by Tabatha Kiss
“I can manage it. Probably.”
He turns away, leaving me to sink into the couch cushions a little more.
Yet another muscle twitches in my back. I shift to a slightly different position to kill the spasm before it begins.
“Okay, buddy,” I say to my stomach. “Any day now…”
I hope for a pain. One quick pulse. One measly contraction that will tell me it’s time.
All I get is bubbles.
“Damn.”
I heave a sigh and rock myself up.
Junior’s voice drifts down the hall, carrying softly with rhythmic words of childish prose. Courtney giggles with him, her tired voice dimming more and more with each turned page.
I lean against the wall just outside the doorway, listening as I try to imagine what our son will look like. If he grows into anything resembling his father, it’s safe to assume he’ll be quite the handful.
And then there are the eyes. Courtney is the spitting image of me except for the eyes. They’re all Junior’s. Right down to the light specks of gray around the brown edges. Being away from him the last two weeks has been a serious challenge for me, but sometimes, at just the right moment, I’d look at my daughter and I’d see Junior looking back at me. I’d fall in love with him all over again.
Junior enters the hall, moving as silently as possible, and closes her door behind him. He looks up at me and smiles, but his eyes shift with concern.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Why?”
“You’re crying.”
I touch my cheeks and feel the warm moisture trailing down my face. “Oh.” I laugh it off. “Yeah, that happens.”
Junior wipes them away with his thumbs and tilts my face up to kiss me. There’s desire on his lips, a lingering urge that sends quivers throughout my body. I pull him closer, relaxing away from mommy-mode to serve my womanly needs.
“I missed my wife,” Junior whispers between kisses.
I smile. “She missed you.”
He kisses me harder, pressing my back against the wall. My desire takes over. His touch does to me as it always has, igniting fire where there wasn’t one before.
I wince as firm pressure shoves from within. “Oh—!”
Junior eases back, forced away by the life occupying the space between us.
“Did…” He blinks. “Did he just kick me?”
I feel my belly. “He most definitely did.”
“That almost hurt.”
“How do you think it felt from the inside?”
He holds up his hands and talks to my stomach. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Hands off Mommy.”
“He has to sleep, eventually. Maybe a few pages of Dr. Freud will knock him out.”
“Works on me every time.”
Another series of flutters dances against my ribs. “He’s kicking again.”
Junior touches me, his eyes wide with admiration as he traces the movement inside. “Whoa,” he says. “He’s going to make so many field goals with that kick.”
I shrug. “Or maybe he’ll play soccer.”
He fires a hard stare at me. “Don’t you even joke about that.” I laugh at him. “Take that back.”
I head for the bedroom. “I will not.”
Junior follows me in and closes the door behind us. “Ally, I’m just saying, this kid has quite the legacy to live up to.”
“Let’s not put so much pressure on him,” I say. “He’s not even born yet.”
“Son of Junior Morgan. Grandson of Cary Pierce. People will expect it. It’s in his blood.”
I lie back against the pillows and pull my feet onto the bed. “I say we let him do what he wants.”
“I agree, but…” He hesitates, smiling softly at the thought. “Admit it. It’d be kinda cool. Third generation pro football badass.”
“Maybe. But you know what would be even cooler?”
“What?”
“If he took after his mother.” I point my thumbs at me and grin. “Eh? Yeah? Theatre kid!”
“I’m not walking into that trap.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls the socks off my feet.
“It’s not a trap,” she says. “It’s a fact. Artistic children rank higher in academics and social skills.”
“Hey, my social skills were fine.”
“Getting laid a lot isn’t a social skill.”
“It should be.” He slides his fingernail along the arch of my foot, sending a tickle up my ankle. I kick him and he laughs. “We had this same argument when Courtney was born.”
“Yeah, and I won that one, too.”
“You did not win,” he says, gently massaging between my toes.
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to settle again for agreeing that Connor can choose for himself.”
I pause. “Connor?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I sit back, letting the name sink in. “I like it.”
“Me, too.”
“Good choice.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s about time,” I joke. “Cutting it pretty close, don’t you think?”
“That’s what you get for letting me name him.”
“I’ll just do it myself next time.”
He raises a brow. “Next time?”
I cringe. “Did I just say next time?”
“You did. I thought we were done having kids.”
“We better be.” I stare at my giant stomach. “As soon as this guy comes out, I’m having my vagina fused shut.”
Junior tilts his head. “Well, you don’t have to go that far. I’m a little attached to your vagina. Sometimes, in more ways than one.”
I laugh. “Fine. You’ll just have to get snipped.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I expected more pushback than that.”
“Hey, if the choice is between me getting snipped or you fusing your vagina closed, I’ll suffer through the weekend of icing my junk with a bag of peas.”
I tilt my head. “How thoughtful.”
Junior smiles. “That’s me.”
He slides up the bed and lies beside me, raising his arm to guide me against his chest. His lips graze my head. I feel him smell my hair, as he always does. Then he releases a thick sigh, relaxing.
“It’s good to be home,” he whispers.
I cling to him, resting my head on his thick shoulder as he lays a hand on my belly. Connor stirs inside, reacting to his loving touch.
I smile. “Any day now…”
I look up at my husband, and he kisses me.
“He’s going to be perfect,” he says.
“Promise?”
Junior draws an X over his chest.
“Cross my heart.”
For a glimpse into the Morgan Family’s future, read their Extended Epilogue! Click here.
Move over, Junior Morgan.
It’s Johnny’s turn.
First Down Darling
is coming February 15, 2022!
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MORE FROM THE TABIVERSE…
Who is Heidi Newbury, Shanty Row’s newest resident? Read her story in On His Face, the first book in my Bad Boys of Delta Xi series! (Turn the page to read an excerpt!)
For the complete character map, visit http://www.tabathakiss.com/charactermap.
Happy reading!
xo Tabby
EXCERPT: ON HIS FACE
HEIDI
“This guy looks like a total prick.”
I glare with surprise at Jenna sitting at the easel beside me. “Shh!” I say. “He’ll hear you.”
“Well, he does,” she says, her strawberry blonde bob tickling her chin.
I quickly check the model standing still in the center of the classroom. His face points to the right, his expression dull and void s
ince class began, but that’s his job. Stand still for an hour. Earn fifty bucks.
“No, he doesn’t,” I whisper.
“No, definitely an asshole,” she says at normal volume.
“Jenna.”
“Resting prick face alert.”
“Stop.”
She raises a brow at me. “What?”
“He’ll hear you,” I say.
“Oh, calm down.” She scoffs. “No, he won’t.”
“He might, though.”
“So what if he does? He probably already knows and if not, then I don’t mind being the one to tell him.”
I focus on my drawing again. Two dark charcoal eyes stare back at me from the easel, matching the ones on the model. Tonight’s assignment is drawing faces. Luckily, I’ve always been good at faces — and only faces. Hands? Nope. Clothes? Nada. But I can do faces.
I snap my head toward my elbow as I sneeze. Stupid allergies.
“Bless you,” Jenna mutters.
“Thanks.”
I glance up from my portrait as the model’s eyes flick away from me. Or maybe I just imagined it. Either way, my stomach turns somersaults. Did he hear Jenna call him an asshole? Or worse, did he think I said it? I hope I imagined it.
Please let me have imagined it.
I press charcoal to paper and add a little texture to the shadows beneath his nose. I blend it upward, following along the sharp cheekbone up to his ear, giving him a thin five o’clock shadow. I fill in the prominent cleft beneath his nose, then look at him again before outlining his lips.
I lean forward without thinking. I squint to focus on his lips across the classroom. They’re thick, but not too thick. They dip down on the edges, creating a slight scowl. That’s probably why Jenna thinks the way she does, but I disagree. I think it makes him look pensive and wise. He’s young, but older than us by a few years. A real college man.
His eyes flick in my direction. My hand jolts and I accidentally drag the pencil too far up his cheek.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Jenna leans over on her stool and chortles at my portrait. “Why so serious?” she says.
I groan before reaching for my rubber eraser.
“So, I’m thinking of heading to Bobby’s after class,” Jenna says.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask as I attempt to save my portrait.
“He and his roommates are having a little get-together. You should totally come along.”
“Oh, no thanks,” I say. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Heidi, it’s not an intrusion if you’re invited,” she says, her voice slipping into that annoyed tone I know so well.
“I know. I just...” I pause, searching for an excuse. “I have some homework to do.”
“No one does homework on a Thursday night,” she says. “It’s the law.”
“Well, I’m tired,” I say, grabbing the next available excuse. “I worked a double shift at the diner today and I wanted to catch up on my sleep.”
“So you’re going to sleep and do all that homework, too?”
I glare at her gotcha smile. “… Yes,” I answer.
“Or you can come with me to Bobby’s and have some fun.”
“No, thank you.”
Jenna scoffs. “Heidi, do you remember the deal we made when we moved to Chicago together?”
I sigh. “Yes, I remember.”
“You said that you were the boring homebody in high school and you wanted to branch out at college.”
My nose twitches. Another sneeze incoming. “I know, I just—”
“I agreed to be your mentor on the condition that you actually try.”
I snap toward my elbow again to obscure my sneeze.
“Bless you,” she says again.
“Thanks. I will try, Jenna. I just don’t want to try tonight. That’s all.”
“Okay, fine.” She slowly draws the line of his jaw on her own portrait. “But tomorrow night, you’re going out with me.”
I nod, jumping on the opportunity to satiate her and end this conversation. “I will go out with you tomorrow night,” I repeat.
“Promise?”
I cringe playfully. “Do I have to?”
“Heidi, you will never fall in love with a stranger if you never meet people.”
“But meeting people means they aren’t strangers anymore.”
She pauses, briefly taken back by the logic. “Whatever. I’m not letting you weasel your way out of this one. You are going out with me tomorrow night and that’s final.”
I chuckle. “I will.”
“And then, you will do what your BFF Jenna would do, and bring a cute boy home with you to play with.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Heidi.”
“Jenna.”
She pivots on her stool to face me. “Heidi, I love you. I adore you. You’ve been my bestie since we were five. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, waiting for the punchline.
“That’s why I want you to drink and be merry and invite cute boys over on a whim to touch your naughty bits.”
And there it is.
I blink twice. “How sweet.”
“Seriously. Every day that I come home and I don’t see a hair scrunchie on your doorknob, I die a little inside.”
I snort at her dumb system. “Okay, Jenna.”
“So, please, do it for me.” She reaches out and pats my knee. “Do it for your naughty bits, Heidi. We need this.”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Bring a boy home and I will.”
“If I say I’ll think about it, will you drop it?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Then, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you. But don’t over-think it. It’s just naughty bits.”
I cringe as I twist back to face my portrait. With blushed cheeks, I raise my charcoal and try to focus on finishing his lips.
I glance up at the model’s face. His eyes turn away again, sending a brief shiver down my spine.
Can he hear us?
No, definitely not.
Dear lord, I hope not.
I stuff my sketchpad into my backpack as thunder rumbles just outside the doors of Ramsey Hall. Rain pours down from the sky. Lightning every few seconds. This storm isn’t going anywhere. I try to find a way to keep my backpack — and my precious sketchpad — from getting soaked on my way to the parking lot.
No more rain, the weatherman said.
Leave the umbrella at home tonight, he said.
No wonder my allergies are going nuts tonight.
Jenna groans as she flicks up the hood on her jacket. “Another storm?” she asks.
“Another storm,” I repeat.
“This better not mess up my hair before I get to Bobby’s...”
I chuckle at her little face just barely visible through the hole of her hood. “If he really likes you, then it shouldn’t matter what your hair looks like.”
Jenna scoffs. “You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo.”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
She throws her messenger bag strap over her shoulder and exhales, locked and loaded for battle. “All right. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Or tomorrow morning.” She chuckles. “We’ll see.”
“Have fun.”
“I will!”
Jenna charges through the door into the rain. I quickly follow, pinching the hood of my jacket with one hand and keeping my backpack shielded with the other. The rain is loud and unyielding over the sounds of my sneakers stomping through the puddles as I sprint through campus toward the student parking lot. I spot my old, beat-up sedan parked beneath a lamppost on the west side and bolt faster toward it.
Jenna weaves through the parked cars ahead of me, racing to her Mustang a few spots down f
rom mine. “Bye, Heidi!” she shouts into the wind as she opens the driver’s side and leaps inside.
“Bye, Jenna!” I shout back as I rustle through my pocket for my keys.
I open my door and toss my backpack inside, resting it on the passenger’s seat before climbing in myself. I close the door and sit back, happy to listen to the rain slapping against my roof for a few seconds while I catch my breath.
Jenna’s engine revs with life, her bright headlights flashing on a mere second before she hits the gas and blazes out of the lot way faster than she should.
With a chuckle, I slide my key in the ignition and turn it.
Click, click, click.
“No...” I whisper. I turn it again.
Click, click.
“Oh, come on! Please...”
Click, click, click.
“I think I can,” I say, feeling some hope. “I think I can. I think...”
Click, click, click.
“Dammit.” I abandon the keys. “Dammit. Dammit!”
I must have left my lights on. No, I didn’t. Did I?
Shit.
I reach for my backpack in search of my phone. Jenna will hate me for this, but I don’t have anyone else I can call.
A horn blares outside. I look up at a car sitting idle directly in front of me. I squint, but I can’t make out who it is through the blinding headlights.
The lights flash twice at me.
Jenna!
I put the phone away and grab my bag. She must have spotted me sitting here like an idiot.
I’m saved!
I rush outside, locking my dumb car behind me as I race toward her. The passenger side door pops for me. I grab it, quickly sliding in and out of the rain before I get soaked all over again.
I drop my bag on the floor between my feet. “Jenna, thank you—”
I freeze.
No. Not Jenna.
Definitely not Jenna.
Jenna’s not a man.
Jenna doesn’t have those cheekbones.
Or that chestnut hair. Or a five o’clock shadow. Or those perfect, round eyes I shaded with charcoal just twenty minutes ago… which I can now see are a bright shade of green.
It’s the model from class.
