“They’re boys,” he whispers, reading my mind.
I open my mouth to argue but the door bursts open.
“Did I miss it?!”
I grin at Daisy in the doorway. “Nope, you’re just in time.”
Dr. Jones walks in behind her and smiles. “Daisy, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Hey, Dr. J!” she greets. “How’s life treating you in front of the stirrups?”
John deflates and looks at me. “What is she doing here?”
I wince. “Did I not tell you she was coming?”
“No, you did not.”
“Whoops.”
Daisy slides over an empty chair and sets it on my left. “Excuse me, halfback,” she says as she plops down into it. “I’ve been through this before, so I know more than you do. Also, Rose and I share DNA. These babies are as much mine as they are yours.”
“Yeah, that’s not how any of that works.” His brow furrows with confusion and he looks at the doctor. “Right?”
Dr. Jones shrugs as she snaps on her gloves. “Okay, let’s take a look inside, shall we?”
John takes my hand and squeezes tight. He winks at me; one final, silent way of telling me he’s right but I know he’s wrong.
Daisy snatches my other hand and grins across my exposed belly at John, squeezing my hand even tighter than he is and I suddenly feel like I’m about to be torn apart like a wishbone.
Dr. Jones slathers my belly with gel and readies the wand. I look at the screen and take a deep breath, biting my lip as butterflies wreck my insides. John kisses my hand with excitement in his eyes, barely able to contain it as his toe bounces up and down on the floor.
“Okay…” Dr. Jones sets the wand against my belly and shapes instantly flood the screen.
I squint, trying to make out what’s going on, but it looks more like a paranormal crime scene than a uterus, so I just sit back and wait.
“Penis!” Daisy flails at the screen. “Sorry, but that was totally a penis.”
John chuckles. “Do you always get this excited when you see one?”
“Oh, shush,” she snaps back.
“Is she right?” I ask Dr. Jones.
She nods. “Yep. Looks like we’re having boys!”
John pumps his giant fist. “Yes!”
I feel a stab of bittersweetness. “Man, my instincts suck. I could have sworn they were girls…”
He lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Hey, now you know that you can always trust my instincts. John Kirby will never steer you wrong.”
Daisy rolls her eyes.
“Uh-oh.”
The three of us stare at Dr. Jones, our necks twitching in her direction so fast they could snap.
“Okay, Doc,” Daisy says, “I’m usually not one to tell people how to do their jobs, but I don’t think uh-oh is the kind of thing you should say when you’re looking inside a belly full of babies.”
“Well... it’s a good uh-oh, not a bad uh-oh,” Dr. Jones says. “I misread the ultrasound last time.”
My heart sinks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” she smiles, “you’re having triplets. Not twins.”
“Triplets?!” Daisy gasps.
I look at John’s sagging face, his jaw slacked open in silent shock as he stares at the screen.
My eyes fill with tears. “Are you sure?”
Dr. Jones adjusts the wand, tilting it to show a better angle. “Looks like she was hiding behind her brothers…”
I clench John’s hand. “She?”
“Yep. Two boys… and a girl.” She points at the screen. “Right there.”
I lean forward as the third form takes shape. “Whoa…”
Daisy shakes my shoulder. “We’re having three babies!”
“Uh-huh…” I try to say something else, something more intelligent, but my tongue speaks only gibberish.
Triplets. Three babies. Two boys. One girl.
Oh, my god…
“May I have a moment alone with my wife, please?” he asks the room.
Dr. Jones slides out of her chair. “Sure. I’ll give you a few minutes and then we’ll try and narrow down that due date.”
John glares at Daisy.
Finally, she sighs and lets go of my hand. “Fine. I’ll be right outside.” She plants a quick kiss on my forehead, lets out a happy squeal, and follows the doctor out.
As soon as the door latches closed, John darts forward to kiss me. His body rumbles with laughter and I see a few tears growing on the edge of his eyes.
I punch his shoulder. “I told you I felt a girl!”
He smiles wider. “I will never doubt your women’s intuition or your motherly instincts ever again.”
“Me neither!” I laugh.
He cups my face and kisses me again. “I love you, Rose.”
“I love you, John.”
He leans down, quickly kissing any part of my exposed belly not caked in goo. “And I love you, and you, and, especially, you.”
“Two boys and a girl,” I whisper.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, sitting back down. “I’m fertile as fuck.”
I laugh again as tears pour from my eyes. “How are we going to do this?” I ask, holding my wet cheeks in my hands.
John takes my wrists and pulls my hands down. “We’ll have plenty of time to panic later, Rose. For now, let’s just be really happy.”
“Okay.” I exhale.
“I mean, look at us,” he says. “We’re badasses. If anyone can handle three babies, it’s us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Nope.” He takes my hand again. “But I can’t wait to try.”
We entwine fingers. “Yeah,” I say. “I can’t either.”
“But you know what I am sure about?”
“What?”
“I’m sure… that this girl… will be way cuter than Junior’s girl was.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Oh, really?”
“Oh, yeah. I guarantee it,” he says. “With your gorgeous looks and this handsome mug, there’s no contest.”
“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” I tease.
“Pfft. I ain’t afraid of Junior.”
“What about Eliza?”
He hesitates. “Maybe a little.”
I lie back and exhale the laugh from my lungs. “Two boys and a girl…” I say it again, still not quite believing it’s true.
“So, what will she be?” he asks. “A Dana or a Ramona?”
I draw a line across my upper belly, feeling the life stirring inside for a brief, fleeting moment. “I think she feels like a Dana…”
John nods. “I think so, too.” He leans in and kisses me softly. “So, should we call them back in here?”
I look at my husband, once again sensing a bit of movement inside of me, and I smile. “No. Just a few more minutes…”
“Perfect.”
He kisses me again and I kiss him back, letting the moment last for a little while longer.
* * *
Home Run Baby
For Mom
(just skim over the parts
about blowjobs and stuff, k?)
Chapter 1
Daisy
“Smile, everybody!”
The Johnson family stares at me with stiff postures and fake grins. Father and mother. Son and daughter. Just the perfect little picture of the perfect little American family. I might even add a white picket fence into the background later to really sell the illusion.
I take the photo. The flash makes all of them blink, which is good because it’ll be more difficult for them to see my eyes rolling if all they see is spots.
“That was awesome, you guys,” I say. “I think we got it.”
Their posture instantly sinks, and the teenagers withdraw their phones from their pockets.
“Can we take a look?” the mother asks me.
“Of course.” I point across the studio to the computers in the corner. “Head on over and
I’ll meet you there before we print.”
She gives a kind smile and taps her oblivious children on the shoulders to guide them all across the room.
I detach the camera from the tripod and slide out the memory card.
“Hey, Daisy.”
I turn around, throwing on a happy face for my boss as he lingers over my shoulder. “Hey, Malcolm. What’s up?”
He doesn’t even glance up from his clipboard. “I need you to take that open shift on Sunday.”
“Um…” My chest tightens. “Actually, I have the weekend requested off… Remember? My sister is coming to visit.”
Malcolm’s lazy eyes flick over at me, just as dead inside as I feel even having to argue with him about this. “Trey has an emergency. I need you to take the shift.”
Fucking Trey. Malcolm’s nephew. I wonder what emergency they’ve come up with this time to cover up the fact that they’re getting high and playing video games.
“Okay, but…” I sigh. “Isn’t there someone else that could take it?”
“You’re the only one free.”
“But I’m not…”
He leers at me a little longer. “Daisy, I’m bending over backwards just giving you Saturday off. You know what it’s like here during May. Dads and Grads.”
I bite my cheek, choking down the urge to crack his head open with this camera. “I get it.” I nod. “Sorry, Malcolm. It’s fine. I can take the shift.”
He says nothing as he makes a quick mark on his clipboard, most likely checking off Ruin Daisy’s Pathetic Life scrawled between Eat a Shit Burrito and Don’t Do Laundry for Three Weeks and Hope No One Notices.
I walk off and throw on another smile as I join the Johnson family by the computers.
If you had told me five years ago that I’d still be working in this freaking portrait studio now, I would have insisted you were crazy. There was just no way. I was young and bright. Blonde and hot. The sky was the limit for me. This job was supposed to be first base; just the first stop on the path to home plate. I’d work here for a while, learn all I could, and build up a portfolio to send off to bigger, better employers before waving my middle finger at this place and driving off into the sunset.
I guess I was a touch too optimistic.
At least, I’ll have my sister to vent at this summer. Nearly three months of mayhem with Rose should be enough to get me through life under Malcolm’s thumb until she goes back to grad school in the fall.
Also, it’s baseball season. My favorite season.
And no one is gonna ruin that for me.
* * *
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to find a new text from Rose.
Just landed! See you soon!
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight slide off my shoulders as I blow it back out. Stress leaves with it and I forget all about Malcolm and Trey and that shitty photo studio job. The next few days will be nothing but rest and relaxation with my twin.
A few minutes later, a line of people walk out of the gate and I stand up from my chair in the crowded airport lobby. I offer soft apologies as I push through to the front, sliding beneath the arms of tall people towering over me. Most move to the side as I pass, likely assuming I’m a lost child at first but I guess that’s one perk of being petite.
I navigate to the front of the crowd and wait for my own face to appear in the door.
Finally, there she is, drifting through the doorway with her suitcase rolling behind her. She finds me instantly and her face splits with a huge smile, just as mine does as we both wave at each other.
Blonde hair, check! Glasses, check!
Giant, footballer boyfriend… check?
I see him walking beside her and I cringe on the inside.
What the hell is he doing here?
“Daisy!” Rose throws her arms around me and squeezes tight.
“Rose!” I close my eyes, returning the hug for as long as possible before I have to deal with the tag-a-long.
We pull away and I look at him.
“Hey, halfback,” I greet.
He smiles. “Hello, Daisy.”
John Kirby. My sister’s boyfriend and newly recruited professional football player. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, textbook handsome face. Not my type but my twin and I have always had different tastes in men.
“It’s nice to see you,” I say, “but what are you doing here? I thought Rose was coming alone this summer…”
Rose flicks my arm with a sharp nail before stepping closer to him. “I am,” she says. “John just came with me to make sure I made it safely. He’s flying back on Sunday since he has to start training on Monday.”
I smirk at him. “How sweet.”
“And…” She slides an arm around his back and he clings to her, too. “We have some news.”
“Really?” I swallow. “What is it?”
“You want to tell her now?” he asks her.
Rose nods and my gut sinks a little lower.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
They look at each other, their eyes shimmering with disgusting love, and I know exactly what she’s about to say before she even opens her mouth.
“We’re engaged!”
She whips her left hand forward and presents that sparkling diamond at me.
I stare at it without moving, without blinking, and without thinking, either.
“Daisy?”
I clear my throat. “Wow.” I chuckle, forcing some form of emotion to the surface. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”
Rose smiles, pleased with the reaction as she detaches from John. “I know it’s pretty sudden, but…”
I wave a hand. “No, not at all. Of course, you guys were gonna end up together. No surprises here…”
She squints at me but I step forward to hug her again and bury my face in her shoulder so she can’t easily decipher what I’m really thinking.
Ah, crap.
Chapter 2
Daisy
I sneak out into the hall just after midnight to grab my keys.
Rose and John have made themselves comfortable on the futon in my living room, cuddling in the dark and snoozing softly. It’s been a long night for them, after all. The three of us sitting around, chatting about their upcoming wedding and her education and his football career while I emptied the last of my whiskey reserves and pretended not to be screaming inside.
I take off into the night with my phone and run a search for the nearest bar. Luckily, there’s one two blocks down. I’ve never been there before but I’m not picky — even if it is some rundown place in the basement of some fancy restaurant.
Unlike the eatery above it, this place is so empty, I think for a moment it might be closed. Dim, moody lighting blends with the red wallpaper, creating an atmosphere that I can really only describe as eerily romantic.
I turn to leave but the bartender silently waves me in from behind the bar.
He catches my eyes long before I fully adjust to the quiet lighting. It’s not easy to look away from him, honestly. He’s no older than I am, mid-twenties and average in height. The black shirt he wears hides a toned physique and I catch the edges of a few tattoos peeking out on his biceps.
I sit down at the bar and he drifts over to me.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
“Whiskey sour, please,” I say, withdrawing my wallet to find my ID. I flash it at him. His gaze barely snipes it as he pulls a clean glass out from beneath the counter.
As he fixes my drink, I take a closer look at him. Bright, green eyes. Caramel-colored hair that’s just about an inch too long but he makes it work. It wouldn’t surprise me if he moonlights as a model or something — but maybe that’s just wishful thinking…
He glances up at me and I quickly look away. I focus instead on the old man sitting at the other end of the bar, hunched over a crossword puzzle with a tiny pencil in his wrinkled fingers. I spin around in my stool and stare into the empty corners of the place until I hear
my glass touch the counter.
“Here you go.”
I face forward and nod without looking at him. “Thanks.”
He walks away, drifting back over to the other side to check on the old man while I waste no time downing my entire drink.
I glance around, noticing the magazine articles framed on the walls. Mostly local history. Nothing to get excited about.
I set the glass down and lean forward to rest my head on my arm.
Rose is getting married.
Of course, she is.
With closed eyes, I try to force the nerves out and listen to the dull music piping through the crackling jukebox in the corner.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I open my eyes and raise my head to find that hot bartender standing in front of me. “Do they train bartenders to ask that?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Really?”
“Most drunks just want someone to listen to what they have to say,” he says. “And most bars want to keep them talking for as long as possible because the longer they sit on that stool…”
I raise my empty glass. “The more booze they imbibe.”
He takes the glass and sets it in front of him to refill it. “Money in the register. Tips in the jar.”
“That’s pretty skeevy.”
He shrugs. “It’s just business.”
I nod, watching him as he mixes my drink again. “So, I’m a drunk, eh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I point a finger. “You implied it.”
“Maybe. Would that also imply that you want someone to listen to what you have to say?”
“I don’t know.” I kick the leg of my stool with my heel. “This ancient stool feels awfully flimsy to be a soapbox.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Do you actually enjoy listening to the slurred ramblings of anonymous, inebriated, bar patrons?”
“Are you always this wordy when you’re tipsy?”
“Only on Thursdays.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Well, shit.”
The Bad Baller Collection Page 37
