by Moss, Brooke
My jaw dropped as I used tongs to remove the scallops from the hot pan. I couldn’t think of a time in my life when I’d felt less sexy. I felt gangly and scrawny everywhere except my potbelly, which was now starting to resemble a volleyball under my chef coat. I cared less about makeup and shaving my legs, and was more focused on finding my bed after a long day at work and making sure Real Housewives recorded on my DVR.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I placed the scallops onto plates carefully dressed with saffron sauce.
“Nope. Not kidding at all.” Candace winked at me. “Why do you think Brian keeps nagging me to have a fourth child?”
I threw my head back and released a burst of laughter. “So you’re saying your husband only gets laid when you’re knocked up?”
She handed me another tray of scallops to sear. “No. He gets lucky. Just not as much as when I’m expecting.”
“Isn’t it awkward?” I held my arms out in front of me, imitating the enormous stomach I would eventually have. “You know, logistically speaking.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Not if you’re inventive.”
“Holy crap, Candace. TMI.”
I placed the new scallops into the pan and the sizzling sound filled my ears. I couldn’t imagine having sex while hugely pregnant. I could barely remember having sex before I got pregnant. The only time I ever felt, well, randy nowadays was when I was around my obstetrician. And frankly, that was both pathetic and wrong.
A few moments passed. Images filled my mind. Shaking my head, I asked, “So… inventive how?”
The kitchen door swung open, and Marisol emerged. Her white “Eats & Treats” apron was smeared with orange. “Okay, the carrot vinaigrette was a hit,” she announced, dropping an empty tray onto the countertop. “But who in the hell brings a little kid to an event like this? Seriously?” Candace and I watched in amusement as she stomped around the island, brushing the fabric with a towel. “Dear Lord, I can’t stand kids.”
When I cleared my throat, Marisol’s attention focused on me, and she smiled sheepishly. “Whoops. Sorry. Not your kid, Lex. I love that little nugget. You know that.”
“Sure you do.” I chuckled and turned over the scallops. “Good thing you’re dating a guy with a daughter.”
“No doubt,” Candace snickered.
Marisol snorted. “Please. That kid thinks I’m amazing.”
“You told me a few days ago that she rolled her eyes whenever you talked.” Candace smeared some more saffron sauce on a row of plates.
Marisol’s confident smile faltered. “Well, yeah. But just the other night I took her shopping, and she loved every second.”
“Well, duh. You were buying her stuff,” I blurted.
As soon as the words slipped out, I felt like a jerk. It was rude for me to point out that Martha only dug her when they were at the mall. Marisol was trying, really she was. But she’d never really connected with anyone too young to get into her favorite martini bar. Candace’s kids didn’t really like her, either. When Auntie Marisol came over she treated them like they needed to be dunked in a vat of hand sanitizer.
“Ugh, I don’t want to discuss Martha anymore.” Marisol sighed and tugged the apron off. “I finally date a hot doctor, and he’s got a stinkin’ kid.”
Wincing, I looked down at the pan and tried not to get annoyed. I really liked Martha, and not just because her dad was as fine as the day was long. She reminded me of myself when I was a kid. Eager, girly, giggly, and saddled with the wit of someone much older. If I were dating Fletcher, Martha and I would be pals. Besties.
Wait. Stop. Inappropriate.
Silence fell over the three of us as Marisol put on a new apron. After a moment, Candace cleared her throat. “So, if you’re looking for inventive ideas, Lex, why don’t you hit up Marisol?”
“Whatever.” I lifted the scallops out of the pan, arranged them on plates, then put new ones on to cook. The sizzling sound sent a cloud of aromatic air dancing around our heads. “She’s never been pregnant. You have.”
“Yes, but we all know she’s been inventive.” Candace wiped the edge of a plate with a towel.
“What? Me?” Marisol looked up. “Inventive how?”
“Inventive in bed,” my cousin chirped.
“Candace!” I glanced at the kitchen door to make sure no one had heard.
“Oh, that kind of inventive.” She smiled and adjusted her boobs in her blouse. “Yeah, I’ve got some skills, if I do say so myself.”
Only Marisol could make being borderline slutty a source of pride. Of course, if I looked like her, I would probably walk around in a self-obsessed haze, too.
I laughed to myself. “Well, according to Candace here, I should be getting good and horny in a few weeks.”
Marisol hopped on the counter and crossed her legs. “That so?”
Candace nodded. “That’s what happened to me. All three pregnancies.”
“Huh.” Marisol readjusted her glossy brown ponytail. “The exact opposite of that happened to my hairdresser. She said that the idea of sex made her run to the bathroom to vomit until her head spun.” She raised an eyebrow in my direction. “That sounds more like your style, Lexie.”
I frowned I served the last batch of scallops. “Thanks.”
Her hands went out defensively. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger. I’m just saying you’ve been vomiting on an hourly basis for like five months straight. Now Candace has you thinking that you’re going to turn into a nymph overnight.”
“She might!” Candace exclaimed.
“Okay,” Marisol conceded. “So what happens if she does? There’s no baby-daddy hanging around. It looks like you’re going to be all by your lonesome for some long nights, Lex.”
I turned off the burner. “Ugh. Okay, you can stop there.”
Marisol’s shoulders suddenly sagged. “Of course, what business do I have bragging about my bedroom inventiveness, when I can’t even get my boyfriend to lay a hand on me.”
Candace tilted her head. “Is he considered your boyfriend if you haven’t slept together yet?”
“I like to think so,” Marisol snapped. “I don’t know. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”
My heart suddenly sprouted wings and took flight. I’d spent the better part of the last few weeks trying desperately to avoid thinking about Marisol and Fletcher in the throws of passion. Even the idea of them kissing made jealousy prickle at the back of my throat, so the idea of sex was almost too much to take.
“So you and Fletcher haven’t messed around yet?” I asked.
Marisol’s pretty face pulled into a frown. “Had sex? No, we haven’t. And it’s driving me crazy.”
My mind whirled. Victory. Wait, wait. That wasn’t nice.
“So why not?” Candace nibbled on another tomato.
“I don’t know!” Marisol threw her hands in the air. “I’ve been giving him the signals. Hinting at staying in his place. Inviting him in for a drink. I’ve shown more cleavage on our last two dates than you see at the beach in August. I even dropped a condom out of my purse in his living room the other day. You know, the usual signs.”
“Wow. Subtle,” I commented flatly.
Candace’s elbow poked my arm. “Marisol, it hasn’t been that long. Maybe he’s just shy.”
“You’ve known him for years.” Marisol’s eyes flashed. “Does Fletcher seem shy to you?”
“Well, not particularly.” Candace bit her lip, then added, “But Brian and I have never dated him. Maybe he’s different with women.”
Marisol snorted. “If different means he’s taken a vow of chastity, then sure.”
I sprinkled chives on all the plates. “Hey, what’s wrong with a vow of chastity?”
Marisol hopped off of the counter. “This from the single pregnant chick.”
My cheeks flushed. “Well, it’s stupid to act like you’re going to die because your boyfriend hasn’t seen you naked yet.”
Her hands went to her hips. “
Relax, I was just teasing. Besides, Lex, if you looked like me naked, you’d want to share it with your hot boyfriend, too.”
“Oh, Marisol,” I said, scowling. “Beautiful and humble. What man could resist you?”
Candace put her hands up between us. “Okay, okay. Truce.” She started filling a tray with plates. “Listen, Mar. I think you just need to relax.”
“Relax? I can’t relax. I’m sexually frustrated.” Marisol picked up her own tray, and started muttering to herself in Spanish. She’d picked up the habit from her childhood nanny, who wound up becoming one of her many stepmothers.
“It’s only been a month or two.” Candace laughed. “Some people wait years to consummate their relationship. I think you just need to chill out. Let Fletcher take his time.”
I helped Candace hoist her full tray onto her shoulder. “He’s a father, for heaven’s sake. Maybe he doesn’t want his daughter to come out for cereal in the morning to find you in his kitchen wearing his button down.”
Marisol thought about that for a beat. “Maybe if Martha weren’t around, we could have some grown-up alone time.”
“Exactly.” Candace nodded. “Look, Fletcher’s a guy. Eventually he’s gonna want to do it. Give him some time, and I’m sure he’ll arrange for you two to have a private date, and—”
“I’ve got it!” Marisol snapped her manicured fingers and grinned at us. “I’ll get rid of the kid for a night!”
“Ugh, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I plopped a plate onto Marisol’s tray with unnecessary force. “Your hormones are out of control.”
Marisol’s brown eyes rolled down to my baby belly. “Come on, you aren’t really trying to advocate chastity with me, are you? Now listen, I won’t lock the little girl in a cage. I’ll arrange for her to have a sleepover somewhere, that’s all.”
“What, are you gonna call Fletcher and ask for the names of Martha’s friends?” I rolled my eyes. “Come on.”
Candace glanced at me. “Well, Marisol, I suppose you could—”
“I’ve got it!” Marisol propped the other tray on her shoulder and winked at me. “Since you’re so fond of the kid, Lexie, why don’t you watch her for a night?”
“Me?” I blinked at her.
How was I going to get out of this one? There was no way I was watching Martha while Marisol laid her father. Sure, I wasn’t exactly the portrait of morality right now. But that didn’t mean I was going to help distract Fletcher’s daughter while Marisol tried to pry his Levi’s off.
“I don’t think so.” I wiped my hands on a towel. I could feel Candace staring at me.
Marisol sauntered towards the doorway, the tray balanced precariously on her shoulder. “Sure you do! Just the other day you said you’re sort of lonely. You and Martha can order pizza, do your nails, watch a movie. She’ll never have to know what’s going on back in daddy’s bed.”
“Which will be X-rated debauchery, I’m sure,” I said flatly.
“Heaven willing!” Marisol laughed and bumped the door open with her butt. “Thank you so much, Lexie. You’re a lifesaver. This is going to be great.”
She disappeared through the door before I could refuse again. For a moment, there was no sound in the kitchen, except the sound of my heart thudding in my chest. There was no way I could do this. I could barely get through my OB visits without begging Fletcher to dump Marisol. How was I going to hang out with his beautiful, innocent daughter while Marisol seduced him with her ample bedroom prowess?
I pressed my palms to my eyes and tried to rub the image out of my mind. “Oh, man. What the hell did I just agree to?”
“When are you going to tell her?” Candace came around the island and faced me.
“Tell her that I can’t babysit?” My hands dropped. “I’m going to tell her as soon as she gets back in here.”
Candace drew a long breath, then released it slowly. She was getting ready to use her mommy voice on me. “No, Lexie.”
Plucking up the pan, and turning to the sink to rinse it off, I glowered down at the soapy water. “Ugh, what?”
“When are you planning on telling Marisol that you like Fletcher?”
Chapter Thirteen
I heard Fletcher’s voice through the door, and suddenly my stomach was filled with a flock of rabid hummingbirds. Looking down at my form fitting black jersey shirt to make sure I didn’t have any remnants from my lunch down the front, I took a deep breath to steady my pulse. Knowing I had an appointment with Fletcher today, I’d dressed in the scoop-necked shirt, silver hoop earrings, and dark grey slacks this morning. These were the nicest clothes I had that still fit.
Not that I was dressing to impress anyone.
Well, crap. Even I didn’t believe that lie.
A swift knock sounded, and I sat up straight and threw my shoulders back. Wincing, I relaxed my spine. I’m trying too hard.
“Lexie.” Fletcher strode into the room with cargo khakis and hiking boots sticking out from under his crisp white lab coat. Grinning, he grabbed the wheeled stool and rolled over to the examination table with a grin. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Hi!” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat. “Er, I mean, hi. So, you wanted to see me?” I felt jittery, and apparently that wasn’t lost on Fletcher, because he chuckled as the tissue paper rustled beneath me.
Fletcher’s eyes crinkled, and he plopped down on the stool. His chest and my knees were just two or three inches apart, and I felt a teensy shock of electricity pass between my body and his. “I saw on the appointment schedule you were coming today. I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.”
“Oh. Me too.” I crossed and re-crossed my legs at the ankle. Fletcher was so close to me, I felt like I was under a microscope. I’d not shaved my legs this morning. Could he tell? I’d also run out of fabric softener last week, and still hadn’t bothered to buy more. My clothes didn’t have their usual spring fresh scent. Shaking my head, I told myself to pull it together. When I thought about where his face was for most of the day, did the freshness of my laundry really matter?
“So did you make up with your mother?” When I looked at Fletcher strangely, he added, “After the big set up at the mall last week?”
“Right.” My stomach sank. He’d seen me blubbering in my car. “Yeah. I haven’t actually talked to my mom since that happened. I think she knows I’m angry with her, so she’s keeping her distance.”
“It’s okay for you to tell her why, you know.” He widened his blue eyes and my heart seized. “When I went through my divorce, my mother used to tell me how to take care of Martha. Every day it was something new. I wasn’t dressing her right. I didn’t comb her hair correctly. She wasn’t eating enough protein. I mean, I’m a doctor, for Pete’s sake. I know how much protein she needs every day.”
“My mother would have taken it a step further and tried to get custody of Martha,” I explained. “You know, for her own protection.”
Fletcher laughed. “Sounds like your mom and my mom would make a good team. One of them could start with the second guessing, and the other could come in at the end to finish the job properly.”
My eyes widened. “Let’s never introduce them.”
“Deal.” He nodded. “But really, after a year of this, I had to sit her down and tell her I was Martha’s father, and that I knew what was best for her.”
“Did she believe you?” I couldn’t imagine my mother believing me if I told her that. Hell, I already had told her, but she’d still convinced herself I was better off with a husband—any husband.
“Not at first.” He shook his head. “When she argued that I’d never raised a child alone, I explained that the only way I was going to learn was by doing it alone, day in and day out.”
I imagined my mother pressing a hand to her chest and hyperventilating at the thought of me parenting her grandchild alone. “How long did it take her to accept it?”
He thought for a beat. “A year or so.” When my e
yebrows rose high on my forehead, his hand squeezed my kneecap, sending tingles clear down my calf. “But once she saw with her own eyes that her granddaughter was flourishing, she relaxed. Now she trusts me just fine, and we’ve got a great relationship.”
“I can’t imagine having a great relationship with my mother.” Fletcher’s hand was still on my knee. I held my breath to keep him from moving it. An image of Marisol popped into my brain, but I quashed it with thoughts of Fletcher’s butt in a pair of Levi’s.
You’re a bad friend, Lexie Baump, I told myself.
When Fletcher grinned, I noticed a dimple in his left cheek and decided I didn’t care if I was.
“I just think you should sit your mother down,” he explained. “And tell her that you are a strong, independent woman.” He squeezed my leg for emphasis. My heart seized in my chest as Fletcher continued. “And that you don’t need a husband forced upon you to be a successful mom. A marriage of convenience will not make you a good mother. You will make you a good mother. And with time, your mother will see that, like I do.”
Stupefied, I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “You believe in me,” I finally blurted.
Fletcher’s eyes flicked down to his hand on my knee as if he just noticed it was still there. Rolling the stool back a few inches, he retracted his fingers and folded his hands in his lap. “I, um, I did. I do! Er, believe in you, that is.”
“Thanks…” My voice trailed off and Fletcher and I sat there staring at each other for five seconds. Then ten. Then fifteen. His eyes bored into mine with an intensity that heated every inch of skin on my body.
“Let’s get down to business?” Fletcher’s voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “Shall we?” I nodded, and he added, “Why don’t you lie down and we’ll measure your growth.”
Blinking a few times to clear my head, I wiggled backwards on the table. As soon as I was laying down, I lifted the bottom of my shirt and started unbuttoning my jeans. Fletcher opened a drawer and took out a small measuring tape right as the sound of my zipper going down sounded. Opening my pants, I thanked God I’d had the good sense to put on a cute pair of lacy panties.
