by Lex Martin
“The one you make when you’re thinking about banging your dude.”
I choke and water dribbles down my chin. After I clear my throat and wipe my face, I glare at Tristan. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
Although, yeah, I was thinking about sex.
Because even though Drew and I talk daily, and sometimes he spends the night, I’ve been so busy, and soooo tired, sometimes I don’t have the energy after work to fuck his brains out. Even though I want to. The heart is willing, you know? But damn, I’m always exhausted.
In the last month since his birthday, I’ve spent the longest days of my life planted in this chair, trying to juggle all of the incoming business. While I can cover our overhead more easily, I didn’t anticipate what getting so many new clients would mean. Although we hired two new associates, I also have to babysit their projects to make sure they’re doing quality work. I won’t always have to once they’ve settled in, but our jobs are high-profile, and we can’t afford any mistakes as a fledgling company.
Tristan taps on his watch. “Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”
“No, that’s tomorrow.”
He lifts his eyebrows.
I double-check my calendar. “Shit. I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes. Why didn’t you meddle sooner?”
A chuckle shakes his shoulders. “Get outta here. I’ll hold down the fort for a few hours.”
“I’ll be back to meet with that new designer.”
He shrugs. “I can do it.”
Pausing to put on my jacket, I groan. “I hate not being here for things.”
“I know. And that’s one reason why I love you, but seriously, get to your appointment before Merritt kills me for working you overtime.”
Annoyance prickles my spine. “Why would it matter how much I work?” Even as I say those words, I want to bite them back. Because Drew has noticed I don’t leave the office sometimes until eight or nine at night. And he might have mentioned that he thinks I should get more rest.
Tristan gives me a look.
I return it.
Side note, I like that my best bud and I can speak without words, just twitchy eyes.
With a sigh, he gets up. “I’m just saying if my pregnant girlfriend was working so hard that she had to puke in the middle of a conference call and then resume it like nothing happened, I might suggest she not work so hard. If that makes me a chauvinist, so be it. But I call it caring.”
My glare intensifies. “Drew won’t tell me what to do. He knows better.”
Tris pats me on the back. “You didn’t hear anything I said, did you? Just take it easy, Mama. You’re driving around your baby bean too.”
Instinctively, I rub my belly. “Isn’t it the size of a pea? Hell, I don’t really know, but I guess that’s what the ob-gyn appointment is for.” Damn, why didn’t I look this up when I was researching pregnancy?
“This your first appointment?”
“Yeah.” Guilt for not checking in sooner with the doctor settles in my stomach, but I brush it away. There’s nothing anyone can do in the first trimester if it’s not a viable pregnancy for some reason. Or at least that’s what Google told me.
I pause mid-stride to hope and pray my little bean or pea or whatever vegetable he or she is right now is fine and enjoying some R&R in my uterus.
So I’ve eaten well, hydrated so much I have to pee every fifteen minutes, and taken my vitamin with folic acid. Plus, I’ve tossed out any beauty product with BPA, phthalates, or sulfates. I already eat organic, non-GMO foods and do yoga every morning. I am a paragon of health. If I eat anymore greens, I’m going to crap a Christmas tree.
Besides, I can’t help that I’ve been busy. The whole point of busting my ass now is so I can take some time off once the baby arrives.
Although the thought of taking maternity leave gives me hives. I have no idea how I’ll be able to disconnect from this place for long.
But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
* * *
By the time I yank open the door to the doctor’s office, I’m sweaty and slightly nauseated again, but this time I suspect it’s from nerves. I don’t know why the idea of this visit has made me anxious because I’ve never had an issue going to checkups before.
But visiting an ob-gyn, getting an ultrasound, getting a due date—that all makes this so real, I’m almost grateful there isn’t anything in my stomach so I likely won’t throw up again. At least, I don’t think I will.
Slowly, I scan the waiting room. It’s packed with women, and nestled between them is my boyfriend, doing his damnedest to not look awkward while two very pregnant ladies chat him up.
I fold my lips between my teeth so I don’t laugh at how fast he jumps out of his seat and rushes toward me.
“Hey, babe.” He kisses me soundly, and I nuzzle into him.
“Sorry I’m late, but I’m glad you made some friends.” He rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn pink as he rubs the back of his neck. And because I can’t help it, I nudge his arm with a teasing grin on my face. “Want me to wait here while you get their numbers?”
“Shut up.” He laughs and slings his arm around my shoulders.
I’m not surprised that the preggos here were flirting. Drew’s sexy as hell and adorable. Though I’ll probably never mention that last part to him.
I take a minute to check him out. Worn jeans that mold to his ass and thighs. A faded T-shirt that stretches across his broad chest. Dirty blond hair and a devil-may-care smile. Yup. Total lady-killer.
My guy. Here for our ob-gyn appointment.
My ovaries throb. And maybe one other part throbs too.
Shaking my head, I try to focus. Because it’s really inappropriate to be turned on before I see the gynie.
Fortunately, the receptionist waves us toward the counter and hands me a stack of forms and asks for my co-pay.
But before I can reach into my purse and grab my wallet, Drew has already whipped out his Amex Black.
“What are you doing?” I’m wrestling with my coat and my purse and trying not to drop my forms and the clipboard.
“I got this.” Drew gives me a quick kiss as he hands over his credit card.
“I can cover my co-pays.”
“I’m sure you can, but I figure since you’re carrying our little nugget and puking every ten minutes, the least I can do is cover this.” He gives me a sexy grin and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Doesn’t seem fair that I get hot sex and a hot girlfriend, and all you get is nonstop morning sickness and bloating.”
I blink, my female indignation over wanting to cover my own expenses evaporating as quickly as it overcame me. Because he’s making a lot of sense. But then I frown. “Do I look bloated?”
“Nope. You look perfect.” He plants a smooch on my forehead, and I sigh at his sweet words. “You were complaining about it last weekend, and I remembered.”
He remembers things about me.
Another Drew Merritt quality I wasn’t expecting when we started this.
Thirty minutes later, after I’m weighed and asked to pee in a cup, I’m handed a paper gown, and Drew and I are ushered into an exam room.
When the door closes with a quiet click, Drew’s eyebrow lifts. “Can I watch you change?”
“No. Turn around.”
“I’ve seen it all already. Up close and personal. With surround sound. In HD.” He crosses his arms, like he’s already made his case and thinks I’ll fold.
“If I let you watch, I’ll get turned on, and then my gynecologist will be able to tell.”
I wait for that to sink in.
And then chuckle when his eyes dilate. “No, Drew. Seriously, no.”
“Fine, but I’m asking the doctor all of my sex questions. I’m not folding you like an accordion if she says I can’t.” With a grunt, he turns around while I shed my clothes, don the horrid paper gown, and hop onto the table with stirrups.
“Okay, I’m all set.”<
br />
He turns toward me and stares a long moment. “How often do you visit PornHub?”
“Drew,” I warn.
“What? I’m not into that Fifty Shades shit, but I’d be willing to get pervy on that table.”
Judging by the boner straining at his fly, I don’t doubt it. But damn it, he makes me smile.
“Come here, Andrew, before we traumatize the doctor.”
“Jesus, I like when you get stern and call me by my full name.”
I reach over, yank him around to the other side of the exam table to hide his giant bulge.
“Is this the first time you’ve been to a gynecologist appointment?” I ask, almost afraid of his answer. Because this is Drew. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
“I’ve never been within a hundred-foot radius of a place like this.”
I’d laugh at the tone of his voice, but when he takes my hand, it’s clammy, and I realize he’s nervous too.
“Are you still up for meeting my parents this weekend?” They know I’ve been dating him, because I figured that would make the baby revelation easier to digest, but I haven’t divulged much else.
“Absolutely.” He’s quiet a second. “Your dad’s not gonna kill me, is he?”
“Not right away.”
“Har, har. No, really.”
“My parents aren’t the ‘go after you with a shotgun’ type. If they don’t like you, my mom will try to poison you with her homemade kombucha.”
I turn to look at him, and his expression is blank.
“Kidding.”
He rolls his eyes with a smile.
I’ve been waiting for him to mention when he plans to tell his parents, but he hasn’t. I know they’re not close, so I haven’t pushed the issue even though it’s starting to make me apprehensive. Except right now, I want to focus on the positive.
“Thanks for coming today. It means a lot to me,” I say quietly. He doesn’t have to be here. He doesn’t have to support me this way. But I’m grateful he wants to.
Stalking around the table, he nudges his hips between my legs and tilts my head up.
“There’s nothing—nothing—more important than this.”
Does he mean me? The baby? Both?
My heart leaps in my chest from the way he looks at me and the whisper-soft kiss he grazes across my lips.
A knock at the door makes him jump back and return to my side, and I push down the paper gown so I don’t flash my goods to the woman in the white coat entering the room.
“Hi, Kendall. I’m Dr. Michaels.” She shakes my hand and then Drew’s. “Is this Dad?”
I nod, my insides going all gooey at the expression on Drew’s face. He likes being called Dad.
We chat for a few minutes while she reviews my chart, and then calls in an assistant. “Since we’re in the first trimester, we’ll do a transvaginal ultrasound. Kendall, you think you’re about eight weeks along?”
I’m about to agree when I realize I was at eight weeks when I scheduled this appointment.
I cringe. “Now that I think about it, it’s probably closer to eleven at this point.” Guilt for procrastinating this appointment blankets me, and I wonder if I’m already failing at this parental thing. “Am I a terrible person for waiting this long?” I’m nearly in the second trimester, for fuck’s sake.
“Not at all.” She studies my chart. “You said you were taking your prenatal vitamins and staying hydrated. Eating well. Avoiding alcohol and caffeine. Sounds like you’re doing all the right things.”
She gives me a reassuring smile and introduces the technician named Bella, who rolls a machine with a dark screen over to the doctor.
Dr. Michaels washes her hands, snaps on a pair of clear gloves, and grabs a slender wand off a tray. “We’ll be using a transducer probe to conduct the ultrasound, which uses sound waves to create the picture.”
She covers the wand with what appears to be a condom and then squirts a gel all over it.
I glance at Drew, and his expression makes me smirk. Dirty boy.
But his whole demeanor changes with the doctor’s next words.
“Today, we should be able to hear the heartbeat, measure your baby, and determine the due date.”
His eyes widen. “That’s incredible. You can tell all of that from this one test?” But before the doctor responds, he asks, “This won’t hurt Kendall, will it?”
“Not at all. She’ll just feel a little pressure.”
He squeezes my hand, relief all over his face.
That gooey feeling in my chest expands, and I swoon a little more.
Until the doctor motions toward me. “Mom, please lie back, get your feet up in the stirrups, and scoot your bottom toward the end of the table.”
I swallow, hating how my heart suddenly pounds in my chest. I’m feeling a little lightheaded, but I take a few deep breaths to calm down.
As I lean back, I push down my gown so it doesn’t ride up. And then I elevate my feet, embarrassed that I didn’t shave my legs this morning.
But then there’s Drew, leaning over me with that beautiful smile. Holding my hand. Kissing my forehead. Reassuring me.
My eyes sting, and I blink it back. Because I cannot cry simply because my boyfriend is here. That’s crazy. That’s not why I’m about to cry, is it?
Get a hold of yourself, Kendall.
The doctor begins her exam, explaining what she’s doing as she inserts the wand. My toes curl over the stirrups.
The technician adjusts a knob on the ultrasound machine, and a wavy blob comes into view. And then she flips another switch, and the room is filled with a wild thumping sound.
Dr. Michaels turns toward the screen and smiles. “I’d like to introduce you to Baby Greer. And you’re listening to his or her heartbeat. It’s too early to tell the sex.”
Now I can’t help the tears in my eyes. They overflow, running down my cheeks.
It’s like my heart. Overflowing. Overwhelmed in the best way.
The doctor points to the blob, my precious peanut, as the technician takes measurements on the computer that show up on our screen.
But then the doctor stills to squint at the image. Leaning closer to the monitor, she tilts it away from us and confers quietly with the technician, which spikes my anxiety.
“What? Is everything okay?” I ask, feeling like I might pass out or vomit again.
After the longest minute of my life, she swivels it back and makes a few adjustments on the screen. That blob waves and wobbles as the sound of the thumping increases.
The doctor turns to me with a smile. “Everything looks great. But I have a surprise for you. We’re not listening to one heartbeat.”
I frown, not understanding what she means.
She continues. “You’re listening to two heartbeats. Congratulations, Mom and Dad. Looks like you’re having twins.”
And then, because I must have a flair for the dramatic, I lean over the table and throw up.
30
Drew
Hi, I’m Drew. Nice to finally meet you. I knocked up your daughter. My bad. But I’m stoked about being her baby daddy. You’ll be seeing me around more often.
I wince. Pretty sure that’s the exact wrong way to meet Kendall’s parents.
As her car splashes through the rainy streets on our way to dinner, I rub my palms on my thighs and mentally rehearse a different approach.
Nice place you’ve got here. I’m the guy you warned your daughters about. And you were right. But enough about me. Congratulations! You’re gonna be grandparents. To twins. Ta-da!
Yeah, no. That’s not gonna work either.
Unease spins in my gut because I’ve never had to meet the parents before under any conditions, let alone presenting the fallout from our fuck-monkey activity.
Calling the twins fallout, though, is seriously trivializing how I feel about them. More like, best thing to happen in my life.
Next to Kendall.
Guess I’ll use my old sta
ndby—wing it.
I’ve been doing that a lot lately.
When we listened to the muffled, rapid thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump broadcast in the doctor’s office a few days ago, the awesome weight of what that means hit me, and I had to use short words to process.
Kendall and I are going to be parents together, very soon, to not just one baby, but two.
To be clear, that’s babies.
As in plural.
This means I am going to be a dad.
To TWO other beings.
Besides my cat.
And even though I still need to meet these babies, they’ve already stolen my heart. I keep pulling out the ultrasound pictures from my wallet—yeah, the Ninja Turtle one—and imagining hanging with them.
And beating up anyone who looks at them the wrong way.
I’ll be honest. Before going to Kendall’s appointment, since I can’t see the changes in her body—not yet, at least—and I can’t feel her nausea or fatigue, her being pregnant didn’t feel real. More akin to something we talked about and might do someday that doesn’t require real or immediate plans.
Like taking an air balloon ride over France or buying a parrot.
But seeing the grainy black and white images and hearing their heartbeats brought it home: we’re gonna meet these little guys—or girls—soon.
Whether we’re ready or not.
Do I need to put them on a waiting list for kindergarten already?
As I glance at KK steering her car, a pang of tenderness hits me, and I reach out and trace her jaw. She smiles against my palm, her eyes still on the road. I don’t care if I’m being sappy. She’s precious cargo, and she’s carrying precious cargo. It’s my job to make sure she’s safe and comfortable.
But beyond keeping Kendall physically safe, what does she want to do about our relationship? Does she want something more?
With me?
I’ll have to talk to her about that soon. I stifle a chuckle. At least I know something more includes the green light on just about all the sex acts we could dream up per Dr. Michaels. That was a fun conversation.
If, hypothetically speaking, I were to bend Kendall over a couch before her belly gets too big—not a couch with a hard wooden side, but one with a blue upholstered edge—and have sexual intercourse at this angle (I demonstrated), should I use an extra pillow here (I demonstrated) or will that get in the way?
