Faster Hotter

by Colleen Masters

  I’m set to leave for New York in the morning, just after Harrison’s mother’s blustered into our neat little love nest and made an awkward mess of things. My bags are packed and sitting forlornly by the front door. I had to do a secret Google search last night to double check that it’s still OK for me to fly with a baby on board. I’m still safe on that front, but not for much longer. In no time at all, my first trimester will have come and gone. I’ll be showing before long, not to mention swearing off air travel and bottles of wine—two of my most-loved hobbies. And if Harrison somehow fails to mention those things, he’s sure to spot my swelling belly and breasts, given how often he fixes his eyes on them.

  In other words, I’m a bit screwed.

  We roll out of bed on the day of my flight back to New York with a sense of dread. I’m surprised by how difficult it is for me to leave Harrison’s side. After all, we’ve been in different places before. But this week of coupled bliss was so lovely, I just wish we could stay here. Sure, I’d go stir crazy after a while of not working, but another week of endless sex and food delivery wouldn’t be so terrible.

  “There’s the cab,” I say, as a pair of headlights swings across the front windows.

  “I wish you were staying,” Harrison says, wrapping his arms around me.

  “So do I,” I sigh, “But this wedding isn’t going to plan itself. You’re coming to the city in a week, right?”

  “That’s right,” he says, “You tell this pilot to keep his eyes open. He’s got some very precious cargo on board.”

  You have no idea, I think to myself, unconsciously placing a hand on my stomach. With a searing kiss, we say goodbye for now, and I let the taxi cab bear me away to the airport.

  The hours melt together as I fly from London to New York, my eyes trained on the Atlantic all the while. I know that I’m going to see Harrison again in a week’s time, but right now that feels like forever. Maybe it’s the fact of my father’s death, or the new life inside of me, but something has shifted in the way I think about Harrison. He’s always meant the world to me, since the first time I realized that I loved him, but now it’s something more. These days, he feels like my home. My family. And family has always been the most important thing in my life. I wonder if he’s started to feel the same way?

  In what feels like no time at all, the island of Manhattan starts to swim up out of the clouds. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been in New York, and I’m surprised by the intensity of my relief to be back. This place is where I did most of my real growing up. Spending my college years in New York meant that I was exposed to a whole lot of living rather quickly. By the time undergrad was over, I’d met so many different kinds of men, seen so many different ways of living, that I really felt like I had a better sense of myself. I don’t know how that would have been possible, had I gone to a campus school. Maybe that speedy growing up is why me and Bex, another NYC kid, are hitting these life milestones so quickly?

  That gorgeous best friend of mine is waiting at the gate, holding a ridiculous, bedazzled sign with my name on it. I laugh as I run to her, turning the heads of some stuffy business types along the way.

  “I couldn’t resist,” she grins, “Welcome back to the Big Apple, my love!”

  “You sure do know how to make a girl feel special,” I tell her, “Now let’s get a move on. I just want to curl up in my ten square feet of apartment and tackle this jet lag head on.”

  “Sure thing,” Bex says, taking my suitcase from me.

  “I’m not that preggo yet, Bex,” I remind her, grabbing for my bag.

  “Any amount of preggo is preggo-er than me,” she replies, skipping away from my reach. “No heavy lifting for you, missy.”

  “You’re the boss,” I tell her, raising my hands in surrender. “For the next few weeks, whatever you say goes. Your day, your way, right?”

  “Something like that,” she smiles.

  We hail and cab and book it to Alphabet City. I’m amazed by how much a city can change after a few fleeting months. New businesses have opened, others are gone. Colorful street art has appeared and disappeared from different walls. The advertisements shill a new season of goods to the people of Manhattan. But the important, essential things—they’re all the same as they’ve ever been.

  “What the hell were you thinking, renting a six floor walk up?” Bex pants, as we make our way up to my apartment.

  “You insisted on taking the bag,” I remind her.

  “This should be illegal,” she mutters, hoisting her tiny frame up the stairs, “If I wanted a workout, I would have hit the gym. At least there you can watch Rachael Ray while you sweat.”

  “Here we are,” I say, stepping onto the sixth floor landing and fitting my key into my front door, “Home sweet home.”

  We step over the threshold and immediately burst out laughing together. After so many months staying in gorgeous hotels around the world, my rinky dink apartment is a sight. A king-sized bed would take up half the floor space in here, at least.

  “Be it ever so humble,” Bex giggles.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” I reply, sinking down onto my bed. “This is where all the magic happened, when we were still in school.”

  “If by magic, you mean pre-gaming and the occasional, unsatisfying one night stand,” Bex replies.

  “Tomato, to-mah-toe,” I shrug. “So, what’s on the itinerary for the rest of the day?”

  “If you’re up to it, I thought we’d start hunting for dresses today,” she grins.

  At once, my jet lag is forgotten. I spring up from the bed, all energy. “Holy crap,” I cry, “Are you sure? This feels too important for me to be all tired and cranky for.”

  “Siena, relax,” Bex laughs, “I’m really not feeling to precious about the whole thing. I thought we could hit a bunch of vintage shops on the Lower East Side and find a couple of things. I’m really not in the mood for designer showrooms at the moment.”

  “Bex Bishop, this whole love thing is changing the shit out of you,” I say.

  “I guess I’ve just got my priorities more in line lately,” she shrugs, “Now come on. Let’s get a move on, baby mama.”

  We set off into the city, walking arm and arm down the boutique and cafe laden streets. It’s amazing to think how different this place must have been just a couple of decades ago. Once upon a time, a single girl in her twenties would be halfway out of her mind to traipse through my neighborhood alone. But now? Not so much.

  The Lower East Side is chock full of gorgeous vintage and consignment shops overflowing with gowns. Bex and I drift from one to the next, trying on anything that suits our fancy. White, ivory, blue, yellow—in one case floral—no dress is safe from our consideration. I don’t know how most people do wedding dress shopping, but I’m quite a fan of our approach. We eventually make our way back to one shop in particular that rubbed us the right way—a small store with exposed bricks and wooden beams encasing a treasure trove of lovely vintage pieces. We each grab an armful of dresses and skirt into a single dressing room.

  “So, give me the scoop,” Bex says, shimmying into a sheer white number, “What’s going on with you and the father of your child?”

  “I wish you’d stop calling him that,” I tell her, “One of these days you’re going to slip in front of somebody.”

  “I wouldn’t have to be careful if you just told him,” Bex reminds me.

  “I want to tell him,” I sigh, struggling to zip up a baby blue pin-up dress, “But it’s complicated. Our teams are not really down for any more scandalous behavior from the two of us.”

  “What’s so scandalous about two people in love having a baby?” Bex asks.

  “Oh, come on,” I scoff, “That’s tabloid bait if I ever heard it. Siena Lazio’s love child with Harrison Davies?”

  “It wouldn’t be a love child if you two got married, you know,” Bex says.

  I look up at her sharply, my zipper forgotten. “Married?” I echo.

&
nbsp; “Yeah,” Bex smiles, “You know, that thing Charlie and I are about to do. Tying the knot. Getting hitched. You may have heard of it.”

  “I can’t really see Harrison proposing anytime soon,” I tell her.

  “And why the hell not?” she shoots back, “You guys are moving in together, aren’t you? You’re carrying his child, for Christ’s sake. Are you seriously telling me you haven’t talked about getting married yet?”

  “I guess it hasn’t really come up...” I say softly.

  “Oh, girl,” Bex says, “You need to bring it up.”

  “I just haven’t ever thought of myself as the marrying type,” I tell her, “I’ve always been so focused on my career, I figured I wouldn’t even meet someone until I was way older.”

  “And yet, here you are, having met someone,” Bex points out, “Someone that you’re crazy about, last time I checked.”

  I stare at my best friend, lost in thought. Marrying Harrison is something that I’ve never thought about in the present tense. Sure, in my wildest daydreams, I may have pictured us married—but never in real life. When I met Harrison, he was a freewheeling bad boy, and I know that he still is, at heart. Picturing my hard-drinking, race car driver of a love standing at an altar in a tuxedo just doesn’t compute. And yet, now that Bex mentions it, the idea doesn’t seem too outrageously crazy, all of a sudden.

  “Jesus,” I breathe.

  “I know,” Bex says, “The second you think of it, it’s like the most obvious thing in the world. That’s what happened for me and Charlie anyway. We just sort of looked up at each other one day and realized we’d be crazy not to get married. We’re nuts about each other, we want the same things out of the life, and having good sex whenever I want is pretty high up on my list of priorities. I’m not saying that it’s the only route through life, but I know it’s the one that makes the most sense for us. And given your baby on board, it might make sense for you guys to at least talk about it.”

  “But how could I ever bring it up?” I ask her.

  “How about, ‘Hey honey—I’m going to have our baby in six months or so! Let’s talk about whether or not we want to get married. Also, I was thinking of yellow and green for the nursery. What do you think?’”

  “No, that won’t work,” I tell her.

  “And why not?” she replies.

  “Because I don’t want him to feel pressured into marrying me just because I happen to be pregnant,” I tell her.

  “Ah...” she says, her brow furrowing.

  “If Harrison and I get married, I want it to be because we both want to get married. Not because we feel like we have to,” I explain, “Isn’t that how it should be?”

  “There’s no one way things should be, when it comes to love,” she tells me, “But you’re right. You have to trust your gut on this one. I just think you should consider the option, that’s all. Plus that way, we can be old married ladies together. It’d be...”

  Her voice trails off as she looks at herself in the mirror. I let my eyes fall on her reflection and feel my breath catch in my throat. Bex is wearing an airy, high-waisted gown of tulle and silk—a perfectly-fitted, spotless dress. It looks like something a prima ballerina would wear to a royal ball. There are no extra frills, just simple and elegant glamour. If I were trying to imagine Bex’s perfect wedding dress, it would pale in comparison to the one she’s wearing now.

  “I think this is it...” she breathes.

  “I think you’re right,” I smile.

  An elated cry rings out through the dressing room as Bex takes in the sight of her wedding dress. Warm, ecstatic joy fills me up from the inside out. It hits me hard that in a couple weeks’ time, we’ll be celebrating Bex’s wedding day. Watching her and Charlie become husband and wife is going to be the happiest thing I can imagine. They suit each other so perfectly, and I just know that they’ll always be good to each other.

  But as I imagine what their wedding would look like, I try and shift my focus to my own wedding to Harrison. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like a crazy, outlandish idea. It sounds like something...I want.

  “What’s that gleam in your eye about?” Bex asks mischievously.

  “You’ve just...made some pretty good points,” I smile, “About the whole getting-married thing, I mean.”

  “Well, now I know where to aim the bouquet toss!” she cries, elated.

  We wrap our arms around each other, laughing and sniffling and beside ourselves with happiness. I can’t say that I’m not a little overwhelmed by the idea of marriage and babies all at once, but it’s a good, excited kind of overwhelmed.

  Now, I just need to figure out how to fill Harrison in on all of this...

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the end of the day, Bex seems to have the last loose ends of her wedding planning all tied up. I have to admit, I was skeptical about planning such an important day in so little time, but my best friend is on top of it. I guess that when the essential details are all in line—like marrying someone you adore, for example—the rest can fall into place as it will. I’ve officially lost the capacity to think about Bex and Charlie’s nuptials without getting all misty-eyed.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come stay at my place?” Bex asks, as we stand on the stoop of my Alphabet City walkup.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, “I like my little shoebox just fine.”

  “But won’t you be lonely without your soon-to-be-husband?” she teases me.

  “Oh my god,” I blush, “You can’t start with that already—”

  “Sorry, sorry,” she says, “I’m just so excited for you two, is all.”

  “Let’s just focus on your wedding for the time being, OK?” I grin, giving Bex a big hug, “I’m gonna go hit the hay. This jet lag is about to sink its claws right into me.”

  We say goodbye and I hike up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. I’d forgotten what a workout living in New York City can be. Between the endless walking and the stairs upon stairs, it’s no wonder New Yorkers are so slim and gorgeous. I love a nice long run or a yoga session as much as anyone, but incidental exercise? Yes, please.

  I’m happy for the city noise outside my window as I settle into my little home. If it was too quiet, I fear that I’d feel even lonelier for my other half. I’ll always remember being single in New York as an intensely lonesome time. There’s something heartbreaking about knowing that an entire city full of people is bustling around you, yet you’re still on your own. But now that there’s someone out there who I love more than anything, the rowdy noise of New York is just a good distraction as I wait for a week to pass so I can see him again.

  My need for indulgence gets the best of me as my appetite tugs at my stomach. This whole eating-for-two thing is a blessing and a curse, that’s for sure. A check in the plus column, though, is not feeling guilty about ordering far too much food from my favorite Italian restaurant, as I do the moment I get home.

  I’ve been getting more careful with each passing day, where taking care of my changing body is concerned. The morning sickness comes in fits and spurts, and my breasts are pretty consistently sore. But other than that, I haven’t noticed too many changes yet. I observe myself in the bedroom mirror, turning this way and that, looking for evidence of the new addition to my little family. What am I going to look like in three months’ time? Or six? Will my body ever be the same after it takes on this incredible challenge?

  The enormity of what’s about to happen to me takes hold, unexpectedly. I have to lower myself down onto the floor below my bedroom window, my back pressed firmly against the wall. In six months’ time, I’m going to be a mother. There will be a tiny little person in my life who I’ll have to care for with everything I have. I’m suddenly beset with a new, unwelcome worry...what if I’m just not ready? What if I don’t know what to do when the baby comes? What if I’m just not very good at being a mom?

  A rush of butterflies moves through me, and my hands fly to my stomach. I stare
down at myself in wonder. I know it’s too early for the baby to be kicking, but I could have sworn I just felt...No. It’s only in my mind, I’m sure. Still, there’s a connection between us, me and this unknown little person, that’s growing stronger with every passing day.

  “Who are you going to be?” I whisper, rubbing my hands along my belly. Is it going to be a boy or girl? Will it have my olive skin and chestnut curls or Harrison’s blue eyes and sandy locks? Will it want a big wheel on the double or will its life’s passion be something completely outside the realm that Harrison and I know so well?

  Will it love me as much as I already love it?

  The door buzzer rings out, scaring me half to death. That food got here right quick, didn’t it? I hoist myself up and buzz open the front door, waiting patiently as the poor delivery man climbs all six flights. I always overtip the brave men and women who come bearing treats, here. After a slog like that, they deserve it. After a few moments, there’s an eager knock on the door, and I swing it open excitedly, already imagining my delicious bounty.

  “Thank you so...” I trail off, staring up into my visitor’s face.

  “Thank you?” Harrison laughs, standing before my door in all his beautiful glory, “I was expecting a ‘Hello, lover’ but I’ll take it.”

  I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders. At once, my world comes back into alignment. At once, everything makes sense again.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly, “You weren’t supposed to come for another week!”

  “I hope you don’t mind too terribly,” he smiles, taking my face in his hands, “There was just no way I could stay away from you for that long.”

  “But what about your training?” I ask, pulling him inside and closing the door.

  “McClain will just have to understand,” he shrugs, “Racing is important to me, but you’re my priority, Siena. I hope you know that.”

  “Do I,” I laugh, reaching up to tousle his dirty blonde hair. “I can’t believe you’re here.”