Color Me Crazy (38 page)

“That’s Marcus,” Ben said, pointing at the bear. “Marcus, this is Julian.”

The bear slowly slid down, revealing a bald head and a pair of curious eyes that stared through the thick lenses of hipster glasses. The panda dropped with a thud.

Marcus said hello and indicated the bear was for Cleo. “Well, for the baby, I mean. It’s kind of a welcome-home bear.” Marcus threw out his arms and struck a ridiculous pose.

“Forgive me,” Julian said, “but I don’t know who to congratulate. I mean…”

The four of them—Julian, Marcus, Ben, and the panda—wore identical wide-eyed expressions of confusion. Finally, Julian said, “So, Marcus, you’re buying the loft. Do you have any questions for me? It can be moody. The plumbing is shit. There are two water heaters, but only one works. I guess Cleo can fill you in on all that.”

“I’m not going to live here,” said Marcus. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I thought maybe you guys had talked and you knew. Cleo’s buying the loft. She’s doing it under my name because she didn’t want…” Marcus’s voice petered out, and his unfinished sentence hung in the air.

Ben cleared his throat. “Because she didn’t want you to know she was buying it.”

None of this made a bit of sense. “I’m confused, so I’m going to be blunt, okay?” Julian said. “Which of you is with Cleo?”

“We both are,” Marcus said.

It wasn’t often that Julian felt like a prude, but holy shit, really?

Ben smirked and raised that eyebrow again. Julian’s hand clenched into a fist. “Let’s see if I can clear things up for you, Julian. I’m Cleo’s brother.”

Julian froze—mentally and physically—with his mouth hanging open. It took a few seconds for his mental train to switch tracks. He knew Cleo had a brother named Ben, but they’d never met. He chuckled with relief. “Oh, man, I didn’t connect the dots. I mean, I did connect the dots, but it was a weird and twisted picture.”

Ben didn’t laugh. Just raised his eyebrow again. How had he not recognized that eyebrow lift? “I thought you lived in Portland. Nice to meet you. Again. I mean, I already met you, but I didn’t know who you were. I do now. So, hi. Shit. Sorry, I’m talking stupid.”

“It’s okay,” said Marcus. “He’s used to it.”

Julian looked curiously at Marcus, who was suspiciously splotchy faced and grinning like a love-struck teenager.

Oh.

“And Marcus is with me,” Ben said, looking Julian straight in the eye, with a tight-lipped mouth. He was a bit more possessive than was necessary. Something was still unexplained, though.

“Then who’s the baby’s father?” Julian asked.

Ben came closer. “All right, I’m going to say this real slow, so see if you can keep up.”

Julian didn’t like his tone.

“The baby is due in two weeks,” he continued. “Do the math.” Then he grabbed Marcus and headed for the door.

Marcus turned. “The gestation period for a baby is nine months.”

“I’m sure he knows that.”

“He seems kind of slow,” Marcus whispered, as the door closed behind them.

Julian did the math. Cleo had gotten pregnant while he was still on tour, but they’d been together then, so that made no sense. No sense at all, unless she’d cheated on him, and he immediately dismissed that idea. But then another popped into his head.

Minneapolis.

The room spun. He needed something to lean against, but he didn’t think he could make it to the nearest wall. He leaned over and put his hands on his thighs as a solid hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Settle down.”

Julian turned his head and looked at Sheik. “I think that baby might be mine,” he whispered. Then a thought struck him, and he straightened. “Did you know?”

“Nah, man. Are you serious? I thought she had a boyfriend, just like you. Figured it was his.”

Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out the citrus vial.

Sheik smacked the vial out of his hand. “The real thing is upstairs, stupid.”

“I need to get a grip. Give that back.”

“Listen, stud muffin, the time to get a grip is over. There’s a woman up there who doesn’t think you’ve got the balls to climb the stairs, much less be a father.”

“Well, she’s wrong,” Julian said. He headed for the staircase but then stopped. “She wasn’t even going to tell me. No way she’s going to let me back into her life.”

Sheik nodded at the stairs. “No doubt you got some explainin’ to do. You best get started. And don’t worry about the real estate lady. I’ll get rid of her. I have a feeling this loft is about to become community property.”

Julian threw the bedroom door open. Cleo sat on the folding chair, so pale and vulnerable it almost broke his heart. He went straight to her.

“This is my baby?”

She nodded.

Emotions he didn’t even have a name for poured through him, along with every fucking color on the spectrum. He focused on scarlet red. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it felt good. “I am so angry with you, Cleo. I’ve never been this angry with anyone in my life.”

Cleo shot up out of the chair. Wow. Julian wouldn’t have bet she could do that. It defied the laws of physics. Her small hands clenched into fists, and her face went bright red—the same shade that filled his head—and she said, “It’s not like I did this to myself.”

“I know that,” Julian said in exasperation. “But you didn’t fucking tell me. I wasn’t going to know about my own baby? And shit, Big Red, you were going to do this by yourself?” He reached for her, but she took a step back. His heart plummeted. She was so close, and he couldn’t even touch her. What if she really wasn’t going to let him back in? He swallowed the lump in his throat.
What about his child?

Words like “visitation” flashed through his mind, sickening his stomach.

“I’m doing fine by myself,” Cleo said. “I don’t need you.”

He didn’t doubt that for a minute. “You don’t want me? Fine. But you are not keeping that baby away from me, do you understand?”

The anger on Cleo’s face shattered like a mask. It looked as if she might smile—or cry—or something. She seemed confused. Had he not been clear? Should he spell it out?

“That is my child—”

“You don’t even want children!” Cleo blurted. “And you certainly don’t want me.”

He almost laughed at the absurdity. “I never thought I’d be in a position to even have children. How would I know what I wanted in that regard? As for wanting you…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Every muscle and bone in his body ached with the need to touch her.

“You can’t even stick around for the morning after, much less potty training and homework.”

What was it Sheik had said?
You have some explainin’ to do.

His heart broke as her lower lip trembled. “Why did you leave?” she whispered. “I was going to tell you, but you left.”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He’d assumed the worst of her even though she’d never given him any reason to do so. “I saw the text from Marcus,” he stuttered. “I thought you had a boyfriend.”

Cleo looked at the ceiling, holding her hands up, as if appealing to a higher power for patience. “What text?”

“The morning after we were together. You were in the shower, and Marcus sent you a text about having a big surprise for you when you got home. I drew the most logical conclusion.” He didn’t say that last bit with much conviction.

Cleo stopped looking to the heavens and glared at him, instead. He wished she’d go back to praying. “Logical conclusion?
Logical conclusion?
Surely, there’s more to this than you getting pissed off about a swing set?”

“He said it was really big,” Julian said. “And he put hearts after it—and a dog holding flowers.” He lowered his eyes to the floor and fixated on a spot.

Cleo began a hysterical fit of laughter. Julian looked up. She was bent over double, hands across her belly. His head filled with orange bubbles, and his nose filled with the scent of tangerines. He stared blankly, then laughter bubbled unexpectedly from his own lips.

When Cleo heard it, she stopped laughing. Julian’s laughter petered out, replaced by the slow burn of unease. Cleo took a step toward him, and even though he wanted to flinch, he held out his arms instead. Which was a stupid move, because it opened him up to Cleo’s usual method of attack. She reached out and twisted his nipple. Hard.

“Ow,” he howled, rubbing his chest. “Why do you fucking do that?”

“After everything I was willing to go through with you? You left me over a text?”

When she said it like that, it sounded even worse than it was, and it was pretty bad to begin with. But it wasn’t true. “I left because I was scared,” he whispered.

“Of what?” Cleo’s brows were no longer bunched in a scowl.

“Of hearing that it was too late. That you loved someone else. Because”—he swallowed—“how could you ever love me?”

Cleo moved closer. Warmth radiated from her skin. How long could he keep his hands off her? He
needed
to touch her, to be lost in her.

She stroked his face with a single finger, trailing it down his cheek. “I’ve never loved anybody but you.”

Was it possible? He searched her eyes, and what he saw blew him away. There was no hiding from Cleo. She looked into him—
deeply
into him—and saw everything. He wasn’t hiding behind a guitar or shrouded in fame. It was just him. Real. Flawed. Terrified.

And she loved him.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

She didn’t answer with words but put her arms around his waist and squeezed. Her round belly was solid and warm. How could something so new and unexpected feel so perfectly right?

He ran his hands up under her sweater, feeling her taut skin. “Does it hurt?” he whispered.

“Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. But mostly, I love it.” She smiled, and his eyes stung with tears. He dropped to his knees and left warm, breathy kisses across her skin, then pulled her waistband down so he could feel her entire round belly.

“This must be shocking,” she said. “I’m huge and, um, striped. Those are stretch marks.”

“You’re gorgeous. And I have a huge hard-on.” He rubbed small circles on her tummy.

She laughed. “You’re starting up some activity down there.”

“Good,” he said. He definitely wanted to start up some activity down there.

“No, I mean here.”

Cleo placed his hand firmly on a spot on the underside of her belly. He felt a tiny poke through her skin. Gasping in delight, he quickly kissed the spot.

“Poke her. She’ll poke back.”

She?
He hadn’t even thought to wonder about that. “It’s a girl?”

Cleo nodded. He firmly pushed on a little bump beneath his palm, and it pushed back. Enthralled, he played that game for a while, chasing the flutters with his lips and fingers. Then he stopped and traced the dark line that ran down the center of Cleo’s tummy. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Cleo looked alarmed. “Oh, no, no, no, Julian. Not now. Not here.” She glanced at the window. “And not in direct sunlight.”

“The more light the better,” he said, rising. He kissed her and lifted her sweater, pulling it over her head. She gave little resistance, so he unclasped her bra, releasing her breasts. They were big, ripe, and heavy with large, dark nipples.

“Pregnant boobs,” she said apologetically. “This is what they look like.”

“God, they’re perfect,” he whispered.

He brushed a red nipple with his fingertip, watched it pucker, then leaned over and covered it with his mouth. He groaned with pleasure and suckled gently, wondering what breast milk tasted like. He had every intention of finding out.

“Unless you want me to have the baby right now, you should stop that,” Cleo rasped.

He looked up at her. “Really?”

“Nipple stimulation can bring on contractions at this stage.”

Holy shit. He didn’t want to do that. In fact, he broke out in a light sweat just thinking about it. “Okay, well, there are other things I’d like to play with. Lie down, Big Red. Time for the full pregnant lady exam.”

“Julian!” she said. Her cheeks flamed red.

He sat on the floor and gently pulled her down next to him. “A quick look, love,” he said.

“There’s not even a blanket in here,” she protested, modestly covering her breasts with her arms. Julian took his T-shirt off and laid it on the ground.

“Sorry, but this will have to do.” He knew she was going to do it; he could tell by the look on her face. It was the same embarrassed yet excited expression she’d worn on the band bus and in the back of the limo after the concert. It was her
I’m about to do something naughty
face, and he adored it. He helped her lie down.

“Lift up,” he said firmly. She raised her hips, and he slipped her pants off. Then he gently pushed her knees apart.

“You’re a goddess,” he said. And he began to worship.

Chapter Twenty-One

The magazine, open on the bed, failed to hold Cleo’s attention. She’d been tucked into bed early by Marcus and Julian, but she was restless. The nesting instinct had kicked in with vigor, and she wanted to get back into the loft. But it was too late in the pregnancy to begin a move.

She’d been achy all day, and it was difficult to find a comfortable position in bed. Her feet were swollen lumps, and when she tried to lean forward to stuff a pillow under them, she was met with the obstacle of her tummy.

Should she text Julian? He was strumming her dad’s old Martin guitar on the porch. She hated to give him another scare. Every time she moved, he freaked out and ran to her side, pretty much terrified.

She poked her tummy, hoping the baby would kick. There hadn’t been much movement all day. But the doctor had said this would happen as she approached her due date, a mere three days away. She needed Julian.

Bracing for the overreaction, she texted him. She heard the chime of his phone through the window and then laughed as she heard him bolt into the house.

He burst through the door about three seconds later. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But would you lie down with me?”

Julian’s face melted in relief. He pulled his T-shirt over his head. “You scared me.”