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I make my way up the stairs, passing a shirtless Hunter on his way down. “Um, excuse me, sir. But where's your shirt? We had an agreement: shirts are mandatory.”

He looks down at his naked torso. “I’m going for a swim. You want to join me?”

“I’m good, but thanks.” I drag my eyes away from his abs, continuing my walk upstairs. The least he can do is pull his shorts up. And what are those going to look like on him when they get wet? They’ll stick to him, showing everything. And when I say everything, I mean his dick print. He is killing me.

“The offer still stands.”

Almost at the top of the stairs, I stop and turn around to look at him again. “What offer?”

“Swim lessons.”

“Maybe later.” How about never? I know my limits. Being that close to him in a swimming pool is a hard no. Kissing him is one thing, but if we’re that close while he’s practically naked, I’ll want to do him. And we shouldn’t.

Right?

“Give me an hour, and I’ll help put away the gifts,” Hunter says on his way down the stairs.

I wave my hand dismissively. “You know where to find me.”

* * *

I change into something more comfortable and grab a notebook and an ink pen. I cross the hall to the nursery, maneuvering through the mountains of gifts on my way to the rocking chair. As soon as I plant my butt into the rocking chair and kick my feet up on its ottoman, my eyelids droop, and my limbs feel like they weigh twice as much. The day’s activities catch up to me. Maybe I’ll take another nap and set my timer to wake up an hour from now. When Hunter finishes swimming, we can tackle it together. Speaking of Hunter …

I go to the window to peek at my sex-on-a-stick baby daddy. He’s doing the breaststroke, his entire body moving with skill and ease as his muscled limbs drive him through the water.

Damn. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. I’m so out of my league. Hunter’s experienced in a game that I have no business playing.

I turn away from the window and get to work. I’m halfway through sorting and organizing the gifts when Hunter appears at the door wearing a pair of joggers and a thin T-shirt. “You’ve been at this the entire time?”

I stick my ink pen in my braids and close my notebook. “Yeah, but I think I'm finished for tonight.”

He runs a hand through his damp hair, propping his elbow against the doorjamb. “I can take over,” he says, sounding less than enthusiastic. “Or we can just hire someone to do this.”

“We can do that?”

“We absolutely can.” He walks over to me and holds his hand out. “Come on.”

I just stare at his offered hand. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going to draw you a bath, and you’re going to relax for the rest of the day. You earned it.”

I take his hand, letting him lead me out of the nursery.

* * *

I love my bathroom, especially the fireplace and the skylights. And the heated floors? Next level. Hunter prepared a bath for me, adding essential oils after googling which ones were safe for pregnancy. He’s so cute like that.

This is just what I need, soaking neck-deep in a claw-foot tub while listening to a playlist. I lose track of time, but it’s been at least half an hour and I’m starting to fall asleep. I unplugged the bath stopper with my foot and push myself up. I try to, at least. It’s harder than I expect.

I reach for my phone and dial Hunter.

“Hey,” he answers. “What's up?”

“Can you help me out of the tub?”

“I'm on my way.”

“Thank you.” I cringe at how embarrassing this is.