About Time (The Avenue Book 1)

by B. Cranford

  Andrew: And maybe send me pictures? You know, for proof.

  Ashton: Not happening.

  Andrew: But . . .

  Ashton: But nothing.

  Ashton: You can find out for yourself tonight.

  Andrew: Deal.

  “Are you okay over there?” Andrew smiled at his girl, sitting on the faded-floral bedspread in his hotel room, from his spot at the little table in the corner. He’d been on his laptop part of the day, looking at jobs and just generally passing the time until he could see her, when she’d come a-knocking. He’d told her to make herself comfortable while he was finalizing an email to his former employer and she’d taken him at his word, lowering herself onto the bed without hesitation.

  She nodded, running one hand over her growing bump, bringing the other to her mouth to lick her fingers. She had a smear of chocolate in the corner of her mouth and a look of total bliss on her face, which was backed up by her moan of pure delight as she’d devoured a chocolate iced donut in less than twenty seconds.

  Honestly, he’d never seen anything like it. Or been so turned on by competitive-speed eating before. But damn, the woman could fit a lot in her mouth and that made him—

  “Down boy,” he whispered as he looked down at his crotch, his erection thickening as he thought about other things that she might like to put in her mouth.

  “Huh, what?” she asked, blinking like she was just coming to after a nap—or perhaps a food coma. “Did you say something?”

  “I asked if you were okay, mostly. And I was encouraging my dick to settle down.”

  “Oh, well, yes, I’m okay. And as for your”—her hands flew to her stomach, a look of surprise on her face—“oh, my God! I think she kicked. Andrew! She kicked!”

  It took him no time at all to be at her side, sitting on the edge of the mattress, and staring down at her hands which she was now using to stroke her belly. Soothing words came out of her mouth, praise for the smart baby who was kicking its mother, and he itched to place his hands over top of hers and see if he could feel what she was feeling. Instead, he simply sat there—part of the moment but not, waiting for some kind of sign of what to do next, listening to Ashton’s soft, rambling words and half-wishing he could add his own.

  “You could be a gymnast or a ballerina or a soccer player, baby girl. You can be anything you want, okay? I don’t mind if you kick me. You can kick me whenever you want. It’s other people that aren’t allowed to do that, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know what to do if they try, okay? Mommy is going to teach you all the things you need to know about life and boys and girls and stuff like that. But for now, just keep getting bigger, okay? And maybe move slightly over so you’re not so much on my bladder? Think you could do that for me, sweet baby?”

  I’d tell her that she wouldn’t need to kick anyone, ’cause I’d be there to do it for her. I’d tell her how beautiful her mommy is and how lucky she is to have her. I’d tell her that—

  “Wanna see if you can feel it, too?” Ashton asked, interrupting his thoughts before they got out of control. He’d been wandering down a path that wasn’t really his to take, so the distraction was welcome.

  Except for the fact that touching her now—feeling that small movement—would probably only take him further down that same path. And was that really what he wanted?

  “Yes,” he said, reaching out before he’d made the decision consciously, “I want to.”

  She smiled at him and grabbed one of his hands just before it connected with her stomach, moving it to her left side, just below her rib cage. “Just there, can you feel it?”

  He held still, staring alternately at his hand and her face—her eyes bright with wonder, her lips curled into a smile that was nearly blinding—trying to feel it. Wanting to feel that bomp, bomp that meant the little papaya-sized lady was kicking.

  But . . . nothing. He shook his head, and she moved his hand again, bringing it a little lower and nodding with encouragement on her face. Like, if he just tried hard enough, the kick would appear.

  “Still nothing.”

  “It’s stopped. Damn.” She shifted over slightly, making more room beside her before she patted the bed. An invitation for him to lay beside her, which he accepted, taking pains to not lose contact with her as he did. “Maybe it’ll happen again?”

  “Maybe,” he replied, not letting his disappointment show.

  For a minute or two, they just lay there, side-by-side, his hand still on her stomach, waiting. It was peaceful, especially when she rested her hand on his and began gently drawing circles on it.

  “Did I tell you how glad I am you’re here?” she asked, her voice as soft as the imaginary circles she sketched on his skin. “How good it feels to know you’re mine?”

  “Same.”

  “Wow, way to elaborate,” she joked, turning her head so she was looking at him, waiting for him to do the same before she spoke again. “We gonna lay here, waiting?”

  He knew she was referring to the kicking and yeah, he kind of did want to just wait it out. But he also knew that he might not be able to feel anything for weeks—he’d been doing some reading.

  But that didn’t mean he wanted to move from the bed, though. He shrugged, the swish of his shoulder moving on the bedspread sounding obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet space. “If not, what do we do?” He leaned in to kiss her, licking gently at the chocolate that still bracketed her lips.

  “Oh, I have an idea.”

  Pushing down the last of his discontent, he rolled so he was stretched out on top of her, and bit his lower lip. “You do? Tell me more, Kitten.”

  Andrew: Have Austin and Odette made up? I swear, this is better than daytime television.

  Ashton: We need to find you a job.

  Andrew: I have a job.

  Ashton: Oh, yeah, what’s that?

  Andrew: Umm . . .

  Andrew: Would you look at the time? I gotta go.

  Ashton: Haha, funny man. How’s the job hunt going?

  Andrew: It’s going.

  Ashton: Wow, that was such a detailed response. Just give me a minute to make sure I processed all that.

  Andrew: Funny.

  Ashton: I know. I should take my comedy on the road.

  Andrew: I’ll be your manager and, when Ashton Junior comes, the manny.

  Ashton: You’d be a hot manny.

  Ashton: Especially if you were shirtless.

  Andrew: Is that appropriate while caring for an infant?

  Ashton: *shrug emoji* Not a clue.

  Ashton: But it’s appropriate for when your girlfriend is horny and hungry.

  Andrew: Horny and hungry? Say no more.

  Andrew: Actually, say more. As in, what you’re hungry for, so I can get it and bring it to you.

  Ashton: Salt and Vinegar Pringles and strawberry Greek yogurt. The one with the fruit at the bottom.

  Andrew: You’re not eating those together, are you?

  Ashton: ???

  Andrew: That’s not right, Ash.

  Ashton: It’s so right. Dip the Pringle into the yogurt. So good.

  Andrew: That’s disgusting.

  Ashton: Hey, do you want to have sex?

  Andrew: Um, yes? What kind of question is that?

  Ashton: Stop ragging on my cravings, or I’ll stop the sex.

  Andrew: DO NOT STOP THE SEX, KITTEN

  Ashton: DO NOT CALL MY CHIPS AND YOGURT NEEDS DISGUSTING, ANDREW

  Ashton: She’s kicking again.

  Andrew: Definitely going to be a soccer player.

  Ashton: Or something else that kicks.

  Ashton: Like a . . .

  Andrew: Can-can dancer?

  Andrew: Can’t-can’t picture that though.

  Ashton: *snort* Dad joke alert.

  Andrew: It’s only a dad joke if you’re a dad. And I am not.

  Andrew stared at the blinking cursor on his phone, wondering how to follow up that text. Or delete it so it never made it to Ashton.


  Where was bad cell service when you needed it?

  He didn’t know why he’d sent that text, other than the fact they were playing around about dad jokes—and okay, maybe also because the more time he spent with Ashton, the more he felt a little bit . . . other in her life.

  More conscious of the fact that the baby she had growing within hadn’t come from him. And he didn’t care about that—he’d easily come to terms with it, given that they hadn’t exactly been having bi-weekly chat-ups over the past fifteen years—but he was starting to care deeply about something else.

  The baby.

  That little girl, who’d started stretching and moving and demanding more space and who was keeping her mommy awake at night, which Andrew had noticed was when she was most active. The little girl, who already had about six made-up songs about her, which her mommy sung to her when she thought no-one else was around.

  It was a strange sensation to be so much a part of something but also not be. Not that Ashton was excluding him—on the contrary, she seemed to enjoy asking his opinion and using his food-delivery services, and he was more than happy to oblige. But the harder he fell for her, for Ashton, the more he felt a little bit uncertain of his place.

  Like he needed to do something to secure it.

  Ashton: You’d be a DILF

  Ashton: A Duncan I’d Like to Fuck.

  Ashton: Get it?

  He did. Get it. And he should be laughing—it was reasonably clever, after all, and it was Ashton. The girl he’d been halfway in love with when he was in college and she was strutting around his apartment in a faded old T-shirt, a walking invitation to pet and take and stroke and . . . Ugh, his thoughts were getting out of control.

  Mid-life crisis? Could be.

  Fear of mortality? Wouldn’t be surprising, after losing Kennedy.

  Horny? Constantly, when Ashton was around and when she wasn’t. Maybe that’s what he needed to get all this off his mind. To think about—and experience—the physical instead of all the rest.

  That, he hoped, would sort itself out. Eventually.

  Andrew sat at the end of the bar, watching his girl work. She was effortless with people, giving them smiles and drinks when they deserved it, dolling out snark and sass when they didn’t. He particularly enjoyed watching her talk to two women who’d come in around quitting time for most businesses in the area, and had immediately engaged Ashton in conversation.

  She touched her belly, bigger now than it was at the ultrasound, and laughed with them at whatever it was they were telling her. She seemed more at ease with them than any of the other customers, so when they all three of them looked over at him and smiled knowingly, he assumed she’d told them about him.

  It made his chest puff with pride. The women were both beautiful—you’d have to be blind to think otherwise. One blonde, with what appeared to be blue in her hair, the other with hair a similar shade to his own, they were clearly close and clearly enjoying their time together, and he had the feeling that their opinion was important to Ashton.

  “Hey, handsome.” Speaking of Ashton, she stood in front of him, rag in hand, a bemused expression on her face. “Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

  “Who were those women you were talking to?” They’d just left, giggling as they slipped out the front door with one more wave to Ashton. “Friends?”

  “Kind of. I only ever see them when they come in here for Girls’ Night, but I like them. They’re good people.” She nodded, as if in agreement with her own assessment. “They think you’re very, very hot.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Clearly, you are, or clearly, they thought that?”

  “Both,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock disbelief that she didn’t get it. “I know you and your brothers are close, but what about other friends?”

  “What made you ask that?” She tilted her head in question before letting her eyes do a sweep of the bar, making sure there wasn’t anyone waiting. It had been busy earlier in the evening, but once the women left, everything else seemed to slow down too.

  “I don’t know. Curious, I guess.”

  “My best friend, Bianca, is in Africa at the moment. She travels all over for work, so we don’t talk as much as I think we’d both like, and we see each other less. But she’s one of my favorite people in the world.”

  “Bianca, as in the girl from college?” he asked, remembering her telling her brother at some point or another that Bianca would be the one to get her from their apartment back to her own college.

  “You remember?”

  He nodded, not really caring how it looked. He remembered a lot more than he’d realized he had, little snippets of their time together infiltrating his thoughts when she said or did something that reminded him.

  “When I went home, she was one of the first people I called. She was going to come get me from your place, but she didn’t hesitate to come to my parents’ house instead. Hours out of her way. If we weren’t already close before that, that would have cemented it for me.”

  “What does she do?”

  She held up a finger, turning her head when her name was called from somewhere else in the bar, and smiled apologetically when she was drawn away to help one of the staff with an issue.

  While he waited for her to come back, he thought about all the questions he was going to ask her when she’d finished her shift and they were heading upstairs to her place.

  Although, he thought, remembering her previous promise that he could check to see how wet she was, maybe the questions could wait.

  “Hey, man.” Austin slid into the seat beside him, a grim look on his face, killing any thoughts Andrew might have been having about Ashton and getting into her panties.

  Talking to your girlfriend’s younger brother tended to have that effect.

  “Aussie, hey. What’s up?” The younger man gave him a wane smile and shrug, which prompted Andrew’s follow-up question. “How are things with Odette?”

  Ashton hadn’t told him anything other than that they’d had a fight and that had prompted Odie to quit abruptly, and Andrew couldn’t deny he was curious as hell about it.

  “Fucked, man. She won’t talk to me. Or let me in her front door.”

  “You tried, I assume?”

  “Yeah, course I did. She slammed the door on my foot, and it hurt like a motherfucker.” His words were a little slurred, and Andrew assumed that the empty whiskey glass on the bar in front of him wasn’t his first of the evening.

  “I bet. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I mean, not really.” Aussie sighed, then continued, “Look, all I said was that the meathead at her gym didn’t deserve her and she was an idiot if she agreed to a date with him.”

  Andrew stared at him, half-tempted to whack him on the back of the head. “Dude, you can’t say shit like that to a woman.”

  “Odie’s not a woman.”

  “She’s not?!” News to him.

  “Well, I mean, yeah, she is. Of course. But she’s also one of the boys. And lemme tell you, if you were dating someone as dumb as that gym junkie, I’d have told you the same thing.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different . . .”

  “How’d you figure that?” He blinked a few times, slowly, like he was struggling to stay awake, causing Andrew to wonder exactly how much he’d had to drink.

  Signaling Ashton, he pondered the best way to answer Austin’s question. “I don’t know, man, it just is.”

  “That doesn’t help me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That doesn’t help me, either.”

  “But whiskey does?” Ashton asked, interrupting their conversation by placing a glass of water on the bar in front of her brother.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Austin shot back, pushing the water away from him.

  “Bullshit,” Ashton muttered quietly enough that, though Andrew just managed to hear it, Austin seemed completely unaware. “Look, just drink the water. We’re closing soon and I�
�d like to get out of here before dawn, thanks.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Considering you’re the reason our best bartender is no longer employed here, I’d say a lot, wouldn’t you? And besides, you’re supposed to be helping me once the doors are locked.”

  “Oh, yeah. I did say that.” Austin grinned sheepishly and pulled the water back toward him. “Sorry, Little.”

  “’S’okay, Tiny,” she replied, clearly enjoying using the nickname that even Andrew knew Austin hated.

  As his girl moved away to let the few remaining customers know that The Avenue was at last call, Andrew decided to give Austin one piece of unsolicited advice. “Grovel, man. It’s the only way.”

  “You think?”

  “I’ve never had a serious relationship before Ashton and so far, I’ve only managed to get through, what? Like, five weeks unscathed, but yeah, I’m pretty sure. It always worked with my sister, when I invariably pissed her off.”

  “But Odie won’t even talk to me.”

  “Make her talk.”

  “But how? She’s small, but she’s strong. She’d probably knock me out cold and then laugh at me. And I’d never know because I’d be out cold.”

  The look of distress on Aussie’s face shouldn’t have been as amusing as it was, since being KO’d seemed to be genuinely concerning to him, but Andrew couldn’t help the laugh. “I don’t know how, but if you’ve known her as long as Ashton says you have, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

  Austin nodded slowly, sipping his water as he did so, letting a small amount of it dribble down his chin. Somehow, Andrew didn’t think he was going to be any help with closing The Avenue.

  Good thing Andrew was there to step in and step up.

  “All right, I just have to take the trash out back, and then we’re done.” Ashton smiled over at Andrew, who had been helping her since the doors to The Avenue were locked behind the final patron of the night. Who happened to be her brother, drunk and ranting about being knocked out by Odette.