by Elle Casey
She jumps up and turns around, glowering at me. “Be careful! I’m pregnant!”
I smile and point. “Go. Go tell your man he knocked you up.”
May turns to go, but three steps into her journey she stops. She spins around and comes running back to me, throwing her arms around me and squeezing for all she’s worth. “Thank you so much, Toni. I had no idea you were so good at giving advice.”
Her hair is covering my face and I’m all stiffened up, waiting for the affection to be over. “Sure. Anytime.” I cringe at my words, hoping she won’t take me up on the promise they contain. I actually suck in the advice department on a normal day, but this time it wasn’t so bad.
I pat May on the back and then push her away from me. “Go. I can’t stand knowing a secret that Ozzie doesn’t know.”
She pulls back and looks at me, smiling. “You’re probably his best friend. Did you know that?” She tilts her head at me.
I feel the light of joy beaming through my heart. “No, not really.”
She nods. “Trust me. I know things.” She gives me a little wave with her fingers and turns around to go, her thick, beautiful hair flying out behind her in its ponytail.
I smile watching her go and then laugh. That girl is so crazy. But I must admit, when she’s back here in the cubicle room with me, it does seem a lot brighter than when I’m alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I arrive home to the smell of garlic cooking in the kitchen. I inhale cautiously, hoping my stomach isn’t going to rebel. Now that I’m in my sixteenth week of pregnancy, it seems that my queasiness has pretty much disappeared. Only the odd smell, like cigarette smoke or broccoli, puts me on edge.
When I get to the kitchen, I find Lucky at the stove, stirring something in a sauté pan. This is almost normal for us now. He’s a way better cook than I am, and he’s usually home first. His being at the stove gives me time to settle in and wind down from the workday before we eat. I like sitting with him as the sun goes down; it’s relaxing. I never saw myself as a person enjoying that kind of thing, but here I am, doing just that.
“Smells good.” I drop my bag in a chair and go over to stand next to him.
He keeps his eyes on the pan, but his free hand comes up and wraps around my neck, pulling me closer so he can kiss me on the head. I love it when he does that; it makes me feel almost like his girlfriend, even though we haven’t yet had any discussions about where we stand. I’m not pushing for it, either. I like where we are now; it’s comfortable for both of us, I think.
His beard fluffs against my face, tickling my skin as he turns his head back to the food and lets me go. “I thought you might like a little linguine with clam sauce tonight, since you don’t seem to be as sensitive as before to the smells.”
“How did you know that’s my favorite?” I’m smiling up at him, maybe a little bit amazed that this man knows me so well. We’ve been living together for a while now, but he still pulls surprises out of nowhere sometimes.
“Every time we’ve ever gone out to an Italian restaurant, that’s what you order.” He looks at me and winks. “I like it too, so this one’s easy.”
He’s been cooking ever since my charcoaled toast disaster, and I haven’t had one single complaint since. He doesn’t even need to defrost things to put dinner on the table.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“You can set the table.”
I hum a random tune under my breath as I gather utensils and napkins, placing them alongside the dishes on the table. I hesitate at the cabinet that holds the glasses. “Do you want wine tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m on the wagon, remember?”
“You don’t have to stop drinking just because of me.”
He slides the sauté pan off the fire and puts it over on an unlit burner. He turns and looks at me as he leans against the counter. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
I shrug and pull out two water glasses, filling them at the sink before bringing them to the table. I can feel him staring at my back. I take a seat and look at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just taking a little look. I can see your belly now, you know.”
I look down and rub my tummy. There’s a decent-sized bump there now, I have to admit. I thought I would hate it, but I don’t. “I’ve really started noticing it. My jeans are getting tight.”
“We’re going to be able to find out the sex of the babies in a couple weeks. Do you want to do that?”
I shrug. “Sometimes I think I do, and other times I think not. What about you?”
I try to read his expression as he speaks because I know a lot of times he says what he thinks I want him to say and not what he really feels. I want to be sure I’m hearing the actual truth from him when he answers this question. I’ve slowly come to terms with the fact that even though this is my body and I’m growing these babies, they’re just as much his as they are mine, and he needs to make decisions with me. It’s a fifty-fifty deal.
“At first I was thinking I would like for it to be a surprise, but then I was thinking it would be kind of nice to know so we could buy a couple things,” he says.
“That’s what I was thinking, too. But we could always just buy neutral things to get us started and then get more stuff later.”
Lucky turns around and goes about putting a pot of water on to boil. “Did you read the book that talks about scheduling? I’m worried that we aren’t going to have any free time to shop after the babies are born.”
“I did read that. But I also read that other book that was saying how we shouldn’t let our lives change too much. We should still go out and do stuff and just bring the babies with us. Or get a babysitter sometimes.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I worry that I’ve overstepped, that he’ll look at me funny and ask me why I think he’ll be here doing stuff with me after the babies are born. I say “we” too much for someone who hasn’t defined whether there actually is a “we” going on here.
“Yeah.” He nods, giving me no indication that what I said was too presumptuous. “I read that too. It seems like there’s so much information out there, it’s almost getting hard to sort through.”
I nod because I know exactly what he’s talking about. At this point I feel like I’m suffering information overload. “The only thing I’m looking at now is that book that has the weekly update on what’s happening with the babies and their development.”
“That’s probably a good idea. You can read me this week’s information tonight after dinner.”
Normally after we eat in the evening, he goes up to his room or he leaves the house entirely to go back to work or hang out with Thibault, keeping his promise to stay out of my hair and not put pressure on our situation. It’s starting to wear on me, though. I find myself growing more attached to him as the weeks go by.
Last night as I lay in bed alone staring at the ceiling, I decided that I want more of his attention than he’s giving me now, but there’s no way for me to express that desire without sounding weak, and I hate losing my strength even for a second. This pregnancy already makes me feel somewhat outside of myself. I’m tired a lot, and my memory pretty much sucks these days. I’ve started putting Post-It notes all over the place to remind me of appointments and other things I’m supposed to remember.
Needless to say, the idea of us being together after dinner makes me really happy. “Maybe we could play cards or something,” I suggest. “After we read the book or whatever.”
He nods. “Yeah, that would be great.” It’s impossible to tell if he’s being serious or if he’s just being nice. “Or we could play a board game,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “I’m a pretty mean Scrabble player.”
I can’t help but smile. I’m pretty sure he’s being serious. He sounds enthusiastic enough. “Fine. Scrabble it is.”
A few months ago, if someone had told me I was going to stay inside and enjoy playing a Scrabble game with a guy, I w
ould’ve laughed at that person, or I might’ve even slugged him in the arm. But now the idea thrills me. That, more than anything, shows me how much this pregnancy has changed me.
Would Lucky and I have gotten to this point together without the babies there to push things along? Probably not. Knowing me, I would have shoved him away and things would have gone back to the way they were. That idea makes me sad now.
I told Lucky before that I didn’t want him here, and he promised to stop acting like a caveman, but I’m comfortable with us starting a new ritual. It feels right to have him around more. Instead of him going his way and me going mine, we can go the same way together for a change. Sometimes I get the feeling that he’s thinking the same thing, but he never says it out loud. I can’t really blame him, though; I did threaten him over it before.
“You know, you don’t have to try so hard to stay out of my way anymore.” I can’t believe I said that out loud, but the instant the words are out there, I’m glad I did. Unfortunately, my stomach ties itself in knots as I wait for his response. It’s slow in coming.
He dumps pasta into boiling water and sets a pot lid halfway over the top of the bubbling liquid. He crumples the box that the noodles came in and puts it in the recycle bin before he comes over and sits down across from me.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks. His voice is soft and gentle.
I shrug, flustered. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You’re not used to having somebody in your personal space. I don’t think you realize how different it will be from your normal routine.”
I shrug, trying to act cool and casual when I’m anything but. “I lived with Thibault and my family for a hell of a lot of years before I was alone. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”
Lucky smiles. “It’s been really hard staying away from you, I have to admit.”
“Really?” I smile like a fool. I can’t believe how much this means to me. Am I in love with Lucky, or what? The answer surprises me when it pops into my head: I think I am.
My ears start burning at the thought, and I’m sure they’re turning dark red. I look at the wall, the ceiling and the floor—anywhere but at him.
“Yes,” he says. “Very hard. I hope this doesn’t mean anything bad about me, but every time I see you and that little bump you’re carrying around, I just want to get you naked.”
My face joins my ears and heats up until it feels like it’s on fire. I’m not normally a prude or embarrassed about my body, but the idea that he wants to see me naked while pregnant sends me for a loop. Do I want him to see me naked? Yes. I definitely do.
Now I can look at Lucky when I talk to him. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. If there is, it’s something wrong with me too.” My emotions shift to something hotter. I so want to have sex with him right now.
His expression darkens and he looks ten times sexier all of a sudden. “What are you saying?”
I draw invisible circles on the table with my fingertip because I can’t look him in the eye again. “I don’t know. Maybe that it’s hard living with you and not being with you.” I shrug. It’s not easy for me to reveal my innermost thoughts to anyone, even the guy who planted two babies in me.
“Maybe we could try sleeping together.”
His suggestion hangs in the air between us. Is this what I want? Is this the next logical step in our lives together or is it a mistake? The beginning of a real relationship or the ending of everything? There’s no way for me to know the answer to my questions unless I take a risk and try it. Trying has never really been hard for me in the past, but this feels like a really big deal.
“We could do a trial basis thing,” I say.
Lucky gives me a tentative smile. “Sure we could. We did the trial basis deal for me to live here and it worked out okay, right?”
I nod, feeling hopeful. “Yep. Turned out just fine.”
Lucky stands. “You ready for some dinner?”
“Sure.” I’m trying to roll with the quick change in topics. One second we’re talking about sex and sleeping together, moving on to what seems to be an actual relationship, and then the next second he’s talking about linguine. “Are the noodles ready already?”
“I got the quick-cooking kind so they should be ready very soon. I’ll go check.” He walks over to the stove, moving around like he knows what he’s doing.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel completely unlucky. Maybe all of Lucky’s good fortune is rubbing off on me.
An image of Charlie intrudes on my thoughts. It’s a very effective reminder that no matter how much I hang out with a guy named Lucky, there’s always my past right there behind me reminding me that I have a tendency to screw things up.
I’m so conflicted. I want to believe that everything that happened with Lucky isn’t bad luck, that forgetting to use protection, that me getting pregnant with twins, that all of this is somehow his good luck intervening in my life. But it seems too good to be true. Something bad is going to happen.
I feel a little panicky when I realize that the most horrible thing that could ever happen to me now would be something involving my children. I feel a flutter down there and rub my hand over it. Great. Now I’ve got gas.
That’s one thing Lucky has not yet seen with me. He’s been sleeping in his room and I’ve been sleeping in mine, and I’ve been able to hide the fact that these babies are giving me serious intestinal problems. I feel the blood leaving my face as I realize that this is a secret I’m going to have difficulty keeping if we’re sharing a bed together. Oh, God.
Lucky turns around and looks at me for a few seconds. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head to get it out of the weird place it was in. “Nothing. I was just thinking . . . about us sleeping together.”
He gives me a sly smile. “You were, huh? Got any special requests?”
I can’t help but laugh at him. “No.” Now that my mind has hosted visions of Charlie and thoughts about my digestive problems, all that hot and bothered stuff has given way to the practicalities of my life. By the time I make it to bed at night, I’m so tired, I feel like a zombie; I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. If Lucky’s going to be sleeping with me, we’re going to have to be responsible and realistic about this whole thing. I don’t want to lead him on, because that’ll only lead to disappointment. The last thing I want to do is disappoint Lucky.
“And don’t think you’re getting sex out of the deal,” I say, trying to sound firm. “I need to get my sleep. When I said we’d sleep together, I meant sleep.”
He gives me a mysterious look. “We’ll see.”
It’s impossible for me not to smile at that. A big part of me is hoping he’ll push the issue tonight. Maybe I don’t need to be that responsible. Maybe I don’t need that much sleep.
I have a hard time focusing on the little bits of conversation and the taste of the food. Lucky and I are going to sleep together tonight, and although I told him I don’t plan on having sex with him, my body knows otherwise. I’m ultrasensitive, and everything is tingling in anticipation.
Everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I wasn’t able to eat a whole lot of the dinner. All I could think about was sleeping with Lucky later. But there’s still one outstanding issue to deal with before that can happen . . .
“Are you ready?” He gazes across the table at me with his gorgeous blue eyes, the promise of excitement ahead.
“Hell, yeah, I’m ready. Ready to kick your ass.” I reach inside the drawstring bag and pull out seven letter tiles, lining them up on the plastic holder in front of me. “You’re going down, clown.”
Lucky laughs and selects his own tiles, shaking his head and smiling as he sets them up. “They don’t call me Lucky for nothin’, babe. It’s you that’s goin’ down like a clown.”
What ensues is the most rousing game of Scrabble I’ve ever participated in. Lucky alternately begs for mercy, prods
me into taking risks I shouldn’t, cries in defeat, and yells in triumph. I’m not sure he wins with actual spelling skill, but there’s no doubt he comes out ahead in points. I’m pretty sure it was his strategy to mess with my mind all along. He kept touching me gently, winking at me, complimenting me . . . An hour later, I’m a puddle of mush and he’s 100 points ahead when the last tile is laid on the board.
He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and placing them behind his head. “I told you I’m good at Scrabble.”
“You cheated.” I sweep all the tiles together and dump them into the bag, folding the board up and putting it in the box. The game still looks brand-new, but I have a feeling over the next few months we’re going to wear it out. This is the most fun I’ve ever had staying in.
“I’m going to make some tea,” Lucky says. “Would you like some?”
“No, thanks.” I want to go upstairs, brush my teeth, and shave my legs before I get into bed with him. It’s not that I expect something to happen, but if it does, I want to be prepared. Like May said to Marc . . . no guy wants to get the cactus treatment when he snuggles up close.
While Lucky busies himself with the kettle in the kitchen, I race upstairs, headed right for my bathroom. I haven’t been this nervous or excited about a guy in as long as I can remember. It’s almost like we’re going out on a date, but it’s in the house, and he’s my roommate and the father of my twin babies. Heck, maybe he’ll be my boyfriend one day.
This is so not like me to be worrying about a man’s status in my life. I’m going to blame it on the babies throwing my hormones out of whack.
Of course, because I’m in a hurry, I cut myself shaving. I hiss with the pain. Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have used a new blade.
A knock comes at the door. “You okay in there?”
“Yes. I just cut myself shaving.”
There’s a pause before he answers. “Do you always shave before you go to bed?”
