Handing over some cash, I ignore his lifted eyebrow and smirk. “We’re equal opportunity pizza eaters. Happy to keep you both in business. You know, spread around the love.”
Joe chuckles and focuses his attention on counting out my change. I notice he’s pierced his eyebrow. It’s a nice complement to the large gauges stretching his earlobes. Probably going to regret those when he’s older. Great, now I’m channeling my dead grandfather.
“What am I missing?” I scrunch up my brow and pretend to laugh along with him.
“Eh, old gossip. You know.” He winks at me.
The problem is I don’t know, but I don’t have time to figure out which rumor he’s talking about.
“Gotta get the pizza home while it’s hot.” Tucking the handle of the baby blanket bag in the crook of my arm, I pick up the pizza box with both hands and balance the bag with my sandwich on top.
“You give me hope, man.” He holds out his fist for me to hit it.
“Well, you keep up the good work.” I stick out my elbow not holding a bag and tap his balled hand.
Avoiding the booby-trapped sidewalks with all their holiday decorations, instead I walk down the street. Thinking the entire way back to the truck, I try to untangle Joe’s comments and wink. He’s a strange one. Reminds me a little bit of Jonah Kingston, Erik Kelso’s business partner and brother of Ashley, Carter Kelso’s true love and my old …
I trip over my own feet and tip forward, almost dropping the pizza box.
Once I steady myself, I glance over my shoulder at the pizzeria.
Wait a damn minute.
I’m a father to be, dutifully fetching food for my pregnant wife, and the hired help has the giant cohones to bring up my past? And insinuate we’re swingers.
For the record, no one is sharing any wives in my circle of friends.
No way.
A guy gets dragged to a party one time, leaves by himself once he figures out what sort of party it was, and years later, he has to deal with a knowing wink-wink while picking up a clam pie.
Okay, clam pie sounds way dirty.
Grumbling like Olaf, I open up the truck and slide the food across to the passenger side before I start the engine. Lived my whole life on this island, going to the same places, and knowing the same people. Always loved it. Now this town feels too small for both my past and my future to coexist.
Rolling down my window as I blast the heater, I duck my head out the opening and yell to anyone who can hear, “People change, you know!”
A few pedestrians turn their heads in the direction of the truck, but I’m already pulling away.
Chapter 8
“I was downtown a couple of hours ago. Do I really need to go back? You can’t sip and you can barely stroll. I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Currently sprawled on our couch in the living room, I’m rubbing Hailey’s feet through her fuzzy socks.
Because I’m a loving husband. And I’m hoping it will lull her into a long nap after her two slices of pizza, handful of mozzarella sticks, and three large bites of the meatball sandwich she supposedly ordered for me. Okay, she ate half the sandwich, but only asked for “a bite or two.” I have no one to blame but myself.
“It’s tradition.” Hailey yawns and covers it with her arm.
“You should take a nap.”
“No, I’m not even tired. I don’t want to miss the holiday decorations.” Her eyes droop and her blinking slows.
“The decorations will be there tomorrow. And the next day. You know some of those shopkeepers will leave that shit up until after New Year’s.”
“It’s our last chance to go as a couple before the baby.” She pushes out her chin in defiance. So stubborn.
“Eh. Everyone says the holidays are more magical when you have kids.”
She narrows her green eyes at me. “Did John cancel?”
“Haven’t heard from him. I don’t need a wingman.”
“Are you sure? Remember the carolers two years ago?”
“Bunch of busybodies. I do remember one of the Kelsos trapping you under some mistletoe.” I scowl at the memory.
Hailey shifts and switches her feet in my lap. “You can’t still be upset with Erik for that.”
“Not that. Why’d he have to get famous for being naked and stupid?”
“Are you jealous? You know your month in the calendar is my favorite.”
“Better be.” I squeeze her arch and she moans. “Hey, speaking of the calendar, I forgot June gave me something for the baby. I left the bag in the truck.”
“June?” She wrinkles her forehead. “The yarn lady? What does she have to do with the calendar?”
“I ran into her outside the shop and she knew me, but I didn’t know her. She brought up the calendar.” I shrug and twist my head to avoid Hailey’s stare.
“Usually that makes you preen and brag.” She presses her foot against the middle of my chest. “What’s wrong?”
The woman’s stubborn.
“Nothing.”
“Thomas Clifford, look at me.” Her toes dig into my pec.
“Ouch. You have viciously strong monkey feet.” Sitting up, I rub the tender spot.
“Another thing you love about me. Maybe our baby will have monkey feet, too.”
I lean my head back on the arm of the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
“Or not. He’ll probably have your feet with the hairy toes.” She tries to tickle my side with her feet.
Instead of finding her charming and flirting back, I’m feeling grumpy.
When she sits up, I release my hold on her. Lying still, I let her shuffle to get her feet on the floor and stand. “Seriously, you’re in a weird mood. I promise I won’t make you wear a reindeer onesie or the elf ears.”
“Never going to happen.”
She scrambles over me, ungracefully swinging one leg over mine and wedging it between mine and the couch back. “I’m going to sit on you and not let you up until you tell me why you’ve switched from being Tigger to acting like Eeyore.”
“Here’s a tip, straddling me isn’t punishment.” Sliding my hands over the baby bump up to her full breasts, I gently squeeze them while staring into her eyes. In case she misses my point, I tilt my hips, rolling my semi against her leggings.
Hailey’s eyes close before she responds by grinding against me. “You’re trying to distract me with sex.”
I widen my eyes to appear innocent. “I’m not the straddling party here.”
“I wasn’t thinking about sex when I sat on you. More like an elephant sitting on a mouse.”
“Are you saying I’m small?” I remind her of how not small I am by rolling my hips again. “And stop saying you’re huge. You’re beautiful. Supple, ample, lush all come to mind, not an elephant.”
She softly moans and the sound goes straight to my dick, which happily swells at the thought of being inside of her. I’d rather fuck my wife on the couch than face nosy neighbors in downtown Langley.
I know I’ve won when she presses my hands against her breasts, encouraging me to cup them. Wanting to kiss her, I sit up and lean closer. It’s awkward, but she tilts forward and manages to sweep her lips over mine. The belly makes it impossible to get close enough to fully make out. Hailey sighs, defeated, and then sits up straight.
Before she can attempt to slide off of me, I grip her hips. “Oh no you don’t.”
“I’m too huge for sex.”
“The important parts still line up. And there’s always doggie style.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“I need one of those signs across my ass that says ‘wide load.’” Exasperated, she shakes her head. “Some things can’t be unseen.”
“Saw it and loved it in the shower last month.” I remind her of our shower sex. “If I can continue going about my daily business after watching birthing videos, I think it’s proof we can all recover from sudden trauma. My body still responds to yours the same way as always.” I remind her of how much I love her body with
another arch of my hips, accidentally sliding against the exit only backdoor.
Her eyes bug out to the point I see white all around her irises. “No way. I’m not trying anal. And not on the couch. No, uh uh. I could never sit here again.”
I about choke on my tongue. “Who said anything about anal?”
“You just knocked on the backdoor.” She creates space between our bodies like I’m going to magically lose my sweats and just plow through her maternity leggings like a ramming rod.
“Accident. I swear.” I pull her against me again.
Her lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears.
Oh shit.
“Hey, I swear. It was the angle. You know I’d never push you to do anything you didn’t want to do. Or make you do something that doesn’t give you pleasure, too.” I mean the words and stress the point by petting her thighs in soothing circles.
“I know.” Her voice wobbles and we’re about seven point two seconds from full hormonal meltdown. “It’s not that.”
“What is it, sweetheart?” I brush the escaped tears from her cheeks and smile up at her.
“I’m going to be a mom. I’ll have a kid.”
“The two are usually a package deal.”
“I want to be a good mom. Like my mom. Or yours. Or Ellie. They’re all amazing mothers.” More tears fall from her eyes.
“True. And you will be.” I attempt to reassure her.
“I don’t know how to be a mom,” she wails. “Now it’s a done deal, and I’ve never had anal sex. Or gone to Paris. Or been to a sex club. Or had a fetish. Or visited the Alamo.”
My brow lowers and my eyes feel like I’m watching a tennis match as I try to process her list of nevers.
“Hold on, what are you even talking about?” I attempt to slide my legs out from between hers so I can sit up more. Because, like my fading erection, the moment of opportunity has passed. We sped past the off ramp to sexy times and have arrived in the middle of downtown crazy town. “What do those things have to do with each other?”
“I don’t know!” She’s full out crying now. “I should’ve traveled more. Or experimented more.”
“With fetishes?” I’m so lost. A strand of her dark hair sticks to her wet cheek. “Why can’t we go to the Alamo with kids? Family road trips are as American as apple pie and hamburgers. You, me, the kid, and the open road. We can get a camper. Or a sidecar for a motorcycle.” When I see the horror in her eyes, I backtrack. “Okay, not sidecar.”
“We need to sell the motorcycles.”
Now she’s talking complete nonsense. “Why? It’s not like we’re going to take the kid on the bike.”
“Marijuana is legal and I haven’t even eaten the special cookies. Now if I do, I’ll be the mom that the other mommies whisper about at the PTA meetings.” Her voice quivers again. “We need to be responsible adults.”
Forget tennis, this conversation is a championship ping-pong tournament with Chinese Olympians. I can’t keep up, so I go for humor to add some levity to the crazy. “I’ve been called the other A word a lot in my life, but I think I’m more insulted now.”
“Adorable?” she asks.
“Asshole.”
“That too.”
“By you. More than once.”
“Also true,” she agrees. “Because you were.”
“Past tense?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“Hmm,” I hum against her warm, smooth skin.
“Tom?” Her voice is breathy, encouraging me.
“Mmm?” I open my mouth to place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.
“Unf.”
“You had a question?” Lifting my eyes, I meet hers before kissing the same spot again.
She exhales slowly through her mouth. Kind of like we learned at baby class. “I forgot it.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“You better. I never want you to doubt it.”
“I don’t. Not ever.” Her green eyes fill with more tears. “I’m so lucky you’re my husband.”
“I’m the lucky one.”
“Can we have sex now?” she whispers.
“No holiday stroll?” I don’t hide my joy at the idea of skipping the whole event.
“We can do both.”
She looks so happy, I can’t deny her.
We slowly peel off each other’s clothes, dropping them to the floor. Even with a fire in the wood stove, the air chills our skin until I pull the throw over us. She straddles me again, and I let her take charge as I stare up at her in wonder.
“How did I get so lucky,” I say, holding her hands and bringing them to my mouth. Softly, I press open mouth kisses to her wrists.
“Because you’re getting laid?” Rolling her hips, she smiles down at me.
“No, because I have you as my wife.” I release her hands and pinch her butt. “To have and to hold as long as we both shall live.”
Lifting up, she lets me slip out of her all the way to the tip before she slides down to the base. Swallowed up by her wet velvet warmth, I thrust up into her, seeking more.
“What happened to honor and obey?” she asks with a smirk.
“Honor always, but we left out the obey from our vows for a reason. Nameless is the only one around here who should obey anyone.” We’re having sex and chatting. I need to up my game if she can still think in complete sentences.
“Less talking, more moaning.” I gently cup her breasts, enjoying the feeling of their fullness. She encourages me by pressing her palms over my hands, and I squeeze. With my thumb and forefinger, I not so gently pinch her nipple. When her eyelids flutter closed and her full lips part, I lower one hand to where we’re joined.
This earns me the moan I’ve been seeking. I live for making her happy. Giving her pleasure is easy. Almost as easy as loving her. She’s my world and I can’t imagine loving her more than I already do. But every time I think that, I’m proven wrong. When I fell in love with her, when I proposed, when she walked down the aisle in her simple white dress, when we saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, when she let me feel the baby kick for the first time, I thought my heart would explode with love for her because how could I love her more? Yet I do.
“I’m so close,” she murmurs as she increases her pace, grinding her hips against mine and rubbing her clit on my pelvic bone.
This is my favorite moment. Watching and feeling her come apart because of me.
“I love you,” I say, trying not to come until she peaks.
“I know. So much.” She shatters above me, rocking her hips and pressing my hand over her heart.
The love in her eyes, the thump of her heart under my palm break my hold on my own orgasm.
She slumps over me, resting her forehead against mine. “I’m going to miss this.”
“We don’t have to become those parents who never have sex.” Lowering my voice and drawing soothing circles on her back, I reassure her.
“I meant over the sex draught post-partum.” My hair muffles her voice until she lifts her head. “We need to have all the sex in the next two weeks.”
“I say we ditch the Sip n’ Stroll and spend the rest of the night naked. We have leftover pizza and there’s ice cream in the freezer—at least four different kinds.”
“Three. I finished the mint chip while waiting for the pizza.” She lifts her head, biting her lip.
Pressing my thumb against her mouth, I free her lip. “Then we better get more.”
“We can stop on the way home from Langley.” She shifts off of me and I immediately feel the cold air replace her warmth. “First we need to shower.”
I lift my eyebrows and curl my mouth into a wolfish grin. “Round two?”
“We’ll be late.” She laughs, trying to bend over to pick up her sweater.
“Leave them.” Standing, I scoop up our discarded clothes. “No one will notice if we’re late. And if they ask, we tell them the truth. Especially
if Connie or Sandy are doing the asking.”
“No. No way. Those women have vivid imaginations. I don’t need them picturing me naked, too.” She dips her chin to make her meaning clear.
“Fine.” I follow her up the stairs. With a pinch to her heart-shaped ass, I tease her, “Strangers at the hospital will see you in all your glory.”
She stops abruptly and I bump into her back.
“Sweetheart?” I tap her shoulder.
“Is it too late to buy a kiddie pool?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“Yes. It’s the middle of December.”
“Home birth?”
“The nurses at Whidbey General have seen more vaginas than …”
Me.
“Than Leonard DiCaprio?” She gives me an out from the hole I was about to dig myself.
“Yes, that guy.” I kiss the skin in the middle of her back.
Glancing over her shoulder, she reaches behind her for my hand. I entwine my fingers with hers before we continue up the stairs.
At the top, she turns and wraps her arms around me. Or as far as her belly will allow.
“Tom, your past doesn’t matter to me as long as I’m your present.”
“And my future.” I place a soft kiss on one corner of her mouth. “And my forever.” I kiss the other corner. Beneath my lips, I feel her smile curl and spread.
“Deal.” She inhales sharply and frowns. “That was weird.”
My eyes seek hers as my hands immediately go to her belly. “What’s wrong?”
“Mmm.” She breathes in through her nose. “Not sure. Probably nothing. Just a weird pinchy feeling. Maybe your giant penis bruised my cervix.”
“I appreciate the compliment, but we’ve had a lot of sex over the years, and you’ve never had pain after intercourse before.”
“It was probably the angle. No big deal.”
I eye her as we shower, watching for a sign she’s feeling pain.
“Could it be Braxton Hicks contractions?” I ask as we dry off.
She furrows her brow as she considers the possibility. “I don’t think so.”
“Tell me if it comes back. We’ll drive up to the hospital in Coupeville.”
Wingmen Babypalooza: A Wingmen Novella Page 7
