More head-shaking.
Swear to God, if he doesn’t stop doing that, I’m going to rip his blond head right off his neck.
“Dean,” Allie warns.
“I’m sorry, but I think this is crazy,” he announces. “That girl is colder than ice. She’s judgmental. She’s—”
“The mother of my child,” I growl.
Dean growls back. “Fine, whatever. Go ahead and destroy your life. What do I care?”
My mouth falls open as he marches out of the kitchen. Seriously?
There’s a long silence, and then Allie gets up too. “I’ll go talk to him,” she says with a sigh. “Ignore him, Tuck. He’s just being a dickhead.”
I don’t answer. I’m too pissed to talk.
“For what it’s worth, you have my support. I think you’re going to make a great dad.” Her hand rests lightly on my shoulder before she heads to the door.
Once she’s gone, I stare at my remaining friends. “You meant what you said? I have your support on this?”
They both nod. Logan’s lips are twitching, though, as if he’s trying not to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask warily.
“Dude. Do you even realize all the gross things coming your way?”
I blink in confusion.
“Go look up childbirth videos on YouTube,” he advises. “We had to watch some for the women’s studies class I took freshman year. They’re goddamn horrifying.” Logan shudders. “Did you know that eighty percent of chicks shit on the table?”
Garrett snorts. “You’re totally making up that stat.”
“Okay, maybe not eighty percent. But it fucking happens, and it’s gross. Oh, and the placenta? A huge bloody sac that just drops on the floor after the kid pops out? After you see that, I guarantee you’ll never want to stick your dick in there again.”
“I suddenly feel really sorry for Grace,” Garrett remarks.
“I’m going to push for a scheduled C-section,” Logan says haughtily, but the twinkle in his eye tells me he’s only kidding. You can always count on Logan to lighten the mood.
“Look,” I say, “I know this is a huge shock. And trust me, I still haven’t wrapped my head around it either. But I lo—care about Sabrina.” I correct myself before the L-word leaves my mouth. No way am I saying it to my friends before I say it to her. “Dean is all wrong about her. She’s driven, yeah, but she’s not cold or judgmental. She’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. She’s…pretty fucking amazing.”
A lump obstructs my throat. Damn it. I wish Sabrina could see herself through my eyes. She thinks she’s dragging me down into the gutter with her, but she’s wrong. She’s giving me the one thing I’ve always wanted—a family. Sure, it’s happening earlier than I planned, but life doesn’t always follow a schedule.
“So you’re really doing this, huh?” Garrett sounds a bit awed.
“Yup.”
“Do I get to be the godfather?”
“Fuck that!” Logan objects. “He’s picking me. Obvs.”
“Bullshit. I’m clearly the better choice.”
“You’re clearly the bigger egomaniac, that’s what you are.”
I snicker. “Keep this up and I’m picking neither of you. But it’s good to know you’re both eager for the job. I think I’ll come up with some kind of competition, make you two battle it out.”
“I’ll win,” Garrett says immediately.
“Fuck that!”
They’re still arguing about it as I duck out of the kitchen. Dean might’ve been a jackass about my big news, but it’s a relief to know that at least I have G and Logan’s support.
I’m sure as hell going to need it.
*
I’m here. Where u at?
Fitzy’s text pops up as I park in the lot in front of Malone’s. I drove here straight from the house, because telling my roommates about the baby isn’t the only item on tonight’s agenda. I still need to find a place to live, and I’m really hoping Fitz can help me with that.
I quickly type a response.
Me: Just got here. Walking in now.
Him: Corner booth in the back.
Putting away my phone, I lock the truck and head into the bar. Fitzy is sipping a beer when I slide onto the booth seat across from him. He’s ordered one for me too, which I gratefully accept.
“Hey. Thanks for meeting up.”
He shrugs. “No prob. I was getting stir crazy anyway. My apartment is too fucking small.”
Huh. I didn’t expect an opening this early in the conversation, but damned if I’m going to pass it up. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Fitzy arches a brow. “My small apartment?”
“Sort of.” I trace my finger over the label of my beer. “You said your lease is ending in May, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You given any thought to what you’re doing about that? Are you signing another lease? Moving somewhere else?”
A grin tugs on the corners of his mouth. “What’s with the Twenty Questions?”
“Just trying to figure out where your head is at.” I take another sip. “I’m not going back to Texas after graduation.”
He peers at me over the neck of his bottle. “Since when?”
“Since I’m having a kid in August.”
Loud choking noises break out from his side of the booth. I probably shouldn’t have sprung that on him while he was mid-sip. I feel bad as I watch him cough wildly.
“Y-you—” He coughs again. Clears his throat. “You’re having a kid?”
“Yeah. Sabrina’s pregnant.”
“Oh.” One tattooed arm lifts so he can rub his temple. “Shit. Well. Congrats, I guess?”
An unwitting smile touches my lips. “Thanks.”
He studies me carefully. “You seem cool about this.”
“That’s because I am,” I say simply. “But yeah, I definitely need to find a place in Boston. And I remember you mentioned you wouldn’t be against living in the city, so…” I shrug. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask if you’re in the market for a roommate.”
“Ah.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I decided not to do that. I thought I’d be cool with the commute, but I talked it through with Hollis and he reminded me what a bitch it is to drive from Boston to Hastings in the winter, so I’m going to stick around here for my senior year.”
I swallow my disappointment. “Oh, okay. That makes sense.”
“Stupid question, but…why aren’t you moving in with Sabrina?”
Stupid question, no. Good question? Hell yes.
“We’re not there yet,” I reply, because the alternative is fucking embarrassing. Because she doesn’t want to be with me.
“Okay. Well. If you’re serious about living in Boston, I actually do know someone who needs a roommate.”
I brighten up. “Who?”
“You’re not going to like it,” he warns.
“Who?” I press.
“Hollis’ brother. His landlord hiked up his rent and he’s not sure he can keep the place on his own.”
Aw fuck. Brody Hollis, king of the douches? The man who puts the bro in Brody? I’d rather—no. There’s no I’d rather. I’m not exactly swimming in options at the moment. Brody might be…fratty, but his apartment was big and clean and had two bedrooms.
And it’s only a five-minute drive from Sabrina’s house.
As much as I hate the idea, I can’t deny that it’s a good, convenient option.
I take another long sip of my beer. Then I say, “Can I have his number?”
26
Sabrina
“I’m nervous.” I whisper the words in Tucker’s ear so that the other expectant moms in the waiting room won’t hear me. They all have this happy excited glow to their faces, and I don’t want to ruin it for them. Just because I’m a basket case doesn’t mean I should freak anyone else out.
But I’m freaked. This is the first appointm
ent that Tuck has come along for, and it’s the one that will reveal the sex of the baby—if we can reach an agreement about it. I want to know. He wants to be surprised. And this is the perfect illustration of the kind of people we are.
I’m the one who likes to be in control. If I know the sex of the baby, I can plan for it. Buy cute little girlie stuff or cute little boy stuff. Come up with names.
Tucker is a go-with-the-flow guy. He thinks we should just buy yellow clothes and be done with it.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” He squeezes my hand and leans in to kiss my cheek.
I give an involuntary shiver. His lips are soft and warm and I want to feel them against my mouth, not my cheek. I want to kiss his neck and suck on it until he moans. I want to slide my hand inside his pants, grip his cock, and stroke him off until he comes all over my hand.
Did I mention I’m horny as fuck?
I don’t know if it’s all the increased sensitivity or the three or so months of sexual dormancy, but holy hell do I need to get laid. Even the accidental brush of my own hand against my boobs gets me hot and bothered. I read that women are usually super aroused during the first trimester, but my sex drive didn’t kick into overdrive until the second one. Every time I see Tucker, I want to rip his clothes off.
And he knows it.
“You ready to be more than friends yet?” he murmurs.
I glare at him. “I’m telling you I’m nervous and you’re thinking about sex?”
“No, you’re thinking about sex.” He grins. “Your eyes are begging me to fuck you.”
I hastily glance around to make sure nobody heard that, but the other pregnant women are either talking to their partners or have their heads buried in baby magazines.
“Nope,” I lie. “My eyes are too busy worrying about what they’re going to see on the ultrasound. I read that we might be able to see the baby’s face, and the fingers and toes.” Panic flutters in my belly again. “What if it only has three fingers, Tuck? What if it doesn’t have a nose?” My breathing grows labored. “Oh my God, what if we have a mutant baby?”
Tucker hunches over and starts to shake. It takes me a second to realize he’s shuddering with silent, hysterical laughter. Wonderful. The father of my child is laughing at me.
“Oh hell. Goddamn, darlin’.” He’s wheezing as he lifts his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you watch The Hills Have Eyes last night.”
“There was nothing else on,” I protest. And I didn’t want you to leave.
I’m so pathetic. This past week, I’ve been finding reasons to have Tucker over. Like, “we need to research breathing classes,” and, “my back is killing me—do you feel like coming by to rub it?” and, “maybe I should have a water birth.” He urged me to reconsider that last one, but I wasn’t serious about it to begin with. The idea of my pregnant ass submerged in a tub full of water and childbirth fluids makes me want to throw up.
But because he’s Tucker, he’s driven to Boston every time I’ve called. In the back of my mind, I’m scared I’m taking advantage of him, but he keeps assuring me that this is what he signed up for.
“We’re not going to have a mutant baby.” His chuckles have subsided, and he’s holding my hand again. “He or she is going to be perfect. I promise.”
I nod weakly.
“Sabrina James?” a voice calls from the doorway.
“That’s me.” I shoot to my feet so fast that I wobble for a moment. Tucker steadies me by placing one muscular arm around my shoulders.
“That’s us,” he corrects.
We follow the pink-scrubs-wearing nurse down a wide, well-lit hallway. She guides us into an exam room and instructs me to sit up on the table. The ultrasound machine is already set up beside it, and my heart does an excited little flip.
“I really want to know,” I blurt out once the nurse leaves the room.
Tucker pouts. “But think about how exciting it will be when the doctor shouts out ‘It’s a boy!’ or ‘It’s a girl!’”
This is his go-to argument. But frankly, I don’t need any more excitement in my life right now. My home situation is already way too charged, what with Nana lecturing me daily about getting knocked up, chastising me for keeping the baby, and constantly reminding me that she’s not dishing out free childcare just because I’m her granddaughter. And of course, then there’s Ray, with his snide comments about my promiscuity, my fat stomach, and my stupidity for not knowing how to use a condom.
Ray, I don’t give a shit about. Nana…well, I’m sure she’ll come around once she holds her great-granddaughter or grandson in her arms. She’s always been a sucker for babies.
“I want to know now,” I whine, not caring that I sound like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.
“How about this? We’ll Rock, Paper, Scissors for it.”
Yeah, we’re going to make great parents, all right.
“Fine.” I crack my knuckles, which makes him snicker. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
We count in unison. On three, we reveal our hands. He did paper. I did rock.
“I win,” he says smugly.
“Sorry, baby, but you lose.”
“Paper covers rock!”
I smirk. “Rock weighs down the paper so it can’t fly away. It traps it.”
A loud sigh fills the room. “I’m not going to win on this, am I?”
“Nope.” But he looks so cute right now that I offer a compromise. “How about this? You can leave the room while the doctor tells me, and I swear I won’t give it away. I’ll hide all my baby purchases in my closet so you can’t see what I’m buying.”
“Deal.”
We’re interrupted by the arrival of the technician, who greets me warmly and then orders me to pull up my loose-fitting shirt so she can slather cold goo all over my belly.
“Is your bladder full?” she asks.
“My bladder is always full,” I answer dryly.
That gets me a laugh. “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. Soon you’ll be able to pee to your heart’s content.”
“Awesome. Living the dream.”
I’ve already had an ultrasound, so I’m not concerned when the tech shuts up once we get going. Every now and then she points something out, like how the baby’s spine resembles a teeny string of pearls, or how—thank the Lord—we’ve got ten fingers and ten toes.
Tucker stands there in silent wonder, watching the grainy images on the screen. At one point he bends down and kisses my forehead, and ribbons of warmth unfurl inside my body. I’m glad he’s here. I really am.
“Okay. All done.” After wiping the goo off my belly, the tech presses a button and the machine makes a whirring sound as it spits out a picture of the ultrasound. She doesn’t hand it over yet, instead saying, “The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you. If you need to empty your bladder, the bathroom is two doors down, on your left.”
Tucker chuckles as I instantly shoot off the table. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, ducking out of the room.
I do my business, wash my hands, and when I step back into the exam room, Doctor Laura is already there, chatting with Tuck. When I first met her, I wasn’t sure what to think. Calling a doctor by their first name is weird to me. I guess maybe I thought it was a sign of unprofessionalism or something, but the woman seems to know her stuff. She’s in her mid-thirties and talks in a no-nonsense way that I appreciate.
“So Daddy here says you’ve been arguing about whether to find out the sex of the baby,” she teases when I walk in.
“Daddy here is being stubborn,” I grumble.
Tucker’s jaw drops. “Nuh-uh. Mommy is the stubborn one who doesn’t like surprises.”
I sweep a hand over the protruding belly that has popped out in a big way in the last month. “This wasn’t surprise enough for you?” I ask primly.
Doctor Laura snorts before glancing down at the file folder in her hand. “Well, we got a very clear image from the ultrasound. Since Sabr
ina is my patient and you’re not, John, I’m going to tell her the sex if that’s what she wants.”
“Traitor,” he says with a mock glare.
“I want to know,” I tell the doctor before cocking my head at Tucker. “You may leave the room now, Daddy.”
“Naah. I’ve changed my mind. I want to know.”
I eye him anxiously. “Are you sure?”
He responds with an earnest nod.
“All right, then. Hit us,” I tell the doc.
Her eyes twinkle. “Congratulations. You’re having a baby girl.”
I gasp, all the oxygen sucking into my lungs and then getting trapped there. My pulse speeds up, and it’s like my surroundings, my entire world, come into sharper focus. Colors seem brighter and the air feels lighter and this whole experience—this life growing inside of me—suddenly feels real.
“We’re having a girl,” I breathe, turning to Tucker.
His gaze is almost reverent. “We’re having a girl,” he whispers.
Doctor Laura lets us marvel in silence for a few seconds before clearing her throat. “Anyway, everything looks great. The baby is healthy, the heartbeat is strong and steady. Keep taking your prenatal vitamins, try not to push yourself too hard, and I’ll see you again in four weeks.”
At the door, she pauses and winks at Tucker over her shoulder. “As for the other matter you were asking about, all systems are a go.”
After she’s gone, I frown at him. “What other matter?”
He shrugs, the epitome of mystery. “Just a dad question.” He reaches for my hand. “Come on, let’s get going. I want to show you something before I drop you off at home.”
My forehead creases. “Show me what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Didn’t we just establish I don’t like surprises?”
He chuckles. “Trust me, you’ll like this one.”
27
Sabrina
“What are we doing here?” I ask fifteen minutes later, examining the street Tucker had just turned onto. This neighborhood is sketchy. I mean, it’s only a five-minute drive from my place, so of course it’s sketchy.
“Patience,” he chides, parking at the curb in front of a ten-story brick building.