by J. Sterling
Asshole.
I got my head on straight and smiled at the group of women waiting for me to take their orders as our older brother, Frank, walked in through the front door instead of the back.
“Finally,” I yelled to him, even though he was ten minutes early.
Frank gave me a confused look, shaking his head as he walked straight into the office and shut the door.
I decided that both of my brothers were dicks today.
Six cocktails, four beers, and three shots later, Nick finally made his way back behind the bar. “What’s his problem?” He nodded toward the closed office door.
I shrugged. “No idea.”
We both stared at the door, willing it to open on its own. Because the truth was, neither of us wanted to have to go in there and figure out what was going on with Frank.
“I’m not going in,” I said before Nick could suggest it. “I have a pregnant girlfriend at home. I can’t deal with any more moodiness.”
“Really? Pulling the pregnant-girlfriend card?”
I nodded vigorously. “Hell yes, I am. You just wait until Jess is pregnant.”
“I thought Sofia was an angel,” Nick said, his teasing tone sounding like Grant.
I missed that old man. He’d been spending more time with Matson’s grandmother since he met her than with us lately. I made a mental note to give him a ration of crap the next time I saw him.
“Yeah, she was. But now she has a demon inside her. She’s mean, man,” I said, exaggerating a bit.
“Fine. I’ll go in.” Nick turned on his heel but stayed put for what seemed like an eternity, but I was pretty sure it was only a few breaths. He’d only taken two tentative steps toward the office when the door flung open and Frank sauntered out.
He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at us. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” Nick said too quickly, brushing past him and pulling the towel from his back pocket.
“What’s going on?” Frank asked me.
I shrugged. “We were wondering the same thing about you.”
He jerked his head back in surprise, then huffed out, “Nothing.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, injecting a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Sure seems like nothing.”
Frank deflated with a hugh sigh. “It’s the wedding. Between Claudia, her mom, and our mom, I’m going to go insane with all the questions they ask me on a daily basis. I don’t care about the color of the napkins at the reception. And why are there three thousand different shades of white? Who did that? White is white. Just pick one.” He sounded completely exasperated and out of his element.
“Wait until she’s pregnant,” I said seriously.
Frank and I looked at each other, then burst out laughing. We were half crazy, exhausted, or both. There had to be some explanation for our ridiculous laugh attack, especially if ultra-serious Frank was involved.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to stop laughing and pull myself together.
Frank wiped at his eyes, his expression finally sobering. “I just want to marry my girl without all the fanfare,” he said, and I knew exactly what he meant.
“I feel you. I’d be perfectly happy if we only have a dozen people there when Sofia and I tie the knot.”
I’d hadn’t really thought about a potential guest list for our wedding yet, but saying that out loud felt right. Small and intimate definitely appealed to me. But I knew I’d give Sofia whatever she wanted, even if it was the exact opposite of what I did.
“If anyone will okay a private gathering, it’s your girl,” Frank said confidently. “Hell, she’ll probably let you two get married in the backyard, and I’m going to be so damn jealous about it.”
“It’s not like you and Claudia are having some East Coast wedding with four hundred guests,” I said matter-of-factly, knowing their head count of about sixty was considered small by wedding standards.
“It’s not the number of people. It’s the details. There are so many details.” Frank ran his hands through his hair and blew out a breath. “We couldn’t even send out the invitations without making twenty decisions first. They’re just invitations. Send them an email, for all I care.”
Trying to lighten the mood, I said, “When I get mine, it’s going on my fridge underneath a superhero magnet, just so you know.”
“It better,” Frank said seriously. “Did you know that in order to even pick that invitation, we had to choose the size, the color, and the shape of the paper it was printed on? Did you know that?”
I gave him an embarrassed look. “I actually did know that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he said with a groan. “You’re a damn princess.”
It had been ages since he’d called me any kind of girlie name. I sort of missed it.
Frank threw his arms out in frustration. “Did you know that you have to pick an ink color, because heaven forbid you simply pick black? And don’t forget to choose a font type. Do you want it to be raised on the invitation, or printed flat? Should the time of the ceremony be spelled out in letters, or be in number format? And, oh yeah, would you like to order the extra square tissue-paper thingy that goes inside the envelope for people to throw away the second they open it? Don’t throw away that fucking tissue square, Ryan, or else.”
The poor guy looked and sounded exhausted. Just when I thought he was finished, Frank started raving again.
“All of that for one thing. One thing. And we’re late sending them out. We’re supposed to give people six weeks’ notice, but we only gave them four. They all know the date anyway. We had to send out the pre-invitation invitations. What are those things called again?”
I wondered if this was meant as a rhetorical question, and if he’d murder me if I answered him. “Save-the-date cards?”
“Yes! Save-the-damn-date cards. They already know the date. The invitation is just a formality.” He gripped my shoulder. Hard. “Do yourself a favor and elope. I’m telling you. Elope and save yourself.”
“Maybe save that speech for Nick.” I glanced toward our youngest brother, who was chatting with customers while wiping down the next table.
There was no way that Sofia and I would ever consider getting married without our families and Matson present. Especially after everything we’d gone through with Derek. Running away and eloping would be like a slap in the face to everyone who had stood by us, worried with us, and fought for us. We could never do that to them.
“You’re right,” Frank said, an odd note in his tone. “If anyone needs to be saved, it’s gonna be him.”
“What do you mean? Jess is great.” My head swung around and I stared at him. I’d never heard Frank say an unkind word about Jess, so I wasn’t sure where this was coming from.
Frank looked at me like I was crazy. “I only meant that Jess works in the entertainment industry. Nick will be lucky if he even knows half the people at his wedding. It could be more of a circus than a wedding.”
The reality of his words crashed down on me.
“Better him than us,” I said, feeling a little sorry for my baby brother. Even imagining that scenario felt like a nightmare to me. “But I don’t see Jess doing that. For as well-known as we all are, we’ve been able to keep our personal lives fairly private.”
I wasn’t telling Frank anything that he didn’t already know. By far, the biggest media blitz had come after everything with Derek had been revealed—from his betrayal to his mental breakdown and his stalking Sofia. And then there was the car accident and his attempt to shoot me.
But our story was quickly eclipsed by other celebrity news, and things settled down faster than any of us had anticipated. I was grateful for that. The limelight was uncomfortable, especially since Matson was involved. He was too young to have to deal with notoriety.
“I’m just saying . . .” Frank let out a huff. “Jess might feel pressured to invite certain people, is all.”
I clapped him on the back. “It’ll be fine. He has us to keep
him centered.”
“You and I both know that boy doesn’t listen for shit.” Frank rolled his eyes.
“He’ll be fine. And so will you. Your wedding is right around the corner, and then everything can go back to normal.”
I hoped I was right. But what the hell did I know about weddings and turning girlfriends into wives?
Nothing.
Not a damn thing.
And we both knew it.
Being Pregnant Sucks
Sofia
My ankles were swollen and my back hurt. Oh my God, being pregnant with Matson when I was a teenager was way easier than being pregnant now.
Everything ached, and I was miserable. Aside from the grape popsicles and Italian food I craved, I could stomach little else. It was a disgusting combination, I knew that, but the love child inside my belly was destroying me. The fact that it was Ryan Fisher’s baby was its only saving grace. I loved that man with every fiber of my being, and I couldn’t wait to give him a child. And not just because I needed him or her out of me.
After everything we’d gone through, this baby was such a blessing. New life had sprung out of chaos and death.
We’d never planned to get pregnant so soon, but life doesn’t always follow your rules. This baby was exactly what we never knew we needed. And he or she was so very wanted. The pregnancy brought our families together, strengthening an already solid bond. It had brought everyone closer, even if it made me physically uncomfortable.
And Ryan had been completely amazing throughout the pregnancy so far. He rubbed my feet each night. He talked to my growing belly, and he took care of Matson without me having to ask. The man was a superhero, just like Matson always said he was. Maybe Ryan did deserve a cape?
I stirred the pasta on the stove, making spaghetti yet again, and waited for the complaints as the front door flew open.
“It smells delicious, angel,” Ryan said as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. When he saw me, his eyes lit up just as mine filled with tears.
I knew he was lying. There was no way this man could possibly stomach another bowl of noodles and marinara sauce.
He rushed to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “What’s the matter? What happened? Are you okay? Do you feel all right?”
I sniffed and wiped at the tears now freely falling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry that I’m making spaghetti again.”
He laughed. “Is that why you’re so upset?” He kissed my cheek and brushed my tears away with his thumb.
“Why are you crying, Mama?” Matson appeared at my side, his forehead crinkled with concern as he stared up at my tearstained face.
“Hey, buddy.” Ryan turned around and gave him a high five. “How was school?”
“Fine. Why is Mama crying?” he whispered to Ryan, but I could still hear him.
“She thinks we’ll be mad at her,” Ryan whispered back.
“How come?”
“Because she’s making us spaghetti for dinner.” Ryan made a yukky face, and Matson mimicked it.
“Not again.”
Matson sounded so crestfallen that it made my tears fall even harder. I hated disappointing my son in any way, food included, apparently.
Why couldn’t I remember being this emotional the last time I had a baby? Everything about this pregnancy seemed so different. I felt completely out of control. My emotions were out of whack, my body was massive, and I forgot everything. All. The. Time.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll take you out for burgers after.” Ryan looked at me and winked, but the mere mention of burgers made my stomach flip.
“Promise?” Matson asked, and Ryan nodded.
“If you two are done talking about me like I’m not here, we can eat. Matson, will you grab some bowls, please, and set the table?”
“Yes, Mama.” He reached up to place his hand on my belly and spoke to it. “I hope you come out soon so we can eat other stuff again.”
I stared down at my son’s head and ran my fingers through his hair as I came to a decision.
“Actually, you two go. Please.” I took the bowls from Matson’s hands and pointed toward the front door. “Go out and eat whatever you want. Just don’t bring it home, because I can’t even smell it at this point without getting nauseated.”
Ryan looked between Matson and me. “Is this a trick?” he asked, and I laughed.
“No. I mean it. Go!” I shooed them away, but Ryan refused to move.
“I don’t want to leave you alone. You’re going to eat dinner by yourself?”
He looked so uncomfortable at the idea of leaving me all alone. Ryan Fisher was still, hands down, the sweetest man I’d ever met in my life.
“I’m a big girl, Ryan. Please take Matson for something that doesn’t resemble noodles and sauce so I don’t ruin Italian food for him forever.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
I tossed a set of keys toward Ryan, and he caught them easily.
“I’m sure.” I scanned his face, his clouded expression clearly communicating that he was torn. “Look, it would really help me out if you took him so I don’t have to do it later.”
That was all it took.
The crease between Ryan’s eyes disappeared and his frown turned into a slight grin. “We’ll be back, angel.”
“’Bye, Mama,” Matson shouted as they turned and headed toward the door.
My heart swelled as I watched them leave. I’d never get tired of seeing them interact. I never realized just how badly my son needed a father until Ryan came into our lives.
With the sound of Ryan’s car backing out of the driveway, I sat down to eat what had to be my 589th bowl of pasta since Ryan knocked me up. After dinner, I cleaned up the kitchen and checked over Matson’s homework while I waited for the boys to come home.
When they walked through the door with huge smiles on their faces, relief coursed through my entire body. I wanted them to be happy, and I knew I was making them miserable. After some family television time, Ryan read to Matson in bed while I took a shower and washed my much-neglected hair.
My feet were almost completely hidden from me now. I could only see the hint of toes sticking out whenever I looked down at my naked body. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually seen my vagina. I lost her first, and had no idea what she was up to down there or how she looked. Everything was hidden underneath my giant baby-making belly.
No one told you those kinds of things, like how weird it would be to suddenly lose sight of body parts you’d always been able to see. But they never hesitated to tell you how turned on you’d be. How pregnancy hormones weren’t only a very real thing, but that they’d take over your mind like a sex-crazed teenage boy at times. Just looking at Ryan was enough to turn me on to the point that I was convinced he could see the want dripping down my legs.
With my hair towel-dried, I wrapped a robe around my body and attempted to fasten the tie around my waist, but failed. I’d outgrown bath towels weeks ago, and now I’d outgrown my favorite robe. I’d known it was coming eventually, but still couldn’t stop the annoying sting that coursed through me as I added it to the list of things that no longer fit.
Groaning, I flung open the bathroom door and caught a glimpse of Ryan lying on the bed, shirtless. Everything that mattered before that moment faded away in a rush of desire.
I wanted that man. My man.
When I cleared my throat, Ryan looked up, his blue eyes locking on mine. His gaze followed the open fabric down my breasts and to my stomach, and lingered on my legs. He looked at me like he wanted to eat me up, even though his actions said otherwise. Ryan had become gentle in the bedroom, too gentle. I was starting to think I was going to have to go all Viking warrior princess to get him to have sex with me the way he used to.
As I walked toward him, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Perfect, I thought as I moved onto the mattress and then on top of him.
“Sofia.” His voice sounded strained as I straddled
him, then slowly moved my hips, grinding against him.
I smiled when I felt that he was already hard.
“Don’t you dare say it, Ryan,” I warned.
He widened his eyes, faking innocence. “Say what?”
“That you’re going to hit the baby in the head. That you think the baby will see your penis and be scarred for life. Or any of those things.”
“But I don’t understand how I’m not hitting him,” he said as I narrowed my eyes at him. “Or her.”
“You’re just not, okay? You’re not hitting the baby. Your giant penis is nowhere near your child, but it’s going to be on the floor if you don’t stick it inside me right now.”
“Good God, woman, being pregnant has made you mean.”
Just like that, the waterworks started as I rolled off of him.
“I know. I’m sorry, but please have sex with me. Why are you making me beg?” The tears refused to stop, and I knew I was being completely irrational and annoying, thanks to these hormones. “You don’t think I’m sexy anymore, do you? Is that the real reason why you don’t want to do it?”
Ryan’s eyes grew wide. “Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself?”
“Of course I’ve seen myself. That’s why I’m asking,” I snapped at him, practically biting his head off.
My body had changed, and it would be ridiculous to pretend otherwise. My face was rounder, my hips wider than ever, and there was extra fluff on every square inch of me. I didn’t feel the least bit sexy or attractive. No, I felt like a walrus or a hippopotamous, one of those large, ungainly animals.
“Sofia, you’re stunning,” he said softly as he reached for me. “You glow without trying, and I get hard whenever I look at you.”
“Really? Even now?” I glanced at the crotch of his jeans, noticing the unmistakable bulge there.
“Even now. Nick yelled at me today because I couldn’t stop staring at your picture.”
Ryan’s lips found my hand, my knuckles, and my wrist, then moved up my arm and landed on my neck. I groaned because every touch felt so damned good.
“I want you,” I breathed out as he nipped at my flesh.
His lips were instantly on mine, his tongue pressing inside my mouth like desire was fueling him from the inside out. My mouth opened for him, my tongue searching for his.
