by Lily Kate
“Agents, other comedians, casting directors, producers, directors.” Lisa flops on the couch. “Is this what it feels like right before we make it?”
“Don’t jinx anything! We haven’t made it yet. I haven’t retired from Peretti’s Pizza, and until I have, I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”
“Capisce,” she says. “Then let’s get our asses out there and make it.”
We grasp hands for a moment, our fingers squeezing, the excitement zinging between as we make our way toward the stage. Rick is shouting that it’s show time, Phil is whistling from the back row, and preshow chatter is at an all-time high as the guests wait for the main event.
Lisa lets go of my fingers just before we head on stage, but not before she takes a second to wink at me, smile, and give a word of encouragement. “You ready to dream big?”
I laugh, because I can’t help it. I’m nervous and exhilarated, a feeling I never thought would be possible so soon after leaving Ryan’s bed this morning. A pang of longing hits me, and I find myself wishing he were in the audience tonight too, sitting next to his buddy, Nick.
I shake off the wishful notions as we emerge underneath the lights. All thoughts of Ryan disappear as I stare into the crowd. Lisa is laughing, smiling, waving at everyone, but I freeze. It’s a full house, a full frigging house. I don’t care that the house is small in the scheme of things—I’ve never played a club where there was standing room only. People are standing at the back, and every chair is taken.
Thankfully, Lisa has her wits about her and opens the show, cracking a joke about this being both of our first times, and it goes over well. I turn to face her, still trying to make my feet move forward. This is how it’s going to end, I think. I’m going to die right here of stage fright, and poor Lisa’s going to be left doing the show alone.
This isn’t how I planned to die.
Then, I see him, and I decide that maybe I can’t die yet.
That shaggy brown hair, those fairytale eyes that could melt a woman’s heart from across the room, that powerful torso that’s built to play, to protect, to hold me close under the shelter of the stars. Ryan Pierce.
In his hands there’s a stack of pizzas—at least ten of them—and I recognize the logo on the edge of the box: Peretti’s Pizza. He’s in the middle of handing out slices to all of the audience members, and everyone looks thrilled by the hot and ready pies. He’s even given an entire pizza to Phil.
My heart—what’s left of it—shatters into little pieces. I think it’s breaking for the sole purpose of seeing if he’ll be the one to put the pieces back together again. His eyes lock on mine, and mine lock on his, and in that moment, I am ready to give up everything.
But he gives his head a slight shake and flicks his chin toward Lisa. I follow his gaze and find Lisa there, holding the microphone out to me, her eyes expectant. I snap to it, a surge of adrenaline kicking my fears to the curb. My longing for Ryan is replaced by my loyalty to Lisa—at least for now—and I vow to not let her down.
I grab ahold of that microphone, and a beat later, a natural smile finds my face. I step forward to the edge of the stage and, just as we rehearsed, we run through our ten-minute bit. The audience is laughing, chuckling—I think Phil wiped a tear from his eye. I’m on cloud nine, cloud ten if that exists, cloud freaking nineteen if I can find it.
Rick flashes the red light at the back of the room, and I catch a glimpse of a grin on his face. We’re a hit, I just know it. I pass the mic back to Lisa and she wraps up with our final practiced joke, and the crowd erupts.
Throughout all of it, my eyes scan over Nick—who’s giving us a smile that looks like dollar signs—past a casting director that I know has worked on big blockbusters, past everyone until I find him. Ryan.
“Thanks, folks,” Lisa says. “Enjoy the pizza. Order Peretti’s, and have a great night!”
Lisa drags me backstage before I can run to Ryan, and I go, but only because she’s on the verge of tears. She’s jumping up and down, hugging me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m in shock.
“We nailed it!” she cries. “We’re going to make it, Andi, I know it! Did you see the room out there?”
I manage to hug her back, and her arms are like pythons squeezing the life out of me. I go limp and work on taking deep breaths, but it doesn’t work. Then I lose all of my breath when the curtain to the backstage area opens and it’s Ryan, alone, holding a pizza.
Lisa must hear the catch in my breath because she pulls away, asking if I’m okay.
I nod, and she follows my line of sight.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Right. Okay, well, I’m going to go talk to Nick. I’ll leave you two alone to…well…”
She squeezes my fingers and, with a final smile, disappears.
Ryan and I are alone, and the air is crackling with tension. I equally want him and wish him away. If we can’t make this work, seeing him will only make the pain of losing him ache longer.
“I brought you something,” he says with a wink, breaking the silence. He lifts the pizza box higher. “I figured you’ve delivered me enough sustenance to last a lifetime, and it was time to return the favor.”
“Peretti’s?” I look at the box. “I don’t understand.”
He sets the box on the table. “I needed to talk to your dad.”
“What?” My heart thumps in my chest. “Why?”
“It’s too soon to ask you to marry me, Andi, and we have too much to figure out,” he says. “But I wanted him to know my intentions.”
I blink, fidgeting with the lace on my shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m not understanding…”
“I want to date you, Andi.” He steps forward, takes my fingers in his hands—hands that are large, warm, and capable of so many wonderful things. “But I don’t want to date you for one night. I don’t want to fake date you or have you play some stupid game. I play games for a living. What I want with you is real.”
“But your agent…”
“She’s not my agent,” he says, his jaw firm. “I went to her office this morning to set the record straight. She offered to sign me, and I said no.”
“Why? Ryan, you can’t! These are your dreams, what you’ve worked for your whole life. Maybe I overreacted when I left this morning. We can figure things out, make something work—”
“I don’t want to make something work, I want to be with you—out in the open, for the whole world to see. I just need you to say yes. Tell me you’ll give me a chance to make things right.”
I hesitate. “But—”
“We’ll figure out the details. I want you to have your career, and I’ll have mine. We can have a condo in Los Angeles and a house in Minnesota—whatever it takes. I will do anything to be with you, Andi. Anything.”
“You gave up the chance to sign with one of the best agents in the business…for me.”
“I’m still doing what I love—playing hockey for a career. That’s all I need. The rest is bonus, icing on the cake.” His long lashes brush against his cheeks as he leans close to me. “You’re not the icing, Andi. You’re the cake. Without the cake, there is no icing. I need you.”
A laugh bubbles up in my chest. “I’m the cake? That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Christ, Andi, I’m trying—”
“Stop, Ryan.” I raise a hand and smooth it across his face. He’s looking pained, and I can’t stand the uncertainty in his eyes. “I want to be your cake.”
“Andi Peretti.” Ryan hooks his arms around my back. “Thank God you delivered that pizza.”
“And destroyed your car.”
“And pretended to be my girlfriend.”
“And ran away from you.”
“And most of all…” He pauses, his lips a breath away from mine. “It’s a good thing you said yes just now, because I can’t live without you.”
“Ryan,” I say, my voice a low, husky murmur. “Stop talking.”
He blinks once, and I w
atch as understanding sinks in. His eyes darken, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and then we both move at once. Our lips meet in a rush of need, his arms sliding around my lower back, his hands gripping my backside as he lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his narrow waist, and my arms slide around his neck.
He stumbles forward from momentum, the pair of us off balance, and we fall onto the backstage couch. The athlete in him emerges, swooping me onto his lap with surprising grace given the fervor of our movements. My arms claw at his shirt, and one of his hands slips into my new jeans.
He nearly rips my new, lacy black undies as he pulls me hard onto his lap, and I feel every glorious inch straining beneath his jeans. I’m perched over him, ready; all that separates us are two layers of clothes.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell him, completely oblivious to any of our surroundings. “I’ve missed kissing you.”
“Baby, we’re in public,” he says. “We should wait—”
“Public?” My breath comes out as a gasp as I turn and gesture toward the empty room. “The door has a lock.”
Ryan stands, takes two steps toward the door, and comes face to face with Rick as he bursts into the backstage area.
“Andi,” Rick is saying, “You nailed it out there—shit!”
Ryan’s standing there, a little awkward, his boner staring big, burly Rick in the face. I think the top button of his jeans is undone, and I know for a fact that I’m sprawled on the couch all rosy-cheeked and ready.
“Christ, Andi, not the fucking couch!” Rick storms out and slams the door behind him, still shouting at us. “Get a room—your own room.”
Ryan, to my surprise, leans forward and slides the lock shut. When he turns toward me, the devil is dancing behind those chocolate brown eyes. “What’s this I hear about the couch?”
EPILOGUE
Andi
Eight Years Later
A soft snow falls outside, coating the world in fairytale white. Christmas lights blink around the fireplace of our bedroom, and the light tunes of carols sound in the background. In the living room of our cozy, three-bedroom house just a few blocks away from Ryan’s parents is a Christmas tree laden with gifts.
The only gifts I need, however, I’m watching through the window. Ryan is outside skating with our two rascals. Three boys. Resting a hand on my stomach, I think and soon to be another, or maybe this time it’ll be a girl.
Today is special for a million and one reasons, not least of all because it’s our six-year anniversary. Tucker came exactly nine months after we were married; the kid was hardly a honeymoon baby—he was a night-of-the-wedding baby.
Angelo came about a year and a half after Tucker. My cousin Angela had wanted to hold out for a girl to inherit her name, but when it hadn’t happened on baby number two, she’d insisted we go with Angelo, and because he’s a saint, Ryan agreed.
Since then, we’ve been trying desperately for baby number three. It’s not for lack of trying that we haven’t been successful, that’s for sure. Ryan’s package is as hot and ready as the pizza I delivered on that fateful day years ago, but it just hasn’t been happening for us.
I’m blessed beyond belief with my two little boys and one big one, but I can’t help feeling that we are meant to have one more, to have three little Pierce children running around. Blinking back tears, I look at the pregnancy test and realize our family is about to be complete.
Ryan doesn’t know yet—I found out exactly thirty seconds ago. I’m planning to tell him tonight. It’ll be a little wine for him, and sparkling grape juice for me.
I swallow a lump in my throat—pregnancy hormones starting in again. I was a few weeks late this time, but I waited to take the test before I told him. We’ve had so many false alarms, it’s started to wear on my nerves.
I spread both hands over my stomach, joy filling my heart. This little boy or girl is the lucky one, just like me, because Ryan is the most wonderful partner, the most loving husband, and the best father to our children that I could have ever hoped for.
Mariah Carey croons in the background, and I smile as Ryan moves the puck across the icy pond in our backyard. Tucker and Angelo half-run, half-skate after him. They might be little, but they take after their father on the ice, and that’s saying a lot. This year, Ryan led his team—the Minnesota Stars—to their first ever Stanley Cup win. I was there, both boys in the seats next to me, and it was magic.
I watch as Tucker takes a tumble and lands hard on his bottom. Ryan lets the puck skid away from him and turns to pull our son up from the ice. Angelo, the feisty nugget that he is, goes after the puck without a glance at his brother and slams it into the net. He throws his stick, punches the air, and then finally decides to see if his brother is okay.
My phone rings, and I look away from the hockey game out back to answer it. “Hey Dad,” I say. “How’s it going?”
“I saw the show,” he says. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks, Dad, it was all Lisa.” I can’t help but grin. “We have a good time.”
My dad still watches every comedy show I perform. Lisa and I have a residency on Comedy Central, and she’s married, too, to another one of the Stars players.
She and I do a joint segment, though we’re on leave now because Lisa is nine months pregnant with her first baby. We’ll resume in the summer. I’ve found the best of both worlds, truly; I have a family and a career that I love.
“I’m flying in tomorrow. Don’t forget to pick me up from the airport,” he says. “And by the way, I watered your plants. Your cactus died. Not my fault.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say. He takes care of the condo we own above Peretti’s newest location in Malibu when we’re away. “It’ll be a white Christmas here this year. Mom would’ve loved it.”
“She’d be proud of you, kid,” he says in a gruff voice. “Anyway, I’ve got some treats for Tucker and Angelo, and I’m bringing presents from your cousin, too, so have Ryan with you to help me at baggage claim.”
“You spoil them too much.”
“Damn right I do,” he says proudly. “See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Dad.”
I hang up, startled for a moment as I look out and see the two youngest boys back on the ice hacking at the puck with their sticks. They have yet to learn the art of finesse. Ryan is nowhere to be seen.
“There you are.” His deep, husky voice rolls through the warmth of our butter-yellow bedroom, the fluffy white comforter on the bed crinkling as he pulls a James Bond-style roll across it. “God, you look beautiful with the snow falling behind you like that.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m naked.”
“Not naked enough.” He eyes my figure, my stomach mostly flat, not yet showing the signs of our newest addition. “Maybe I can help with that.”
I turn and face the window, the sheer curtain preventing the boys from seeing inside. I’m wearing only a black bra and panties, fresh from the shower. I have on no makeup, no perfume, and my hair’s still wet, yet somehow he looks at me like I’m ready to walk the red carpet. That’s one reason why I love him.
I glance toward the pregnancy test, which I’ve dropped into the trash bin. Ryan knows how much one more baby means to me, and he’s taken it upon himself to utilize every opportunity to make that happen. I won’t say no to a little more attention from him before I break the news.
“Don’t worry about them.” Ryan’s lost his shirt, his socks, and his outdoor layers somewhere between our front door and the bedroom. “I told them they could have two hot chocolates if they played a game up to a hundred points.”
“What are they on?”
“Five,” he says. “We can take our time.”
I suck in a breath as he presses against my back. My hands reach forward and grasp the windowsill. It’s been over six years, and I can’t get enough of him. Every time he walks into the room, undresses me, and works his magic, I’m convinced I’ll shatter to pieces from overwhelming ecstas
y.
“I don’t know how it works, but I love you more every day we’re together,” he murmurs against my neck. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
I throw my head back as his hands slide around my front; they’re a little bit cold from being outside, and they unhook my bra in one fell swoop. It falls to the ground, and he drags his fingers over my breasts, squeezing, caressing, massaging until goose bumps skitter across my skin at the clash of warm and cool.
Then he slides his hands down my ribcage, dragging along my sides until I’m writhing with pleasure. All at once, however, he stops. He pulls me into him, his arms cradling me to his naked torso. His jeans are in the way, keeping his gorgeous self from my skin, and I whisper for him to take them off.
“One second, sweetheart,” he says. “Let me enjoy.”
His hands spread wide over my stomach, almost as if he knows, almost as if he can sense something. He holds a hand there for a long, long time.
Then his fingers turn downward and he lets out a groan as he dips them to my core. It’s gentle at first, his fingers exploring with a unique tenderness.
He curses under his breath. “You’ve been waiting for me.”
I spin around, my eyes dark, wanting. I don’t dare open my mouth because I want to savor every second. Our alone time is next to nothing with two boys, and it will be even scarcer with the soon-to-arrive third child.
“Ryan,” I say in the brief pause of a scorching hot kiss.
I think about telling him the news now, but I can’t, yet, mostly because I forget. He has a way of ensuring my mind goes blank in the heat of the moment.
His hair is a mess, courtesy of my fingers running wild through it, and his eyes blaze in a way that means he’s got one thing on his mind—the very same thing that’s on mine.
I wrap around him as he brings me to the bed, but then he changes his mind at the last second and drops the two of us onto the plush fur rug before the fire. My lingerie has vanished, and I instruct him to ditch the jeans, too.
Once he’s naked and I’m spread before him, he looks at me with eyes so full of everything—desire, love, devotion—I’m ready to collapse into his arms, but he’s not ready for that. He trails kisses down my chest, lingering on my stomach, and then stops for one last taste between my thighs.
