Very Merry Wingmen: A Holiday Collection

by Daisy Prescott

  Months ago I assigned Hailey a new ringtone and made her promise to call, not text if it’s an emergency. Cheesy as hell, but the inside joke never gets old. Her name appears in the text window and I exhale with relief.

  *Where are you?*

  I quickly type out my reply.

  *At the Dog. Helping Olaf get in the holiday spirit.*

  After hitting send, I add another short message.

  *Everything okay? Need anything?*

  The bouncing dots appear and then disappear before reappearing.

  I stare at my phone, waiting for her response.

  “You know, you can use those things to actually speak to people,” Olaf mumbles from the other side of the bar.

  Ignoring Scrooge, I read Hailey’s text.

  *Oh, can you bring me a slice of garlic clam pizza from Village?*

  *You’ll be here in two hours for the Sip n’ Stroll. Can you wait until then?*

  Her response is instant.

  *NO.*

  I smile at her all caps reply.

  Swallowing a third of my beer, I push the glass closer to Olaf. “Gotta go.”

  “Hailey’s not in labor, is she?” Genuine concern furrows his brow.

  “No, she’s not due for another two weeks. She’s craving a slice of pizza.”

  “Babies don’t care about calendars. They come when they’re ready. Some are impatient and others are stubborn.”

  “Thanks for the wisdom.” I tug on my Carhartt jacket. “And the beer.”

  I pull out my wallet, and he shakes his head.

  “On the house.”

  “You’re welcome,” I respond to his unspoken thank you. “See you in a couple of hours.”

  Outside, the wind’s kicked up to a half-hearted howl. Against the bitter bite of the damp air, I flip the collar on my jacket before digging my hands into my pockets. The walk to the pizzeria is only one long, cold block.

  It’s too early for holiday strollers, but the sidewalks are an obstacle course of holiday decorations. I accidentally, and not at all on purpose, kick a kissing ball of mistletoe.

  “Oops. Sorry ’bout that.” I pick the ball up from the gutter and replace it on the pile.

  “No problem …” an unfamiliar female voice says from above me on a ladder. “Wait, aren’t you Tom Donnely?”

  My feet freeze in place. This usually doesn’t end well. I peer up at the woman looming over me. Her face is unfamiliar, and that’s all I have to go on because she’s wearing a big fuzzy beanie and a padded down coat.

  I’ve been with Hailey for three years and the memories of the women who came before her are fuzzy. Still, I can usually remember a face, if not a name. I know my reputation would say otherwise, but the list isn’t that long.

  Lifting my eyebrows in happy surprise and giving her a friendly, but cautious smile, I greet her. “Hey?”

  I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but my voice lifts like I’m going through puberty again. Yeah, it even cracks at the end.

  “I’m June.” She waves at me.

  So I wave back while wracking my brain for a woman named June I’ve slept with. Nothing. Maybe she goes by a nickname.

  “Hey.” I repeat myself because I don’t really have anything else to say.

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She laughs and steps down from the ladder. I step closer to hold it steady for her. Always the gentleman.

  “You’re June.” I give her my standard deflection answer. Damn, small town on a small island.

  “I work at Diane’s Pilates studio, as well as here.” She points at the knitting shop we’re standing in front of. “I’m new to the island.”

  Still doesn’t ring a bell, but I exhale with relief she’s never seen me naked.

  “I recognized you from the Naked Whidbey calendar.”

  Cancel the last part. Sometimes I forget everyone’s seen the glory of my bare ass thanks to Erik Kelso’s antics.

  Yeah, I volunteered for the calendar, because there’s no way I’d ever let those Kelso brothers outdo me.

  “Right, of course.” My neck heats. I’m not shy, but I’m a married man and about to become a dad. The idea of being an anonymous piece of fantasy man meat doesn’t sit right.

  “I have something for Hailey. Can I give it to you? I thought I’d see her tonight, but it’s kind of big to be toting around the streets of Langley.” She’s already walking inside the store.

  Now that I’m sure she’s not hitting on me, I follow her. “I’ve never been in here before. Yarn, huh?”

  The walls are filled with cubbies stuffed with a rainbow of yarn. The whole place smells like wool.

  She removes her beanie. Warm brown hair spills around her shoulders. Her eyes are hazel and crinkle up in the corners when she smiles at me. Pretty in an objective way. “You should take up knitting. There are a couple of men on the island who knit. You could form your own circle.”

  Men forming circles doesn’t sound like anything I want to be a part of.

  “I’m better with wood.” I swallow awkwardly over the double-entendre. “And chainsaws.”

  Nothing sexual about chainsaws. Unless you have a Friday the Thirteenth fetish.

  June hoists a large, brown paper bag from behind the counter. “It’s more bulky than heavy.”

  I eye it warily. “What is it?”

  “A blanket for the baby. I know you had a shower and probably have a million things already, but we still wanted to make something. Our knitting group tries to make a blanket for every new island baby.”

  They’re lucky we’re not having a population explosion.

  “Uh, thanks.” Great. Another blanket. I pick up the bag with one hand under the thin handle and the heavy weight surprises me. Barely avoiding dropping it, I give her a half-smile. “Did you knit it with iron?”

  She doesn’t laugh. “Of course not. Local alpaca.”

  And my sense of humor fails to hit its mark. “Probably softer for the baby. And smarter since they won’t get stuck to any large magnets.”

  June blinks at me with a lost smile on her face.

  I tell her thanks again and back out of the shop with a wave.

  My phone vibrates with a new text.

  *Starving. What’s your ETA?*

  Lately, Hailey goes from a little peckish to hangry in a flash. Her text is a warning I’m wise not to ignore.

  I text her back.

  *On my way. Need anything else?*

  I pick up my pace the rest of the way to the pizzeria. The delicious smell of garlic and fresh dough greet me when I pull open the door.

  “Ahh, Tom. Wondered when you were going to show up. Hailey called a few minutes ago. She ordered you a meatball sub.” Joe gives me a sympathetic frown as he sets a large pizza box and a bag on the counter. “Said something about promising not to tell Dan she’s cheating on him.”

  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 si
dewalks 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 EIGHT

  “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.
r />   “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.”