—and, if I’m being honest, a lot more exciting—now that I’ll have his help.

His parents live in an elegant brick townhouse on a quiet, leafy street in Ansonborough, one of Charleston’s oldest and prettiest neighborhoods. Climbing the curved staircase to the second floor entrance, Grey’s palm on the small of my back, I notice how the light in the windows glows warmly against the approaching darkness.