“Ah, I have trained you well, young Jedi,” Abel mumbles making me groan at his use of a Star Wars reference.
“Not another May the fourth joke!” I protest.
Able just laughs. “Joey won’t let the Star Wars baby names go, will he?”
“I have no idea what to name this kid, but I can tell you no child of mine will be named Anakin. I don’t care what my due date is.”
Abel continues to laugh while I close my eyes and press down on various parts of my stomach, not positive if I’m feeling the baby or my digestive system. I’m choosing to believe these are little baby movements and not gas.
Feeling the couch depress next to me, I roll my head to the side and open my eyes. It’s Abel’s sweet little girl. Well, sweet might be stretching it. Mabel is sassier than anything, but she has her moments of sugar and spice and all things nice.
I’ve always been a sucker for this kid. She reminds me a whole lot of me at that age. So, with her looking at me with giant puppy dog eyes, I know I’m not going to be able to resist giving her whatever she wants. “Rosalind, can I touch your tummy?”
That’s an easy one to answer anyway. “Sure, sweet girl.”
Mabel resituates herself on the couch and her knobby knees poke me in the thighs. “Ouch. Let’s sit crisscross applesauce okay?”
She nods enthusiastically, readjusts her body to a less dangerous position. I take one of her hands and place it where I can feel the baby the most. Or at least, where I hope it’s the baby I’m feeling.
“You can’t really feel him right now, but maybe we’ll get lucky,” I warn her as I press her hand deeper into my tummy and wait.
“Him?” Abel asks.
“Or her. I don’t know. It’s just easier for me to say him for some reason.”
Concentrating on feeling for movement, I finally feel just a tiny press. Moving Mabel’s hand over a bit, I press down again. “You feel how hard that is?” She nods. “The baby is inside that lump.” Or it’s a food baby, but her toothy grin gets so wide I refuse to burst that bubble.
Ainsley, Abel’s stepdaughter for all practical purposes, is standing off to the side watching with interest. “Ainsley, you want to feel?”
Her eyes get wide and she nods.
I nudge Abel with my shoulder. “Move over. I have some little girls to entertain.”
He scoffs, but scoots for Ainsley to sit, putting his arm up on the couch behind her. I love that he treats Ainsley like she’s his own. Every man should be that way. I hope Joey is, but I’ve watched him interact with both girls today, and I’m pretty confident I have no cause for concern.
Ainsley, who apparently has been watching me for a while, and is way better than Mabel at following instructions, immediately crisscrosses her legs. Taking her hand, I put it in a similar spot to Mabel’s and press down. “You feel that?”
She nods, her eyes wide. “It feels like… like… a rock.”
“Or an egg,” Mabel chimes in.
“I guess it’s about that size right now,” I mention.
Just then, he kicks. I gasp, my eyes wide.
“Did you girls just feel that?” I whisper.
Ainsley shakes her head. “What? What was it?”
“He… he kicked.”
Mabel begins bouncing in her seat. “He jumped!” Mabel says excitedly. “Daddy, the baby jumped!”
Everyone in the room goes quiet as they register Mabel’s words. I catch Joey’s eye across the room and smile.
“Did you…” he starts and then pauses to lick his lips. “Did you just feel the baby kick?”
I nod, never taking my eyes off his. “I think I did.”
Joey rushes over and the entire room breaks out in chaos, which has always been the DiSoto way. Joey barely gets to me, drops to his knees, and places his hands on my stomach when my mother pushes him away so she can talk to the baby. It doesn’t last long. She’s immediately accosted by Aunt Lucia and then Nonna, who doesn’t hesitate to use her cane as a weapon.
As Nonna whispers a blessing over me for a healthy baby, I look behind her to see Joey frowning in the back of the crowd. Poor guy thought he’d gotten off easy with this family. I guess he hasn’t yet figured out that you have to learn to be pushy around here if you’re going to get gnocchi or your turn at rubbing a baby bump.
Still, it is his child, so he probably deserves to be next to me more than Nonna and her weapon. Turning to Abel, I ask sweetly, “Would you please let my baby daddy sit next to me, so he can be near his child before these women scare the baby away?”
Abel chuckles and signals Joey to push through the crowd. They quickly change spots before anyone else can slide in like the asshole that always steals a parking spot someone is waiting for. Ainsley stays where she is because like I said, Joey seems comfortable with Abel’s kids and reaching around her doesn’t seem to bother either of them. Even when he leans over and puts his hand on my stomach right above hers.
Almost exactly when he presses, Baby Marshall decides to pole vault across my uterus again.
Joey doesn’t feel it, but I do. My gasp is almost inaudible, but he hears it, and dammit if the look he gives me in response doesn’t make my insides melt.
Leaning over Ainsley and into me, he whispers, “I guess this is really happening now.”
I bite my lip and nod. “I guess it is.”
“You ready?”
“Nope. You?”
“Not even close,” he says and kisses the top of my head, something no one except my dad has ever done. I like it.
“Good. Then I guess we’re in this together.”
When Ainsley bounces away at the insistence of her mother who recognizes Joey and I are having a moment, I lay my head on his shoulder. This whole day has me exhausted but feeling thankful in a way I never have before. Even if I did miss out on those gnocchi.
Chapter Eleven
JOEY
The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas is a fantastic time of year. The festivities and food make up for the fact that the weather is shit.
The only thing that breaks my mood every year is how the number of paying clients tanks. Not only do half my regulars take time off for family time—the slackers—getting new clients is almost impossible.
Sure, traditionally we see a spike in January, but my goal isn’t to get fair-weather clients, so I’m constantly recruiting. I want solid clients I can rely on, who will give me a steady income. It’s always been my business plan, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get it done.
Damn me and my lack of a business degree.
“I think you’re setting your goals too high,” Abel says with a shrug, as he pops a baby carrot into his mouth and wipes his hands with his napkin. “This isn’t the time of year to snag new clients. People are busy. Everything slows down. And they want to eat at all the holiday parties without you reminding them of their gluttony. Didn’t you plan for this lull?”
“Of course, I planned for it,” I argue and toss my pen down on the counter to stretch my back. The smoothie bar is our go-to place to congregate between clients since it’s inside the building and has food. It’s the best place to eat while crunching numbers, and Tabitha tosses in her two cents as she has time. Every business has that one person who knows everything about everything. For us, that’s Tabitha. Usually her advice is spot on. I have no idea if she’s mature and wise or if she’s just supersmart, but I’ll take her suggestions any day. Hell, I wish she would quit doing inventory in the back and come help me out right now.
“My beefed-up savings just didn’t include two extra mouths to feed. And one of them eats a lot right now.”
“Oooh, you better not let Rosie hear you say that,” he says with a chuckle. “She’ll have your balls.”
“You better not let her hear you call her Rosie for the same reason.”
“Touché.” Abel chews and swallows his last carrot before wiping down his eating space. “I get it. Money is going to be tight for the next month or so. But it’s
not forever. We’re talking six weeks, tops.”
“It’s not just the next month, man.” I rub my hand down my face as my thoughts swirl around my brain. I hate math. Figuring this shit out is my nightmare. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it once the baby gets here. We’ve got two salaries, but you know how little Rosalind makes at her job. That’s not enough to cover daycare, let alone everything else. Man, I wish this place was licensed as a daycare facility so we’d get more than three hours of childcare a day.”
“That’s not going to happen and you know it. You’re just going to have to cut out unnecessary expenses. Like eating out.”
I cringe at the thought of the last time I made spaghetti while babysitting his kids. It ended with pasta sauce on the ceiling. Elliott was less than thrilled. “You know I can’t cook, man. I try but it doesn’t happen.”
“You don’t follow the directions. That’s why it never works.”
“I follow them. Enough of them, anyway.”
“That last sentence is why it never works,” he says with a finger pointed at me in victory. “But you need to figure that shit out soon or you’re never going to make it. Not on your meager salary.”
“Excuse you. My salary is not meager. I am a well-sought-out personal trainer.”
Abel scoffs. “Yeah, who had half his clients quit after this place burned to the ground last year.”
I bob my head. “Minor setback. And at least we got brand-new equipment out of the deal. All I have to do is build up my clientele again and I’ll be golden. Why do you think we’re sitting here? You’re supposed to be helping me with my marketing.”
Abel barks out a laugh. “Good luck, brother. I’ve been trying to alter my own marketing plan for months. There just aren’t a lot of new clients signing up to be members right now. Unless some hardcore gym rats come walking through that door, you may need to come up with a different plan, like taking a cooking class.”
He grabs my pen and worksheet, looking over the notes and details I have written down so far. While he critiques, I absentmindedly stare at the front door, wracking my brain on where the best place is to find new people who have an interest in getting healthy.
The produce aisle in the grocery store? Soliciting at another business is probably frowned upon.
Put out an ad on Craigslist? Frankly, I never trust anyone I meet there. Don’t get me started on the personals section and the twenty-five-year-old woman I found on that site. Newsflash: She was neither a woman nor twenty-five. I still can’t figure out why a seventy-year-old man spends his time catfishing people. Dude needs a real hobby. Although I’ll give him that his fishing tips were bang on. I should message him again and ask about getting some new lures.
Maybe I should take out an ad on social media or something. Surely, I wouldn’t be the first one to try it. It could work. Or it could be a waste of money.
I shake my head in disappointment. Abel’s right. Unless some random bodybuilders just walk through that door, hustling is going to be the story of my life.
The door swings open and my eyes widen. A couple of giant men who clearly work out come barreling through the door. Holy shit, my prayers have been answered.
“Quick,” I hiss, punching Abel in the shoulder. “Tell me tonight’s lottery numbers.”
“What?” Abel is still looking at the worksheet, having made a couple notes already. “And why are you hitting me?”
“You spoke it and it came true,” I whisper yell. “Now give me the lottery numbers.”
Abel looks up in confusion, but I see it on his face the second he realizes he has psychic abilities. “Holy shit. How did I do that? Am I a witch?”
“You’d be a warlock. But either way, it worked. I’ll be back. This baby daddy needs to make some money.” I clap him on the back, thrilled that my luck is starting to change, and head toward the beefy bodybuilders.
These dudes are huge. Both are taller than me, but what I lack in height, I make up for in muscle. They clearly hit the gym often, but I can already see where I can help them increase in bulk. I’m suddenly excited about the prospect of not just training these guys, but maybe even working out with them. Abel may be the strongest trainer by traditional standards, but I’m training for the Strongman competition. It’s a completely different kind of strength. I like it because every day is a different kind of training. No standard squats and push-ups for me. Well, not very often anyway.
“Welcome to Weight Expectations, gentlemen,” I interrupt Natalie, who is obviously getting her flirt on. “Looks like you guys ventured into the right place.”
Natalie glares. “Can you wait until I’m done getting them all signed up?”
Ah, Natalie. Never one to pass on the pretty boys. Too bad for her I’ve got bigger problems than scoring a date. “As much as I appreciate you pitching in and helping out with my responsibilities, I’m finished with my lunch break now, and there is a line of patrons ready to check in.” One of our regulars rolls her eyes. Not at me. This isn’t the first time Natalie has ignored paying customers to woo a pretty face.
The larger of the two men turns to see the line and quickly moves out of the way. “Oh shit. Sorry about that. I didn’t realize we were taking up your time.”
“No! No. It’s no problem.” Yet another flirty smile crosses Natalie’s face. Even as she continues to ignore everyone else. “You’re not bothering anyone. I’m happy to help.”
“Don’t worry about it, Nat.” I purposely use the nickname she hates, just to see the scowl she gives me. “It’s part of my job description, but I appreciate you stepping up and helping me out while I finished up lunch.”
Her eyes narrow as she slaps the clipboard into my outstretched hand with a huff. I’d feel bad for ruining her chances of getting laid, but most of the time Natalie acts annoyed when people walk in. Unless they’re hot. And these guys are definitely hot. Why does our boss keep her around? Oh yeah. Nepotism or something.
“My name is Joey Marshall, and I’m one of the trainers here at this fine facility,” I say and reach out to shake both their hands.
“Stan Willis,” the bigger one says, his giant hand engulfing mine.
“I’m Nicolas Leday.” The smaller guy isn’t small by any means, but leaner for sure. He also has a bigger smile and seems a little more outgoing. Maybe it’s because he smiles and nods at just about everyone who he makes eye contact with.
“Can I entertain you boys with a tour of our facility?” I give my most inviting smile, hoping they’re interested in more than just a facility to base out of. I’m sure there’s more dudes where these guys came from, and I intend on wooing them all.
Stan, who has dark hair and a more reserved demeanor, shrugs. “Sure. This is where we’ll be for a while, so why not?”
We start our trek around the gym, me quickly looking around to make sure Rosalind is nowhere to be found. It’s the same tour I’ve taken hundreds of people on. Basically, it’s a giant circle route to show off the facilities in an attempt to convince people to sign on the bottom line. That means there’s no reason to give these guys a chance to hit on our newest employee. It’s a given that they’ll see her and immediately go gaga over how beautiful she is. And lord knows I don’t need her to be tempted by them when I’m trying to build a solid foundation with her.
Yes, I admit to acting like a jealous idiot. I have no shame. But dammit, they’re mine and I don’t want her with anyone else until I have a chance to prove my worth. Besides, I need to lock in this commission. Not that it will be hard. I get the feeling these guys are ready to join, and I’m mostly selling my stellar personal services at this point. The best way to do that is with small talk. “Did you guys just move to the area?”
They glance at each other in confusion. “What makes you think that?” Nicolas asks.
“You don’t get shoulders and biceps like you guys have by staying home. I just assumed you’re new to the area and looking for a home base for your workouts. Or maybe you got ti
red of your current gym.”
Nicolas snickers. “Actually, we’ve been here for years. And you’re right. We work out practically around the corner.”
Hmm. Gym hoppers. Interesting.
“So, what made you decide to check this place out?”
Stan eyes the track above us that encircles the open basketball court area. The way his eyes move makes me feel like he’s assessing all the exit points. Weird. “Our friend Carlos Davies comes here.”
I snap my fingers in recognition of the name. “Oh yeah, he’s my buddy Abel’s friend. Good guy.” And also explains why Stan is probably looking for vulnerabilities in our security. Not that we have any. But with his physique and demeanor, my money is on him being some kind of security guard to the stars. I bet he could tell some interesting stories.
“He’s a little batshit crazy now that he’s a dad,” Nicolas mutters.
Even Stan chuckles at that. “How many times did they call ‘Code Pink’ at work for a while?”
“Oh man, Quinn was so pissed when he found out what that meant.” Nicolas bends over, holding his gut as he laughs. “I thought his head was gonna explode.”
I’m completely lost in this conversation, but if they’re happy, I’m happy. Because happy people sign contracts with trainers and spend money before the sad feelings hit.
Nicolas wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Those two are the best birth control I’ve ever seen. Going certifiable seems to come with the territory of fatherhood.”
“I hope not,” I interject, not because I am any closer to understanding their conversation, but because I don’t want them to forget I’m here. Plus, they may have me wigging out just a bit.
“What?”
Welp, Stan just confirmed that they were well on their way to losing focus on why we’re all standing in the middle of the weight room.
“My girlfriend is pregnant,” I admit. Is she my girlfriend? I haven’t kissed her in a really long time, but she’s having my baby, so that counts for something, right? Also I really need to kiss her again. “I hope I’m holding it together okay. That ‘Code Pink’ shit sounds awful.”
Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Page 9
