Boy Toy

by Sarina Bowen

  * * *

  Liam has promised to stay with the girls. They’re fast asleep so there’s no need for me to be concerned about the whole “Where is mommy and why is Liam-our-favorite-person-in-the-world here?” They’ll sleep at least until 7 a.m. Plenty of time for me to visit Brynn and then return home without them realizing I ever left.

  As I drive toward Brynn’s place in Eastown, I feel like the relaxed, more experienced friend on her way to calm the newbie. I can hold her hand and remind her that if she goes to the hospital too early, they’ll just send her home.

  But Brynn is panting and pacing when I arrive. She’s wearing only a sports bra and some yoga pants. It’s a good plan. She’s about to run a marathon. Figuratively speaking.

  She’s mid-contraction when I get there, so I just drop my purse and keys by the door and grab ahold of her. “I got you,” I say. “Breathe. Breathe.”

  When it passes, she looks at me and says, “Motherfucker.”

  I nod. “How far apart are they?”

  Silently she holds up the kitchen timer. The readout says two and a half minutes.

  “Oh,” I say carefully. But inside, my panic meter is climbing quickly toward the red zone. “All right.” I’m using my Crazy Person Voice, the one I need when one of my patients seems potentially unhinged. “Let’s get you to the hospital,” I say. “Nowish.”

  “‘Kay,” she pants with wide eyes.

  “Where is your suitcase?” I do not want to deliver Brynn’s baby on her kitchen floor. We eat in that kitchen. Often.

  Brynn waddles toward the front closet when suddenly the door bursts open and there stands Ash. I swear to God, she appears like Wonder Woman, all fierce and glowing, highlighted by the last orange streaks of light in the sky behind her. It’s all very dramatic. She’s also carrying a roll of paper towels, a bunch of empty black trash bags, and a bucket of water.

  “Ash?” Brynn asks. “What are you doing?”

  “I am absolutely horrified by this entire prospect and I do not want to look at your stretching vagina while you birth a tiny human, but goddammit, I will do it. And I came prepared!”

  All she needs is a blowtorch and a pair of goggles. I suddenly start laughing. And Brynn starts laughing, and then her laugh turns into a groan, and then all three of us are groaning through it together. When she’s done, I tell Ash to get Brynn to the car. “I’ll grab her bag,” I say. “Ash, leave the uh, supplies. You’re sitting with Brynn in the back seat.”

  “I think it’s safer if I grab her bag and drive,” Ash says, panic lacing every syllable.

  “I don’t care who’s holding me,” Brynn pants. “But get me to the hospital. And call Tom again!”

  * * *

  Ash is driving like the wind. When I say driving like the wind, I mean driving like the wind in a dead calm. She’s going twelve miles an hour.

  “A little hustle,” I suggest. Kindly. Yet with intensity. Then I give up. “Ash, come on! We are not having this baby in the car!”

  “I don’t want to jostle her inner...stuff,” Ash says. The car holds steady at twelve.

  Suddenly I scream, “Placenta!” It’s a fake out. There’s no placenta here in the back of the Toyota. But it works. Ash’s eyes grow ten sizes in the rearview mirror. Then she floors it. It’s a smooth 35 all the way to the hospital.

  Just as we get her up to the front doors, Tom and Braht pull up. The car has barely stopped moving when Tom leaps out, wearing an adorable fishing hat. He’s sunkissed and worried as he rushes to Brynn. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I thought we had two weeks! I never would’ve gone fishing if I thought for even a second that…”

  “Shush,” she says, grabbing hold of his hands. Ash and I sweep open the double doors to the hospital and usher them through. “Baby wants out early. Who knew? When this is over you can bring me a really great sandwich and we’ll call it good.”

  “Okay,” he agrees. “Anything.”

  “A Cuban panini,” she threatens.

  “I’ll import it from Cuba if you want,” Tom blabbers. It’s clear that the coaching I offered Tom has gone well.

  We all take the elevator up to the third floor, where the labor and delivery department is. The staff ushers the happy couple right past the nursing station while Braht, Ash, and I just stand there, outside the doors, watching them go.

  Ash reaches for Braht and says, “I don’t want to ever go through that.”

  He squeezes her hand. “I totally agree.”

  I just sigh, and tears well up in my eyes. “Guys,” I whisper. “Brynn is having a baby. Our Brynn. A baby!”

  “I’m glad I brought this,” Braht says and pulls out a flask from his summer blazer that I notice is printed with tiny lobsters all over it. Apparently, he dressed up for fishing. Then I realize that Tom was fishing, and Braht was probably just there for emotional support.

  “Let’s do this!” I say, “the waiting room is over there.”

  * * *

  I was right about one thing. Births take a long time.

  Hours pass. After a little tibble of the flask, we all switch to bad hospital coffee. Ash and Braht cuddle on one of the couches while looking at real estate listings on Braht’s tablet. Then she pushes him away because he’s annoying her. Then he does a little song and dance, literally, and slinks up beside her. They’re too cute.

  Watching them together makes me want to talk to Liam. But is that really fair? I can’t expect him to be half a couple when I’m feeling clingy, and then push him away an hour later.

  The problem is that I do want to be half a couple. I’ll always want that. But it doesn’t matter what I want, when Liam is unavailable. He says he’s invested, but he’s leaving in the fall.

  Also, he’s too young for me. I’ve been traded in for a younger model once already, and it broke apart my family. I won’t let that happen again.

  It doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different. If Liam was five years older and finished with his Ph.D., it might all turn out differently.

  If if if...

  My phone chimes, and I feel my heart flutter. Maybe all my heavy thoughts zoomed through the West Michigan electromagnetic field and reached Liam, because he’s texting me.

  Or, possibly, he’s been on my sofa for too long alone and he’s just bored.

  How are you? he asks.

  I’m at the hospital, and as far as we know in the waiting room, things are good. The baby could be here any minute.

  That’s great, he says. But how are YOU?

  It makes me smile that he asks.

  I’m good. Anxious. Nervous. Happy for her, but good. And you?

  Girls are fast asleep. I’m binging on Netflix. I’ve missed you this week and I really want

  I only see half of the text because Tom comes through the door, wearing his little daddy scrubs. He looks exhausted and his hair is sticking out in a hundred different directions, as if someone were mauling him.

  And maybe someone was. “We have a son!” he yells.

  And then we just all lose it. I mean, come on. Brynn and Tom...they have a baby. A family!

  The three of us just rush him, sobbing. Braht’s tears aren’t so surprising, but Ash is the wild card here. The mascara is running down her face and she’s crying like she’s just watched Beaches for the first time. We all hug him. It’s really ridiculous, this swelling of emotion. There should be a soundtrack. Then the proud daddy shows us a picture.

  Braht takes his phone and studies it. “He looks just like you! Combover and all!”

  “What?” Tom cries and grabs the phone. “That’s a shadow, asswipe.” Tom flips to a different picture and then smooths his hair down. There’s no combover. It’s just stressed-out-about-to-be-a-daddy hair. And hands Braht back the phone.

  That baby? Little scrunchy red face, angry at his ordeal that he’s just been through—he’s just plain perfect.

  “I want to hold him,” I demand.

  “You’re in line behind me!” Ash yelps.
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  15 The Glory of a Wicked Tongue

  Liam

  After too many days of hardly talking to Sadie, without seeing her, without being around her or under her or inside her...I had sort of hoped tonight would end a little differently. I’m so hungry for her. It’s the kind of hunger that craves only one thing. Say, when you want nachos and nothing else will do. Not hummus and carrots. Not chips and dip. Nope. You want the nachos.

  I want Sadie’s nachos. Bad.

  The girls stay asleep the whole time she’s gone. I check on them to ensure they’re breathing. Amy is curled around Piggypoo, one stubby leg sticking out of the blanket. Kate’s eyes are screwed shut, as if sleeping requires great concentration.

  I’m pretty attached to these little girls. I don’t really let myself think about that too much. Sadie is right that they need stability. And I’m the jerk who’s leaving for Europe in a couple of months.

  I’m a little tired of Netflix, so I wander around and straighten up Sadie’s house a bit. You can learn a lot about a person by being in their space. Sadie is full bookshelves and intellect and warmth. She’s soft fabrics and soothing colors and scents. She’s wine and marcona almonds.

  And she’s a plate of fucking nachos. I want her so bad.

  I don’t have nachos. Instead, I have more Game of Thrones on TV. I watch several episodes in Sadie’s bedroom, and all the sexy parts remind me of Sadie. Okay, not really because Sadie would never wear a dress with no butt and a leather corset. But fourteen-year-old Liam is horny and everything with two tits makes him think of Sadie.

  It grows later and later, and I begin to fight sleep. I’m comfortable on Sadie’s bed, and it smells like her. Four battles, three dragons, and two on-screen orgies later, I fall asleep thinking pleasant thoughts about her.

  I am curled blissfully inside the cool blackness of unconsciousness when someone warm and soft snuggles close to me in the bed.

  Sadie. It’s wonderful to feel her presence, but I’m too asleep to move.

  Smooth hands begin to stroke my sleepy limbs. Soft lips kiss my neck. It’s pure bliss to be loved on while drowsing. I’m hovering in a delicious uncertainty between sleep and sex. It could really go either way.

  But then Sadie moans.

  Wake up! fourteen-year-old Liam screams. What if she wants to touch our dick!

  He makes a great point.

  “Sadie,” I croak, pulling her into my arms. “I missed you.”

  “Missed you so much,” she breathes against my chest. “All week,” she adds as her mouth drifts wickedly down my belly.

  I may be sleepy, but I’m not a stupid man. I yank down my boxers, kicking them under the sheets. And three pulse-pounding seconds later, Sadie’s lips reach my cockhead.

  “Yeah, honey,” I encourage her. “Kiss me.”

  With a moan, she opens her mouth and bathes me with her wicked tongue.

  “Take more,” I say, gathering her hair into my hand.

  She sits up only long enough to toss her sundress over her head. Then she leans right back down and deepthroats me, one hand at the base of the cock, the other reaching up to touch my torso. It’s so good that I moan too loudly for a house with toddlers.

  Then Sadie gives a good hard suck, and fourteen-year-old Liam faints dead away.

  But twenty-nine-year-old Liam wants more than just a world-class BJ. “Come here,” I croak. “I need to hold you.” I hook my arms under Sadie’s and tug her upward.

  She scrambles up my body until she’s lying right on top of me, panting, staring down at me with a wild look in her eyes.

  The wave of tenderness for her that washes over me is so strong it’s startling. I push the waves of soft hair off her face and smile. “Are you okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Is there a new baby?”

  “Yes! A boy.” Her eyes tear up. “They named him Zachary Michael Spanner.”

  “Aw,” I say. “Zach Spanner. He sounds like a superhero.”

  Sadie’s voice is rounded with awe. “Brynn did it! He’s so small and fragile and alive. I already love him so much!” Her gaze turns hungry, and she dives into a kiss, and I kiss her back with enough energy to power the sun. Yes, yes, yes! I don’t even know which Liam is chanting that. We’re of the same mind on the subject of Sadie.

  We both reach for her underwear and Sadie yanks them down and kicks them away. She’s straddling me now, and then, with a slow but easy slide down that takes my breath away, she welcomes me home, inch by delicious inch. I shudder gratefully as I sink into her wet heat. “Oh, baby,” I whisper against her lips. “Fuck me, honey.”

  “Say it again.” She grinds her hips against me, pushing me inside her so far I fill her up.

  “Fuck…” I lift my hips suddenly and deepen our connection. “...Me.”

  “Yes,” she pants, and she starts to ride me. It’s slow at first, but then she’s riding me with a passion and speed that seems uncontained. God. This woman. “Yes!” she cries. Or maybe I cry it, because YES.

  Now I’m bucking like a rodeo star. A heat grows between us, our skin slaps. Each thrust and buck sends a shiver of bliss through me and Sadie seems to shiver at the same time. Together we sprint toward the finish line. It’s fast and frantic and just what I needed. I jack my hips off the bed over and over. “Can’t wait any longer,” I gasp, as a warmth in my balls warns me that this perfect moment is almost over. “You’re making me come.”

  “Oh!” It’s a high-pitched cry. “Liam,” she sobs, shuddering over me.

  I strain upwards one more time and clasp our two bodies tightly together. I can’t tell where she stops and I begin.

  Then we collapse together in a sweaty heap of joy and exhaustion.

  * * *

  Unfortunately, sweaty heaps of joy and exhaustion are not good at getting up and going home. About seven seconds after my orgasm I fall back into blissful slumber in Sadie’s bed.

  The next thing I register is a bug crawling up my arm. Only this is a very chatty bug, and it’s singing the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song.

  My eyes fly open, and when they do, I find that I’m staring right into Amy’s sweet hazel eyes. “Wiam,” she says around her pacifier. “Up now.”

  And I would get up. Except I’m buck naked and underneath her mother. We’re still wrapped up in each other.

  I panic. Thankfully, panic is the mother of improvisation. Or something. “Did you really wake me up from my sleepover without bringing Piggypoo, too?” I ask. “Where’s Piggypoo?”

  Amy turns on her heel and trots out of the room to retrieve him.

  I waste no time rolling Sadie off me, sliding out of bed and grabbing my khaki shorts off the floor. My underwear is God knows where, but this is an emergency. I’m just zipping up when Amy walks back into the room, her pig crammed under her arm.

  “That’s better,” I say. “Now let’s see about that saggy diaper you’re wearing.”

  On the bed, Sadie’s eyes pop open in alarm. Shit! she mouths.

  I lean over and scoop Amy off the floor, leaving Sadie alone in the bed. I’ll give Sadie a moment to get over her surprise, but the truth is that this is not a disaster. Kate and Amy are very young, and years away from understanding what sex is. They don’t really have an opinion on my sleeping over.

  Carrying Amy into the girls’ room, I put her on the floor next to the changing table. “Drop ‘em,” I say, tugging down her pj pants.

  Four seconds later she’s fresh and clean, and her sister is blinking at me from the other crib. Kate gives me a big, happy smile.

  “You, too, right?” I beckon, and she stands up. When I lift her up to my body, she’s warm and sleepy. She wraps her chubby little arms around my neck, and I give her a squeeze. Who could resist?

  After a second diaper exchange, I pick up one toddler on each arm and carry them out into the hall. I hear the shower going in the master bath. “Let’s go downstairs and see what you’ve got in your kitchen. Do you know how to make pancak
es?”

  “No,” Kate says at the exact moment that Amy says, “yes.”

  “Excellent,” I say.

  16 Small Panic Attack. Big Pancakes.

  Sadie

  I messed up. Big time.

  These are my thoughts as I rush into the bathroom for the world’s fastest shower. The hot spray of water judges me as I hastily wash Liam off my thighs.

  A better mother wouldn’t let this happen. I shouldn’t have a younger lover. If I didn’t, he wouldn’t be so deliciously appealing. I couldn’t lose my mind, wake him up out of a sound sleep to ride him like a pony. And then collapse beside him in peaceful, sated slumber.

  Seriously, how did I let that happen?

  You know how, my hormones scold me. Because he’s the hottest thing you’ve ever tasted.

  Oh yeah. That.

  After showering I get dressed at top speed. Poor Liam is currently shouldering all my parental responsibilities. Throwing on yesterday’s sundress, I pause for a moment to pop a birth control pill, because that’s one thing I won’t goof up.

  Then I hurry downstairs.

  The sight in the kitchen gives me heart palpitations. But not because there’s flour dusting much of the countertop. Rather, it’s the hot, shirtless guy holding my toddler and making a dump truck sound as Amy tips the measuring spoon over a bowl.

  “Yes! Well done, little miss,” he says, relieving her of the spoon. “Batter up!” he says, easing her to the floor and catching Kate, who’s trying to climb him like a tree.

  Aren’t we all.

  Liam easily rests Kate on one of his perfect arms, measures a half teaspoon of baking powder one-handed and then hands the spoon to Kate. “Beep beep beep,” he says, making the sound of a truck backing up. “Look out below!”

  Kate dumps the spoonful into the bowl and giggles.

  “Awesome. Who wants to add the milk?”

  “My do it!” Amy yells.

  Boy, I need another minute of alone time to compose myself. Because I love this picture a little too much. I love Liam’s ease with my girls. I love how calm he is at the center of toddler-induced mayhem.