Entice (35 page)

We search the bookshelves together, her reading titles with her head tilted, me looking at the little pictures on the spine for one of a fire-breathing dragon lady, when an idea hits me. I should write a book. I’ll call it “Your Woman’s Pregnant, Get Ready. Real Talk” by Sawyer “If This Book’s Out Then I Survived” Beckett.

Chapter One: Sleep. If she finally gets comfortable in bed, don’t fucking move a muscle. Don’t even breathe, ‘cause if you disrupt her, all hell’s about to break loose and you will be adjusting, rearranging, and searching out every pillow in the house. (This was my night as of last, from approximately 10-11:15.)

Chapter Two: Showers. You’re a fucking idiot for even suggesting men don’t have to go to baby showers. Of course your ass has to be there…unless of course your ass doesn’t have to be there, because it’s “her” thing, for the mother who “actually has to go through the hard part!”

Chapter Two point Five: Addendum. Chapter Two could go either way, and is clearly subject to change on a daily basis, so do not speak of it. Let her tell you what you are and are not attending.

Shit! Baby shower!

“I gotta go, never mind, thank you!” I yell at the salesgirl, hauling my ass outta there full speed. I knew there was something I had to do today. I’m dialing while I start the truck, downright fear enveloping me.

“Hello?” Oh thank God, a sweet voice.

“Hey, Baby Mama. Whatcha doing?”

“On my way to the shower with Laney. You on your way?”

“Yep, headed there now. Just making sure we weren’t riding together.” My tongue forks as I speak. I thought for sure I was late to pick her up.

“Nope, Laney’s got me. I’ll see you there.”

“K, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sawyer.”

Well holy shit, score for the men’s team! I roll my neck and relax a bit, cranking up some tunes and heading to Dane’s. Who needs a book—I got this!

I
in no way, shape, or form got this. Mayfuckingday!

Currently, I am being wrapped in toilet paper, the model for the build a diaper contest. I am the only person with a dick here, and it’s shriveled up and gone into hiding. “You bout done?” I grumble.

“Hush!” Laney slaps my arm while Bennett walks around me in circles, wrapping Charmin over, around and through my junk drawer. Much more of that and she’s gonna expect me to buy her dinner.

I look over to Jessica, the model for the other team and the only invitee besides the Crew girls. I’m happy to see that she’s also being tortured. I’ll have to give her a raise. Oh, but look at Emmett, smiling, laughing, and having a blast.

All right, I get it.

“Ya’ll hurry up, we gotta win this! Bennett, take some of those thingies out of your hair and use ‘em as pins!”

“We know what we’re doing,” Laney barks, “just hold still!”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, woman! You’re barely a girl!”

Ouch! I don’t think a ball punch was necessary.

“Oh. Dear. God.” And it just keeps getting better…Dane walks in and catches me in all my pampered glory. Wait, why is he holding up his phone?

“What are you doing with that phone, fucker?”

He waves his free hand at me absently. “Not filming this, don’t worry.”

“Time!” Laney belts out, stepping back to admire their work. “Oh yeah, we are so gonna win. Dane, baby,” she turns to him, “will you be the judge?”

Emmett drops back on the couch with a huff, exhausted, but levels a stare at Dane. “You’re gonna want to pick mine,” she warns.

He smirks at her then gives Laney an apologetic wink. “Emmett wins.”

“Yay!” Whitley squeals, hugging the mummified Jessica. “We won!”

“Let’s eat,” Emmett suggests, so I rapidly rip off my TP and rush to help her up.

She thinks she’s huge, I know this because she mentions it at least twice a day, every day, but I think she’s adorable, not a third of the size I’ve seen some women get. But I learned quickly—don’t argue, say nothing, and nod empathically.

“So, I hear you got kicked out of Lamaze?” Dane laughs and I cut a look to Emmett—I can’t believe she ratted me out.

“I wasn’t kicked out. I was asked not to come back. There’s a big difference,” I grumble, helping my woman up on the stool at the bar. “What’d you tell them?” I ask her.

“The truth,” she simpers, covering her mouth quickly to hide it.

“Why don’t you set me straight with the real story?” Dane quirks that fucking brow of his, challenging me as he takes a bite of a stork-shaped cookie.

Total setup—all six pairs of eyes dart to me, the girls leaning in closer to soak up my every word. “Clear cut case of Hag Rag was all it was.” I shrug. “The teacher wanted me, got mad she couldn’t have me, starting pickin’ on me.”

“Uh huh.” Dane nods, motioning with his hand for me to continue.

“It’s a class about your baby coming out, right? Why wouldn’t I need to be down between Emmett’s legs?”

Whitley sprays me with her mouthful of punch, choking and sputtering. Bennett slaps her on the back, but shushes her, not wanting the story interrupted, I guess.

“Ain’t shit gonna be happening up by her head. I went where I was needed.”

“And?” Emmett coughs.

“And what? Babe, she obviously didn’t know what she was doing. I wasn’t ‘staging a coup’ as she so dramatically accused. I was simply getting the other dads in gear.”

Everyone’s laughing, but Whitley raises her hand amongst the noise. “Yes, Whitley?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t plan to actually deliver the baby, do you?” She grasps her chest, voice trembling with the last couple words.

“No.”

“Then why do you need to be down there? That’s where the doctor goes.”

Here we go again. I shake my head. Does nobody have an original argument?

Emmett grabs Laney’s arm, slinging her thumb my way. “This, you gotta hear.”

“There’s gonna be a lot happening in one central location—fluids gushing and flying out. I’ve read a lot about this, you know. I want to make sure my child doesn’t slip through her hands like a greased pig and wind up on the floor. I’m the pinch catcher, just in case. I know these babies never miss,” I give ‘em all my snazzy fingers, “not to mention,” I shush their gasps and giggles, “women screaming, mass chaos—I need to make sure nobody gets scissor happy and snips the wrong thing.”

Dane's face is classic—stone-shocked silence...he's just mad I think of everything first, ‘cause you know his ass is taking notes. “If I could just figure out how to harness and bottle all that into something useful,” he swipes his hands crazily in my general area, “we'd all own private islands.”

I was expressly forbidden to buy any food, chocolate or otherwise, as well as any “I won't be this size forever” articles of clothing and/or flowers, which all of a sudden give her a headache, for Valentine's Day.

Exactly what the fuck does that leave?

No puppy, to hell with that, we’ve got a peeing, pooping machine on the way. Jewelry? Too cliché. Definitely not baby stuff—between Christmas and the shower, we're all set for like, ten babies. New journal? Not enough.

I’m screwed. Time to call in reinforcements.

“She's busy,” Dane answers Laney's phone with a chuckle, but I can hear her grappling with him in the background.

“Hand her the phone, it's important.”

“You okay?” His tone goes deadly serious.

“No! What the hell do I get Emmett for Valentine's Day? And before you start naming basic bullshit, let me tell you the forbidden list she gave me.”

“Give me the phone,” Laney bosses. “Hello?”

“Hey, Gidge, so I—”

“I heard you,” she cuts me off. “She wants one of those Kindle reader things, with a light.”

She does love to read. Me thinks Gidge may be onto something. “Where do I get one of those?”

“Any electronics place, Best Buy, wherever. Oh, and have them load it up with credit or whatever they do so she can buy books!”

“Ah, Gidge, you know how much I love you, right?”

“Yes, she knows!” Dane yells.

“Bye,” I chuckle, tempted to jack with him and keep talking to her. “Thank you.”

I handed her the gift at approximately six pm. That's the last time I saw her. The time is now nearing 10:30 pm.

I am a brave, brave man...I'm going in.

“Hey, baby, whatcha doin?”

“Shhh,” she hisses, curled up in bed, mesmerized by the screen. “It's at a crucial part.”

Yeah, I got a crucial part and he knows it’s Valentine’s Day and that she bought us new cologne and sunglasses, not a pocket pussy. Stealthily, I turn off the lights and walk around the bed, stripping down to nothing before I pull up the covers and slip in behind her. I brush her long hair off her shoulder, teasing her skin with my nose, kissing softly. I get a backwards hand swat, like a fly's bugging her.

I am not a fan of the Kindle. I flop on my back, huffing loudly, and when she doesn't even flinch, I huff again, punching and rearranging my pillow. “Whatcha reading, on Valentine’s Day, baby?”

“Mirage,” she sighs wistfully. “It's so good.”

I roll over, naked chest against her back, and grab one her hands, shoving it on my hard, lonely dick. “That feel like a mirage to you, Em?”

“No,” she sets the Kindle down and rolls over to face me, “no, it certainly does not. It feels very real.” She presses her hand down harder, using her whole palm to glide up and down my poor achiness.

I wind my hand behind her neck and roughly pull her mouth to mine, biting her bottom lip and tugging before sneaking my tongue in to caress hers. “I need some lovin', Emmy,” I murmur against our tangled mouths. “You got some for me?”

Her thin white nightgown leaves nothing to my imagination, her nipples peaked and hard, and she's not wearing any panties. Fuckkk me. I run my finger under one strap and let it fall down her arm, then the same on the other side. Now her chest is bared to me, showcasing her visible, fluttering heartbeat and two gorgeous breasts. I prop myself on my right elbow to hold my weight and use my left hand to delve down and hike up the bottom of her sleepwear. No barrier, my index finger tests her readiness. She’s warm and wet, like she was waiting for me.

By now she's latched on manically to both sides of my head, feasting at my mouth then steering me down to suck on her tits, one of her favorite things. Every day they grow and I'm often tempted to suffocate myself in them. What a way to go.

“Tell me, Em, you want me? You want me inside that pretty wet pussy, don’t cha?”

“Yes,” she groans, letting her lips fall open.

“Put me where you want me, Em, show me.”

She rolls over on her side away from me and hitches one leg back over my hips. Fumbling, her hand comes behind and between us, tiny fingers grabbing my cock. I scoot closer and she lines me up with her soaking center, backing up until the tip pops inside her.

And for the next few hours, ‘cause yeah, I got it like that, we consummate our first Valentine's Day together.

CHAPTER 35

Miracle on Fair Road

—Emmett—

A
second-time mom told a funny story at Lamaze one night before we got kicked out. Her water broke in the middle of the grocery store aisle, so she reached over and grabbed a jar of pickles, smashing it on top of her puddle to cover it up. Great story, we all died laughing, but totally non-applicable now, here.

I'm sitting in the lobby of Quickie Lube, waiting for my oil change and tire rotation, when I suddenly feel like I just peed on myself. It doesn't occur to me that it's my water breaking right off the bat because I've got 17 days left. Babies don't come that early, maybe a week, but not over two. This can't be right. What if something's wrong? And SHIT, are jackknife pains supposed to immediately follow?

Okay, I can do this, no need to panic. I pull up Sawyer on my phone, anxious, somewhat frightened tears already dripping down my cheeks.

“Hey baby, you get your car done?” he answers cheerfully.

“Not done yet.” I huff out a breath. “Sawyer, my water just broke, in the Quickie Lube on University. And the pain, ahh,” I yelp, hunching over, holding my stomach, “has already started.”