Rockstars, Babies & Happily Ever Afters

by Cari Quinn

  Jazz had to laugh. In general, whenever she indicated her desire for a large family—and preferably sooner rather than later—she got a variety of looks and comments. If the rattle fit…

  “We’ll stop at five or six. Not counting the couple of kids we’re going to adopt.”

  “Yes, Brangelina. Just saying, I’m good on clothes. And I’m definitely good on mama-in-law drama.”

  “No fair, you don’t even have one,” Jazz wailed.

  Then she frowned. Maybe Harper felt like she was missing out by not having Deacon’s mother in her life. Surely Deacon himself must be. She knew what it was like to not have her mama around. Most of the time she dealt with it okay. Especially on days like today when she wished she wasn’t tasked with making nicey-nice with a woman who was only tolerating her because of the miniature beach ball under Jazz’s maternity top.

  She’d always longed for a mother, a real one, the kind who brushed hair and cut up sandwiches and later on, shared secrets and dispensed June Cleaver-style advice. Unfortunately, those kind of parental units seemed to be in short supply.

  “And I don’t feel like I’m missing out either,” Harper said, answering that question. “Deak and I are making our own way just fine.”

  “Okay, fine. Abandon me to the wolves of—”

  “Frog footie pajamas and blue sippy cups? However will you survive?” Harper sighed. “Okay, okay. I’m actually just up the block.”

  “What? How come?”

  “I was on my way there and chickened out. I stopped at the McD’s for some fries. The kid likes salt, what can I say?”

  “You at McD’s? Harper McCoy, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. You’re going to lose your honorary chef’s hat.”

  “Bish, who you calling honorary? I am a chef, thank you very much. And good cooks take time to sample exotic cuisines.”

  Jazz snorted. “Exotic because they aren’t even real food?”

  “Something like that. Be there in five.”

  “’Kay, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Oh, and save me some fries?”

  “Thought they weren’t even real food.”

  “Yeah, but I like non-real food,” Jazz said, clicking off on Harper’s laughter.

  She tossed her cell in her purse and eyed the baby mecca in front of her. Mrs. Duffy was due to arrive any minute, and she couldn’t help smoothing down her top every five seconds to make sure she looked presentable. She’d taken care not to wear denim shorts that were too short, which was kind of a loss because her ass looked particularly nice today. But Gray wasn’t around to see it anyway. He was off working as usual, collaborating with his new buddies The Grunge.

  Since she’d just mentioned their potential family of eight, she couldn’t really begrudge him the long hours he spent away writing songs and sitting in with up-and-coming bands. Their own band, Oblivion, was just about to start their tour, and now was as good a time as any for them to be separated because soon they’d be living in each other’s pockets again.

  She couldn’t wait.

  The chime that signaled a text from Gray made her grin and scramble for her phone.

  What are you buying my baby?

  See, he must’ve known she was having a mini panic attack about shopping with his mom. She was amazed he’d even remembered. He’d been a little busy and scattered lately, understandably so. The man was writing his very fine buns off, just so he could provide for her and the baby. Not that she wasn’t doing plenty of providing too, drumming for Oblivion. But she loved him for going above and beyond.

  She smiled and typed back a quick response while keeping one eye on the front door of the shop. Mrs. Duffy never tolerated lateness. Part and parcel of being rich enough that you made people wait, not vice versa, Jazz supposed.

  Nothing yet but I’m abt to feed the babeh salty, delish fries.

  She hoped, if Harper ever showed.

  Fries? That’s not a healthy lunch.

  She rolled her eyes at him. He was militant about making sure she was eating well. Mostly militant, unless she distracted him with sexual favors.

  Speaking of, she’d taken a new selfie that morning before she’d pulled on her maternity top. If her butt was enjoying the benefits of pregnancy, her boobs were doing nightly victory laps. She hadn’t taken a nude pic, just semi.

  Hopefully it was dirty enough to get his mind off fries and onto her body.

  She scrolled through her pictures and after finding the one she was looking for, hit send. She glanced up at the blur of lemon yellow striding past her peripheral vision and yelped as she tossed her cell in her bag.

  Dammit, she would not be late, especially when she’d been early.

  Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she grabbed her car keys, threw them in her purse and climbed out of the car. It took some effort, but she jogged fast enough across the lot to reach the front door of the store at the same time as Mrs. Duffy.

  “Hi there,” she said brightly, trying not to pant. She’d never been a queen of physical fitness, and this definitely wasn’t her most shining hour. Doing her mommy yoga classes twice a week strained her to the max, for God’s sake. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Why are you sweating and out of breath, Jasmine?” Mrs. Duffy peered at her. “Are you ill?”

  Jazz’s smile faltered. Evidently, it wasn’t obvious that she had just booked across the parking lot. “Nope, not ill. I’m healthy as can be.”

  “You’re certainly gaining weight as you should. Why, you look bigger than the last time I saw you.”

  Here we go. In the years since Jazz had lived with her foster mother, Mrs. Duffy obviously hadn’t lost her tendency to criticize or to think things should be done a certain way. But Jazz refused to allow this shopping trip to get off on the wrong foot. Harper would be there soon, and she’d provide perfect deflection.

  In the meantime, Jazz would keep smiling. Like an idiot.

  “It’s been a month and I’m almost five months pregnant,” Jazz said through gritted teeth. She wasn’t sure it still counted as a smile but she was trying, dammit. “My doctor says I’m exactly where I should be. In fact, she suggested I gain a few pounds.”

  Mrs. Duffy frowned. “Where?”

  The screech of brakes nearby made Jazz shift toward the parking lot. Please be Harper. Please be Harper. At the sight of her best friend’s white catering truck, Jazz clapped her hands like a seal. “Oh yay, look who’s here.”

  Mrs. Duffy’s expression turned suspicious and she tightened her grip on her handbag. “Who?”

  Harper climbed out of the van and meandered over to them, looking daisy-fresh in spite of the late May heat. Her blond ponytail bounced with each step and the brightness of her smile made Jazz’s feel dim.

  Then again, Harper hadn’t just spent the last five minutes with Mrs. Duffy.

  “This is Harper McCoy, the wife of my bandmate Deacon. She’s also my best friend and the moon to my stars.” Jazz hustled forward and clasped Harper’s arm to her side. So what if she was hanging on to her friend like a kid with a security blanket? She had her reasons. “Harper, this is Gray’s mother.”

  “Call me Eileen,” Mrs. Duffy said warmly, extending her hand to Harper. Harper shook it, shooting a sidelong glance at Jazz. “Why, you’re pregnant too.”

  “Yes, I sure am.” Harper took back her hand and patted her belly, even more rounded than Jazz’s. Harper was about two months more preggo than Jazz and adorable with it in her jeans and smocked top.

  “Well, that will be handy, having a built-in playmate.”

  “Oh, don’t know about that. Gray’s a randy sort and I’m not too sure I want his son cavorting with my baby girl.” Harper managed to keep a straight face, but Jazz had to cough into her hand.

  “Randy, is it? No doubt due to the influence of his wife,” Mrs. Duffy said with a haughty smile, pivoting on her heel to head inside. “Come along, girls.”

  “Awesome,” Jazz muttered, shoving her sunglasses back do
wn just in case her eyes started shooting poisonous darts without her input.

  “Sorry,” Harper said in an undertone, clutching Jazz’s arm as they went into the store. “I was trying to be funny. You know, lighten the mood.”

  “Oh, it’s light, all right. She thinks I’m the Marilyn Monroe of baby mamas, seducing her hapless son.”

  Then again, she had kind of seduced Mrs. Duffy’s son, hadn’t she? Not that he was hapless. But she distinctly remembered a pair of hooker boots and a sexy dress and shedding said dress when Gray hadn’t made a move. The fact that she’d been sans underwear at the time had been coincidental.

  Okay, so not really. But the boy had needed seducing. They’d been dancing around each other for so many years that she’d finally reached the point she couldn’t wait anymore.

  The whole getting knocked up on the first night thing had been completely accidental, even if she’d already scared Gray into talking about adding on to the house they hadn’t even purchased yet. They’d seen a couple of promising ones, but so far none of them had given her that special warm zing that meant the home was meant to be theirs.

  Zing or not, they were going to have to find a place soon.

  “It’s a mother thing. I’m sure once our kids get older, we’ll view the harlot or manwhore who tries to take them away the same way. I’m pretty sure it’s biological.” Harper deepened her voice like a caveman’s. “Must keep the babies in the nest. Must not let them enjoy sex and fly away.”

  Jazz had to giggle, though she sobered up once Mrs. Duffy glanced back at them. “Shall we get a cart?” Jazz asked.

  “Two carts, I would think. Unless you’re not shopping, Harlow?”

  “Harper,” Harper corrected. “No, I’m more along for moral—” She broke off when Jazz pinched her hip. “To act as the moral police,” she said instead. “You know how scandalous babies’ fashions can be these days.”

  “Has Jasmine already been buying inappropriate things?”

  Jazz sighed heavily and gave Harper the side-eye. Moral support, my ass. So far all her bestie had done was cause her trouble, not smooth the way. “I’m having a boy, Eileen. What exactly do you think I could be buying him?”

  Mrs. Duffy narrowed her eyes. Whether it was because of Jazz’s direct challenge or because she’d dared to call her Eileen—though that offer had never been extended to her—was up for interpretation. “Oh, I’m sure you have your ways. You’ve always been a very resourceful girl, Jasmine.”

  “She so is.” Harper nodded eagerly. “In fact, she’s knitted three pairs of booties for both Dylan and for my little girl. With as busy as she is, she still finds time to—”

  “Busy how? I thought your band was on hiatus?”

  Jazz selected a cart and wheeled it across the front of the store. Maybe if she got lucky, Mrs. Duffy would get lost. “We aren’t on hiatus, we’ve been in the studio finishing the album.”

  “But not touring, correct?”

  “No, not recently,” Jazz replied, hating how defensive she sounded.

  She had no reason to be. Her job might not be conventional, but no one could argue it wasn’t grueling in its own way. There were ticket sales to worry about and quotas to hit. Each song had to be better than the last, and each CD had to outshine the previous. She had to deal with record execs and fans and her own creative urges, never mind the reality of meshing her personality with four other people. Four other men. That she now shared a last name with one of them didn’t change facts.

  Being in a band was awesome. It was also hard work.

  “So you’ve had some downtime,” Mrs. Duffy pressed.

  “Jazz had to redo her drum sections about fifty times. Talk about exhausting. I don’t know how she does it.” Harper grabbed Jazz’s arm and dragged her up the first aisle, which happened to be filled with baby formula and burping cloths. “Just keep rolling,” Harper whispered in her ear.

  “I am rolling, literally, and by the way, where are my French fries?” Jazz whispered back.

  As if on cue, Gray’s text signal went off in her purse. She leaped on the phone, dragging it up to see his response to her breast pic. That was even more interesting than seeking her missing fries.

  Instead, she fumbled the phone onto the floor. Dammit. Before she could snatch it up again, she watched in growing horror as Mrs. Duffy swooped down and lifted it up to her nosy face.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Jazz chanted under her breath.

  “Oh, it’s from Grayson.” Mrs. Duffy’s delight was obvious. “He says that you gave him just the wake up call he needed, so thanks.”

  “Thank God,” Jazz said, offering Mrs. Duffy a smile when her mother-in-law gave her a puzzled look. “Um, I mean I’m so glad. Could I please have my phone back now? Please?”

  Then her phone chimed again, and Jazz buried her chin in her chest. This so wasn’t going to be good. And forget getting the phone away from Gray’s mother. She had that thing in a death grip now.

  “Another message from Grayson. He says your tits are—” Mrs. Duffy stopped and frowned, obviously rereading. She finally shoved the phone at Jazz. “You read it,” she said, practically snatching the cart out of Jazz’s hands.

  Jazz waited until she’d rolled it away to sneak a glance at the text. And groaned. Loudly.

  Your tits r perfection. I can’t wait to lick & suck them all night long. Maybe even decorate them.

  Winky face.

  Dear God. Her life as she knew it was officially over.

  Two

  “Lemme see,” Harper said, taking her turn with the phone. Jazz let her. What did it matter at this point? She’d already been branded a sex pervert multiple times over.

  “Oh my.” Harper’s eyebrows reached for her hairline. “At least Mrs. Duffy knows the passion is still alive,” she said, trying to smother a laugh behind her hand.

  Jazz grabbed her phone and dumped it in her purse. “I sent him a boob shot to distract him from lecturing me about the fries I didn’t even get. So technically, this is all your fault.”

  “Well, naturally. Isn’t that my role as the bestie? The cause of all the things.”

  Jazz ignored Harper’s chuckles and shuffled up the aisle in the direction Mrs. Duffy had gone. On the way, she grabbed a set of adorable burp cloths, though she already had a ton at home. She might be embarrassed as hell, but she could still shop.

  The day didn’t get any better from there. Somehow it even got worse.

  Mrs. Duffy barely spoke to Jazz, instead questioning Harper about her pregnancy as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. She offered suggestions for clothing choices for Harper’s baby—because it’s so much fun to shop for little girls!—while almost entirely ignoring the sex maniac who just happened to be her daughter-in-law.

  Unfortunately.

  Harper shot her more than a few sympathetic looks, but in the end, she helped Mrs. Duffy forget about the tits and the painting and the sucking. Or at least Jazz hoped.

  By the time they’d finished shopping in the enormous baby store, two hours had passed and Jazz’s cart was filled with stuff. About a third of it was hers, the rest Harper’s—and Mrs. Duffy’s, since she evidently wanted to help dress baby Alexa in spite of Harper’s protests that she and Deacon made plenty of money.

  Gray’s mother had picked out one outfit for Dylan, a little blue sleeper, and Jazz loved it. She tried to not be bothered by the cold shoulder treatment, but she couldn’t help her natural instinct to people please. All she wanted to do was smooth over—

  Smooth over what, exactly? That she and her husband were intimate? It wasn’t as if it was a bad thing. Couples were supposed to want to get naked together, especially just a month into their marriage.

  “It’s not a crime,” she said under her breath, scowling down at her purchases as the checkout dude rang them out. “So what if I like sex?”

  The guy’s hands faltered. “Um, excuse me, miss? What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Sorr
y. I’m just being stupid.” She flashed the guy a distracted smile, barely noticing the one he gave her in return.

  “These clothes,” he said, holding up an elephant onesie. “They’re for her?” He gestured to Harper, who’d already gone through the line. “She’s super pregnant.”

  Harper frowned, clearly not appreciating that description. “I’m not super anything. I have a couple months left. And hello, you already checked me out.” She shook her head. “If you could stop checking her out, maybe you’d remember.”

  “Say what?” Jazz blinked at the pointed look Harper shot her way, then glanced at the checkout guy. His cheeks had turned the color of apples. Oh crap. “No, these clothes are for me. My baby. This,” she said, peeling up the bottom of her top to show off her bump, much to Mrs. Duffy’s audible horror. “Jeez, it’s just my stomach.”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “And married,” Mrs. Duffy added, in case Jazz had forgotten.

  “And married?” the guy repeated, clearly shocked. “I thought you were a teenager.”

  “Hardly,” Jazz sniffed, shoving a pile of thick terrycloth towels festooned with frogs at him to make him stop talking. “I’m way past my teen years.”

  Harper snorted. “Way past meaning barely.”

  Jazz narrowed her eyes and continued unloading her cart.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said softly once Harper had guided Mrs. Duffy away to look at a display of carriages. “I just…well, you’re cute.”

  Jazz’s bad mood slipped away as if it had never existed. “Thank you. I really needed to hear something nice today.”

  “So, married, huh?”

  “Yes. We’re practically still on our honeymoon.” She showed him her ring and smiled. “But I’m flattered.”

  “When are you due?”

  “Fall.”

  “Have you checked out the Apex line of car seats? Not sure what kind of car you drive, but they’re rated really well and can be customized to fit all vehicles.”

  Jazz sighed. She’d gone from cute to a potential commission in one fell swoop. She couldn’t blame the guy. Gotta get your dolla dolla bills however you can, right?