Free Biker Billionaire #1: A Wild Ride by Jasinda Wilder Page A

woman with a body. I’m five eight and half, size never-you-mind but not a zero. I’ve got an ass that wants to absorb more of my food than I’d like, and a pair of tits that tend to draw attention even when I wear loose clothing. John always said this was what he loved about me, that I’m a real woman, not a model-thin girl with no assets. But then that comment drew into question all those claims.  
    I’d catch him looking, of course. Men look at the women around them; they’re visual creatures. I get that and allow him some leeway, as long as he’s not ogling and doing double takes. But that comment: “It’s actually working this time,” God, it just made me think. My brain whirred on overdrive all the way home, clicking through memories of the girls he tended to look at when we were out. They were thin, svelte , he’d call them. Little nubbin tits and no booty. Expensive clothes, platinum-blonde hair, blingy jewelry, all that.
    I’m not that girl. Curly blonde hair that doesn’t like to cooperate, and I don’t like a lot of bling. A tasteful necklace to offset my outfit, which isn’t expensive since I’m not exactly rolling in money working as an ER nurse, and neither is John, managing a bank.  
    So, yeah, I was questioning his attraction to me, and thus my own value as an object of attraction. Plus, it was just a dick remark.
    John pulled the car to a stop at a red light, and I felt the words bubbling up. I tried to stop them, but they came out anyway.
    “I think I might be pregnant.”
    John was silent, but I watched his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, and the corners of his mouth flatten out and turn down. His pale blue eyes narrowed, and he sighed, almost imperceptibly, but not quite.
    “You think?” His voice was carefully neutral.  
    Which only pissed me off. Okay, yeah, I didn’t want to be pregnant, but where did he get off being mad about it? This was how John got mad: quiet, carefully neutral, always in control, just the narrow eyes and tight knuckles   and subtle frown.
    “I’m almost a week late. Not for sure, but it’s possible. I haven’t taken a test or anything, but I’m never late.”
    He didn’t look at me, didn’t respond, just carefully accelerated through the green light, a practical man driving a practical car carefully.  
    “Well, should we take a test, then? Just make sure?” John pulled the gear shifter into second, still looking straight ahead.
    “I guess,” I said. “We can stop at CVS on the way home.”
    He just nodded. And that was when I lost it.
    “That’s it? No reaction?” I wasn’t yelling yet, but I was winding up to it. “You’re just gonna be all practical? Calm? Say something, damn it!”
    John looked at me, a raised eyebrow his only expression of surprise. “What do you want me to say? You are or you aren’t. We don’t know yet, so there’s no sense panicking.”
    “Would you panic, if I was?”
    He shrugged; yes, that was his reaction. A shrug.
    “You wouldn’t, would you?” Definitely yelling now; my voice was filling the tiny car. “You would just carry on, practical and calm and... goddamn it , so fucking boring! You wouldn’t be happy about it, you wouldn’t be mad. You’d just deal with it and move on. God, I’m so sick of your motherfucking practicality! Be extreme about something! React, for once!”
    “Leo, you know how I feel about you swearing so much,” he said, as calm and unflappable as ever.  
    I wanted him to be flappable, just once. My mouth opened to swear, or curse, and then something inside me just stopped. Time went gloopy, and I saw us five years from now. We’d have a little girl, pleasant-looking and nice, and John would come home from the bank, and we’d be pleasant, and we’d have our pleasant house, and our pleasant flat-screen TV, not too big, and our little dog, not too big, not too yappy, just right. Then, in ten years...the girl would be older, joined by one more, a boy, just as nice