Baby & Bump (The This & That Series)

by Moss, Brooke

  “There’s something between us,” he whispered, his breath dancing across my lips.

  I gulped. I wanted Fletcher. I’d wanted him for months. But this was wrong. So wrong. It was like I was at battle with myself.

  “Yeah.”

  He pressed one hand to the small of my back and brought the other up to cup the back of my neck. I loved that. “I can’t fight it,” he mumbled, walking me backwards slowly.

  The little redheaded angel on my right shoulder shook her head solemnly. Tell him to fight it. Walk away, drive home, and eat some chocolate. That’s the right thing to do.

  Fletcher brushed his nose across my cheekbone, and my heart started Irish clog dancing inside of my chest.

  The little redheaded devil on my left shoulder joined in the dance. Screw doing the right thing. Tell him to kiss you, and to make it worth your time!

  “Then don’t fight it.” The words came out of my mouth before I had any time to think about what I was saying.

  That must’ve been the green light Fletcher was waiting for, because his lips were on mine before I could even process another word. They were full and warm, but surrounded by a glorious five o’clock shadow that made my limbs go weak and my eyes roll back in my head.

  And roll back, they did.

  Because when his head tipped to the side, and his tongue traced a path along my upper lip to encourage my mouth to open more, it was over. My hands dug into the back of his hair, tangling into his blonde locks, and securing his face to mine. His hand pressed my body into his even more, arching my back before sliding down my hip to my thigh, which he raised against his hip as we landed against the wall with a muted thud. An old painting swayed near the back of my head, but I didn’t care as Fletcher’s fingers kneaded gently against the back of my knee, and his teeth caught my lower lip with the softest of nips. His mouth moved down my jaw line to my neck, just below my ear, where his breath against my skin caused me to gasp—yes, gasp—as every nerve ending in my body hummed with utter awareness.

  Self control: gone.

  Until we heard the French door in the living room open, that is.

  “Hey, guys?” Candace called. “So who gets the house?”

  Our heads jerked apart, and we gawked at each other with horrified eyes. His hand still held my leg against his hip, and the toes on my other foot were barely touching the floor.

  “I…” His words stopped when Candace’s footsteps came closer.

  “Down!” I hissed, wriggling out of his grip. “Put me down.”

  “I’m sorry.” He reached out to touch me, but drew back his hand instead.

  Smoothing down my rumpled clothes, I pushed past Fletcher. Marisol’s smiling face was scrolling through my mind like the newsreel on CNN. Today’s headline may as well have been: This just in: Lexie Baump is a horrible friend.

  “Lexie…” Fletcher grabbed for my sleeve, but I sidestepped him just as Candace came around the corner.

  “Oh, there you are!” She giggled. “So did you two duke it out?”

  I wriggled past her. I could still taste Fletcher on my lips, and dear Lord in heaven, it tasted good. “Nope. We worked it out like two adults.”

  Yeah, like two adults with their tongues down each other’s throats!

  “Well, that’s good.” She jumped out of my way. “Whoa. So who’s the winner?”

  “Me!” Fletcher blurted. His voice was loud and echoed in the hall, so he cleared his throat. “Me. We decided this would be a good home for us. For me and my daughter, that is. Not Lexie and me. Don’t be absurd. I meant me and my daughter. Martha. Just us. And the dog. Libman will love the backyard, wouldn’t you say, Lexie?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Did he have my lip-gloss all over his mouth? Because it certainly wasn’t on my mouth anymore.

  I was going to hell for certain.

  “Well, that sounds just perfect,” Candace said slowly.

  “I’ve gotta go.” He practically ran for the front door. “Do me a favor, Candace, tell Corbin the sale is still on. I’ll be in touch with him soon.”

  “I, uh, sure. Bye.” She watched him with raised eyebrows as Fletcher nearly walked into the door when it didn’t open fast enough.

  “See ya.” Fletcher nodded in my direction. “Lexie.”

  I offered him a stiff wave, and he was gone in a flash.

  Candace stared at the open door. “What’s his problem?”

  “I don’t know! Seems pretty high strung!” My voice cracked like a pubescent boy.

  Awesome.

  “So do you.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, Lex, come clean.”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled to the surface before I could control it. I was busted. Caught in the act of betraying one friend by another friend. How poetic was that? I would lose Marisol’s friendship, and Candace’s respect, all in one giant swoop. Maybe we needed to call Brian inside. Make it a trifecta.

  I tugged at my jacket a few times. “What? I mean, huh. I don’t. I don’t even… I, so, what was that supposed to mean?”

  Candace’s eyes narrowed at me. “Were you mean to him?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Yet another two weeks passed, and I avoided everyone with the cunning stealth of a CIA spy.

  Or something like that.

  I let my voice mail pick up any calls not work related. I avoided stores where I’d seen Fletcher. And when Candace stopped by my apartment with homemade cookies and some refrigerator art made by her kids, I turned my television on mute and froze on my couch until she was gone.

  As for Marisol? Well, it was hard to avoid someone you work with, but I certainly tried.

  On my first day post-kiss, I’d slapped our work calendar onto the stainless steel prep table and explained that for the next few weeks—or at least until I got over my guilt for having sucked face with her boyfriend—I was going to handle most of the food work, and she was going to handle the business end of things. Marisol happily announced that it was an opportunity to wear all her expensive designer clothes and agreed right away.

  I felt better spending my time in the kitchen cooking, baking, chopping, frosting, and slicing while Marisol was the face of the Eats & Treats. Her face was nicer to look at, anyway. My face was freckled, starting to get slightly puffy, and now carried the ugly weight of guilt. I swear I’d gotten thirteen new wrinkles since kissing Fletcher.

  Speaking of Fletcher, I missed him.

  Dear Lord, I missed him so much that if I closed my eyes and thought really hard, I could feel his hand holding the back of my knee again. I’d replayed those moments in the hallway so many times, it actually reeled inside of my mind like a ninety-minute feature film, complete with a soundtrack made up almost entirely of vintage rock.

  That kiss, that one blessed kiss had rocked me straight down into my core. It knocked every other kiss I’d had in all my thirty years right out of the water.

  I was planning to skip Marisol’s upcoming birthday party. I had every intention of laying in my bed with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and the remote, instead of dressing up and going out with friends to pretend I wasn’t completely disgusted with my behavior and totally infatuated with Fletcher.

  That is, until I got Candace’s voice mail:

  “Hey. I don’t know why you’re hiding under a rock these days, but I wanted to remind you about Marisol’s birthday dinner Saturday night. We’re meeting at Moon’s Lounge at seven, and you agreed to bring the cake. Well, you did a month ago, before you decided to ignore everyone who loves you. Not that I’m bitter or anything. I just miss you, and I hope you’re not having some sort of pregnancy-induced depression or something. You know I love you, right? I know you’re overwhelmed, and that your mom’s been really hard on you lately, and that you’re probably really worn out. I want you to understand you’re never alone, because I’m here for you. Okay? So anyway, I hope you’ll decide to join us, and help me remind Marisol she’s older than both of us! H
a! Love you, bye.”

  As awful as I felt about myself, and as stomachache inducing as a dinner with Marisol and Fletcher sounded, I couldn’t deny how much my friends loved me. And besides, as wrong as it was—and believe me, I knew how wrong it was—I wanted to see Fletcher. If even from the other end of a table. I actually longed for him deep down in my heart where the ache after my divorce had been. It was so much more than a crush on my obstetrician. So much more than an acute need to get laid. So much more than a hormonal outburst caused by my gestating body. I loved him.

  But I also loved my friend.

  And so I bought a lovely black sequined dress just stretchy enough to mold over my round belly, and went to Marisol’s party. Pairing the dress with a pair of bright red heels and a red flower pinned behind my ear, I thought I looked decent for a woman who was seven months pregnant.

  Put on your game face, Baump.

  “Lex! You came!” Candace squealed as I entered the private room at Moon’s. She took the cake box out of my hands and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re radiant. How do you feel?”

  I took a deep breath. “Feeling fine. Is everybody here?”

  “Uh huh.” She stepped aside and the room came into view. Moon’s Lounge was a martini and piano bar in downtown Spokane that Marisol frequented, but I’d never been into. Now I knew why.

  This place was posh, and I’d never been the posh type. Velvet covered chairs lined mahogany tables, and a chandelier the size of my Volkswagen Bug hung from the ceiling. One wall featured floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Spokane River, and the other wall bore windows that surveyed the rest of the lounge and the dance floor.

  Everyone at the party was dressed to the nines. Members of Marisol’s family—all extremely good looking—stood around holding wine glasses and mingling. A couple of our Eats & Treats venders and clients had shown up, and Brian was talking to Marisol at the end of a long table. Brian’s navy blue suit offset Candace’s silver shirtdress beautifully, and Marisol resembled a Victoria’s Secret model in her flesh colored lace cocktail dress. There was more gravity defying spandex employed with keeping her bosom on display than was legal, and I instantly felt self-conscious in my little black maternity number. If she looked like a lingerie ad, I probably looked like an ad for Gap Kids with a pillow underneath my dress.

  “Look who’s here, everyone.” Candace dragged me towards where Brian and Marisol stood.

  Everyone raised their glasses. “Lexie!” the crowd called, just as a tall man in a charcoal suit stepped out from between the vendors.

  Fletcher.

  The suit was tailored to perfection, and his tie was the exact same shade of azure as his eyes. His hair was gelled back from his face, and he’d shaved recently, because his skin was perfectly smooth. I briefly entertained the fantasy of sliding across the tabletop into his arms and running my hands down his jaw line.

  I didn’t. But I wanted to.

  “Lexie,” Fletcher said. His eyes were downturned at the corners, and he jammed his hands into his pockets. My name was heavy as it fell from his lips, so full of words we hadn’t said. Things we needed to say, but likely never would.

  Don’t make it obvious. Be cool for once.

  I took a deep breath. “Hey.”

  Keep it friendly, keep it casual. That was going to be my motto tonight. I’d seen Fletcher finally, which is what I’d been aching for. Now it was my job to be the friend Marisol deserved.

  “Happy birthday, Mar! You look gorgeous!” I said cheerfully, turning to the birthday girl.

  She grinned and ran a hand through her glossy hair. “Was there ever any doubt? Come here.” Marisol pulled me into a hug. “Good to see you’ve cheered up some. You ready to party tonight?”

  “Like a rock star,” I said in a shaky voice.

  Marisol squeezed my shoulder and leaned close to my ear. I could smell whatever cocktails she was drinking. “Did you see my boyfriend in a suit? Talk about fine, eh?”

  I nodded, but wouldn’t look. Couldn’t. I could practically feel heat exuding from Fletcher’s body to my own. “Oh, well, yeah. I guess.”

  “You guess?” Marisol threw her head back and downed the rest of her martini. “He’s gorgeous. Now all I’ve got to do is get rid of all of his cheesy vintage tee shirts, and he’ll be great. Oh, and get rid of that stinky dog. Then he’ll be perfect.”

  He’s perfect already! My heart thumped, and I put a hand to my chest. How could Marisol say that? I couldn’t think of one thing about Fletcher that I didn’t like, except that he was dating her.

  I didn’t like that. Not one bit.

  “Mar, look at this cake Lexie made for you.” Candace took hold of Marisol’s hand and directed her attention to the opened cake box on the table.

  Marisol gasped. “That’s amazing.”

  I’d gone out of my way to make Marisol the best cake ever. It was red velvet, her favorite, and I’d fashioned it into the shape of a purse. Then I’d frosted and decorated it to look like an Hermes Handbag, complete with a little padlock style trinket hanging from the zipper. It looked good enough to eat, or to stuff your cell phone and address book into.

  And yes. I was kissing my friend’s ass because I fell in love with her boyfriend. Cake was an acceptable apology for betraying a girlfriend’s trust, wasn’t it?

  The crowd gathered around the pink box, oohing and ahhing over the exquisite detail. In a flash, I detected a flurry of heat dancing around my arm, and looked up to find Fletcher standing next to me. His face, like everyone else’s, was pointed down at the cake, but his eyes were locked on me with an intensity sure to melt the fondant right off the cake.

  How in the world could he look at me that way, when Marisol—and her phenomenal boobs—were in the same room?

  Holding my breath so I didn’t smell Fletcher’s amazing minty-musky scent, I sidestepped away from the crowd and pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table. I needed a cold drink. The room felt like they were pumping heat straight through the vent. Or maybe it was just me.

  Either way, where the hell was the waiter?

  “Well, nobody can eat this incredible cake until we’ve had our dinner.” Marisol gestured to a waiter passing the window.

  He practically dove into the room. “Are we ready to order?” His eyes never left Marisol’s chest.

  “We sure are, handsome,” Marisol purred. She slid into her seat and crossed her legs slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s extra tasty tonight?”

  “You mean besides yourself?” the waiter replied. The college-aged waiter beamed at Marisol.

  Everyone at the table laughed, knowing this was typical Marisol behavior. I watched Fletcher for a sign of jealousy, but he just pulled out his chair and sat down. His eyes were locked on the table in front of him and he didn’t appear tuned in to the party at all.

  Candace plopped into the chair next to me. “Guess who Brian just spotted in the bar?” she whispered.

  “Who?” I blinked at her, tearing my focus off Fletcher’s downtrodden expression.

  Candace’s nostrils flared. “Nate. And some blonde.”

  As if on cue, the baby performed a double axel inside of my uterus.

  “Ugh.” I groaned, pressing my hands to my stomach. My ex husband—and the father to my unborn child—was in Moon’s at the same time as me. And my ginormous belly.

  “I know, right? He makes me sick, too.” Candace opened her menu with a snort.

  I shrugged. “I guess it’s a free country. He can dine wherever he pleases.”

  But I didn’t feel nonchalant in the slightest. The last time I’d seen Nate was the day after I’d found out I was pregnant. I’d gone to his office in the middle of the day and forced his receptionist to allow me in.

  He hadn’t been happy to see me. That was all right. I hadn’t been happy to see him, either.

  “Dammit, Lexie, you have no right to barge into my office like this.” Nate blocked the doorway into his office. “In case yo
u don’t remember, you’re not my wife anymore.”

  I shoved past him. “In case you don’t remember, you didn’t mind the fact that I’m not your wife when you slept with me two months ago.”

  “Holy hell!” He peered out the door at the back of his receptionist’s head. She was wearing a headset, and talking to someone on the phone, so she’d probably not heard. But I was still proud of myself for saying it out loud. Nate slammed the door to his office, and closed the blinds. “What in the world has gotten into you?”

  I put up a hand. His question would have been so easy to make a dirty joke about, had it not been directed towards him and me. I shuddered. “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”

  The look on his face practically dripped with disgust. Apparently our feelings were mutual.

  “Listen.” He lowered his voice and sat on the edge of his desk. I didn’t sit down in the seat across from him. I was too fired up. It’d taken me four tries before I’d been able to get onto the elevator. “I understand that what happened between us might have brought up some feelings in you that you thought were forgotten. But that’s no reason to start stalking—”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Don’t flatter yourself, Nate. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. If I could afford a new one, I would douse my mattress in gasoline and burn it.”

  He flinched. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Right back atcha.” I started to pace. “I’m not here for anything. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need anything from you. In fact, you’re the last person on God’s green earth that I would ever come to for anything. Do you understand that?”

  He nodded, his mouth pulled into a line.

  I faced him, and put my hands to my stomach. I’d worn my work clothes, so I had my white chef’s jacket on over a pair of ripped jeans. There were streaks of raspberry ganache on the jacket, and I’d pulled my hair back with a leopard print hairclip while I was making meringues that morning. This sweet ensemble was accentuated by the fact that I’d been hurling for days, and my skin had taken on a sallow yellow color.