“Mm,” he muttered. The woman in question (Sissy, or was it Stacey?) had tucked her phone number into his pocket, whispering coyly for him to call her when he was feeling better. Fat chance. Apparently the woman was too stupid to recognize a brush off when she received one.
“I’ve got to fly to New York next month,” he said suddenly, remembering why he had headed out here. “I’ll be gone a few days. Would you mind dropping me off and picking me up?”
“As long you don’t plan on catching any red eye flights,” she responded, hissing under her breath when the root ball proved to be rather persistent. “Help me out here,” she ordered, nodding at the other side of the plant.
“Jeez, Lauren,” he muttered, getting to his knees. “I don’t have this fascination for digging around in the dirt the way you do. I can’t do it and stay clean, like you can.” Nonetheless, he dug his hands into the soil and helped her work the root ball toward the surface.
“Buddy, you use to be a mechanic. You made your living getting filth,” she reminded, giving a satisfied grunt when the root ball broke free. Several wayward roots had remained in the earth, so she left Dale to dispose of the plant and root while she settled down to dig out those little pieces.
“You could just leave those be,” he said after he had tossed the plant.
“No, I couldn’t. I’m planning on putting a weeping willow here and I don’t want little baby bushes springing up next year to choke it.”
Later, he followed her into her house to scrub up his hands while she washed up and changed. Thursday night. They had developed a tradition for Thursday nights over the years. Pizza, beer for him, wine for her, and a movie or two. He had already ordered when she padded back into the living room half an hour later wearing baggy cotton pants and a cotton top that didn’t quite reach the waistband of those pants. Every time she moved, he found himself enjoying the sight of her pale torso. He shifted uncomfortably, finally tearing his eyes away and watching the screen.
A faint cramp tightened her belly momentarily and Lauren shifted, drawing her knees to her chest. Over the next hour, throughout the movie, the cramps worsened. She slowly straightened her legs, scooting towards the edge of the couch. “I’m sorry, but I think I need to go on to bed,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. No wonder she’d been feeling so damn moody all day.
“You okay?” Dale asked, a faint frown marring his forehead. He’d spent the past forty- five minutes day dreaming, not paying Lauren any attention at all. Now he saw her pale face, the faint line between her eyebrows, the hand she had over her stomach.
“Yeah. Just need to get to bed,” Lauren replied, trying to keep the crossness from her voice. “Lock up for me, will you?”
She started to push herself to her feet, but Dale had already risen and taken her hand, helping her up. “You don’t look okay,” he said, worried. “You getting sick?”
“No,” she said shortly, trying to shrug his hands off her shoulders.
“Then what in the hell’s wrong?” he demanded, the worry increasing.
She narrowed her eyes at him and said, very slowly, as though speaking to a small child, “Think about it, Dale. What makes a woman very tired, very cranky, and makes her belly cramp?”
Understanding dawned in his eyes and he quickly yanked his hands away, a dull flush darkening his cheeks. He jammed his hands in his pockets and moved back a few feet. “Ah, hmm, okay,” he mumbled. “You . . .you need anything?”
Amused at his obvious discomfort, she smiled a little, despite the twisting pain in her belly. “Yes. I need some Advil, a heating pad and my bed. I think I can handle it myself. Go on home,” she said, heading for the stairs. “Lock the door, if you don’t mind.”
She didn’t glance back at the noise behind her, intent only on getting that Advil, the heating pad, and most definitely, her bed.
After picking up and locking up over at Lauren’s, Dale opened the door to his house and went into the living room. He put on some music and turned it up loud before heading upstairs. But he barely got inside the arched open doorway before he froze in his tracks, stumbled and fell back, banging his shoulder against the wall.
An image, so strong and so damn clear, of him pressing Lauren up against the wall, right where he was resting, her long body naked, her midnight hair falling around those strong slim shoulders. His hands tangling in that hair, pulling her mouth to his.
Of him going down on her, sliding his tongue inside her wet little cunt while she gripped his hair and moaned. So vivid, he could almost taste her cream on his tongue.
Of him shoving her to the floor and shoving his cock inside her body while she still trembled from her last climax. Pumping in and out of her body until she climaxed around him again, feeling like heaven, as he emptied his come into her receptive body.
Nearly blind, his chest tight, Dale slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, propped up against the wall. The blood in his veins pounded heavily, slowly, and his hands closed into tightly clenched fists as he struggled to hold onto that image. But it faded, so quickly, so suddenly, he wondered briefly if he had gotten a hold of a bad mushroom. His breathing slowed as he convinced himself she was only on his mind because he was worried about her. He had only pictured what he had pictured because he was so damn horny. Perfectly logical, perfectly sound.
But it didn’t explain away why he had this sudden urge to find out what she really looked like without her clothes.
Early the next morning, Lauren climbed out of bed, her mind sluggish, her body aching. Jeez, her period had never bothered her like this before. She had started to worry a little the past week. Her period hadn’t started when it was supposed to and she had a couple of bad moments trying to figure out what in the hell she would do if . . .
Hell, it hadn’t happened.
Now she stood staring at her reflection, so pale and drawn, and felt like crying. For a while there, she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge the faint hope she had harbored when her period hadn’t started.
A baby. Her eyes drifted closed as she tried to imagine it. She had never really thought about having children. After her own pretty rotten childhood, she had never quite seen herself raising kids. She wouldn’t have the faintest clue as to how to do it. She always felt so…clumsy and useless around kids.
But having Dale’s baby. She cut that train of thought off, disgusted with herself. And how would she go about explaining that? And how would she deal with it? How would he deal with it?
She knew Dale. He’d feel obligated. She didn’t want his obligation. She wanted his love.
And she’d never have that. And that thought was enough to make the tears welling in her eyes come trickling out.
CHAPTER THREE
Nearly three weeks had passed, but Lauren wasn’t feeling much better. The light period had passed, but the fatigue and general depression hadn’t. While she was sitting in the doctor’s office in Jeffersonville, Indiana, Dale was slow dancing a delicate little red haired woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to Nicole Kline Lightfoot around a New York penthouse. Had she known that, her strained nerves would have snapped. As she was being weighed, he was dancing Beth Greer into her bedroom, his hands busily unzipping her snazzy little two-piece green business suit.
Insurance information from Lauren was given to the receptionist while he guided Beth’s mouth to his shaft, and Beth was sliding a rubber on him while Lauren was led to the bathroom.
While she was peeing in a cup, he laid the owner of a ritzy little art gallery down across a bed made up with silk sheets. He was lifting her body over his, up and down on his cock while Lauren was having her blood pressure checked.
The moment the doctor confirmed her pregnancy, he was climaxing, his face buried in Beth’s hair.
It might have made her somewhat happy to know that this time it wasn’t Nikki’s face he saw, Nikki’s body he pictured under him. Rather, it was a long tall woman whose face slipped away from him, as ephemerally as th
e dreams that haunted him at night.
“I can’t be pregnant,” Lauren repeated, her voice shaking. “I had my period two weeks ago. And I was with him just that once, over a month ago.”
The OB, a small- framed woman with long brown hair she wore caught in a ponytail, smiled, held Lauren’s hand. “You are pregnant. Four to six weeks pregnant, by my estimation. The test is without a doubt positive. And you probably just had some very light spotting. Some women have that the first few months of pregnancy.”
“Will . . .” she licked her dry lips. “Will that hurt the . . .the baby?”
“I seriously doubt it. Of course, I do want to do some tests, an ultrasound, make sure everything’s okay. But I’m sure everything is just fine. You’re young, you’re strong, and you’re healthy.” She paused, her light brown eyes sympathetic. “You weren’t expecting this.”
“No. No.”
Dark eyes serious, Dr. Flynn offered, “There are options-”
“No!” Lauren hissed, her hand flying to her still flat stomach. “Expecting it or not, it’s my baby.”
“And the father?” Dr. Flynn asked.
“It…it doesn’t concern him. It was a fluke. He doesn’t want kids, doesn’t want a family.”
“Being a single mother is a tough job, Lauren,” the woman said softly. “Being a mother is a tough job, period. I know. I have four kids of my own.”
Lauren smiled slightly. “There’s not much choice. I won’t force him into something he doesn’t want. We’d both regret it, but the baby would pay for it. And I’m financially able to provide for the baby.” It was getting easier, she realized, to actually say it. To actually think it.
“You’re not having morning sickness?”
“Not yet. When does that start?”
“If you’re going to have it, it will start soon. It if does, the best thing you can do is keep crackers at the bedside, eat one before you get out of bed and take it real easy until your body adjusts to this.” The doctor was actually beaming now, looking so happy.
Lauren started to smile, that happiness contagious. “You love your job,” she said, out of the blue.
Dr. Flynn cocked her head and smiled even brighter. “Yes. I do.” Catching hold of Lauren’s hand once more, she squeezed it gently. “You’re about to become a mom. That is the number one job. And I think you’re going to love that.”
Hand resting on her belly, Lauren smiled, shakily this time. She was starting to worry now. What in the world was she going to tell Dale? God, please, she thought in a very rare prayer, please. I don’t want to lose him.
* * * * *
Morning sickness hit four days later, with a vengeance. Crackers, crackers, and more crackers. From the time she woke up, which lately was around nine, until after ten or ten thirty, she was sicker than a dog. She popped those crackers like an addict and sometimes, they actually helped. During the oddest times of the day, certain smells, certain sights would just set her off all over again. So, it was more crackers. And more.
She catnapped three or four times a day and fell into bed, exhausted, before ten o’clock at night. Before she realized it the day to pick Dale up from the airport had come and gone. She slept through the phone calls that started at two in the afternoon and continued until nearly four.
* * * * *
Both mind and body relaxed, Dale smiled at the pretty dark haired flight attendant. She was a Louisville native and had offered him a ride home early in the flight. With just a tiny bit of regret, he refused. He wanted to settle down and relax a bit now, maybe catch a movie with Lauren in a day or two.
He was hungry, though. Maybe he could talk Lauren into stopping off someplace to eat.
Passing quickly through the terminal, his long legs ate up the distance between him and the baggage claim area. Lauren had told him she would meet him there and keep an eye out for his bags. The airport was fairly quiet and only a few people lingered in the baggage area.
Lauren wasn’t one of them.
His steps slowed and halted as he frowned. Lauren was never late. Hell, the woman left nearly an hour early for a doctor’s appointment in Jeffersonville. He scanned the area one more time for a sleek, elegant woman, but she wasn’t there. A leather clad teenaged girl with a nose ring, a harassed looking mother of three, two bored looking businessman.
No Lauren.
Flagging down a young uniformed security guard, he asked, “Have you seen a tall, dark haired woman here recently?”
Tossing him a glance, the guard replied, “Hundreds of times a day.”
Rolling his eyes, he dug his wallet out of his hip pocket and flipped it open to a little snapshot he and Lauren had done at Six Flags the previous summer. Her normally serene eyes were sparkling with laughter and her wide mouth curved in a captivating smile. He flashed it at the guard and waited.
The guard, hardly more than a kid, let out a low appreciative whistle before saying positively, “Nope. Haven’t seen her.”
“You’re sure?”
Smirking, the guard said, “I wouldn’t forget a woman that looks like that.” And then he was walking away, telling himself if he had a babe that looked like that, he sure as hell wouldn’t be flying away from her.
Dale tucked the wallet away, absently rubbing his growling belly. Maybe she was just caught up in traffic. The Louisville highways had been under construction for the larger part of the past decade. His face blanched when his vivid imagination suddenly formed a picture of Lauren trapped in her beloved Mustang, something he had pictured a time or two before. If anything about Lauren was less than ladylike, it was her driving. She drove that car around like a bullet and had been pulled over more than once.
Of course, Dale reflected with a scowl, he had more tickets than she did, even though she was pulled over on a fairly regular basis. Having had the pleasure of being in the car with her a time or two, he was aware that she didn’t really flirt, not exactly, but she sure as hell did something. She’d lower her lashes, smile demurely, and promise, insincerely, to be more careful. Promise, my ass, he thought in remembrance. Lied through her teeth was more like it.
Dale had to restrain himself from going to the nearest pay phone. His cell phone was stowed somewhere in his bags, and most likely, in need of recharging. After retrieving his bags, he settled down in a hard uncomfortable chair to wait, hunger eating a hole in his belly and a tension headache brewing.
Thirty minutes after he and Lauren had agreed to meet, he gave up and went for the pay phone. After counting some fifteen rings, he assured himself she was on the way.
At two twenty, she still wasn’t there, so he called again, worry forming a heavy knot in his gut.
It was a little after three when he called a friend on the Jefferson County PD who assured him there was no wrecks involving a classic fire engine red Mustang in Louisville or the surrounding area. Somewhat relieved, he started to get irritated.
By four, he was downright pissed. “I’m gonna wring her damn neck,” he snapped, slamming down the phone before stalking over to his luggage and swearing under his breath, passing a white haired little old lady who shot him a disapproving glare that melted into a reminiscing smile as she remembered similar words coming from her dear departed husband any number of times throughout their fifty years together. He had the look of John, she thought, tall and rangy, his lean face dark with a sexy scowl.
It was just before five and she had been up, moving somewhat sluggishly, the past thirty minutes when the front door flew open. Somewhat befuddled, she raised her head, a book on pregnancy in her lap, to stare at Dale who stood in the doorway glaring at her.
“I hope to God you’ve got a good reason for forgetting me,” he stated, his eyes narrowed. “I waited at that damn airport nearly two hours, worrying myself to death about you.”
Her color was somewhat revived since she had just wakened from a good nap. She had been reading about the baby’s development, which had put a tiny little smile on her face, and a dreamy
look in her eyes.
Dale stood there, glaring at her, thinking she looked like she had just tumbled out of bed with a man. She had forgotten him, her best damn friend, in favor of a lay. That was the first thought in his mind. But the only car in the driveway was hers, she was fully dressed, and alone. “Well?”
She looked somewhat puzzled, raising her hand to shove her tumbled hair back and then her eyes widened. “Damn it,” she whispered, snapping the book closed and rising. “Damn it, Dale. I’m sorry. I was sleeping. I’ve been so tired.” Her voice trailed off as he moved closer, peering at her closely.
“Are you still sick?” he demanded suddenly. She looked exhausted, actually, the color fading from her cheeks with each passing second. The sly little female smile was gone and her eyes just looked weary.
“Ah, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not sick.” She turned away, clutching the book to her chest.
“How do you know? Have you been to the doctor?”
“Yes,” she replied, truthfully. “And there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“There has to be, if you’re taking naps in the middle of the afternoon. And you don’t look like you’re eating very well.” Hell, she didn’t like she was eating at all. “How much weight have you lost? I swear, if you’re trying to do one of those starvation diets-“
With a familiar bit of her normal fire, she shot him a withering look and said, “Please.” Then Lauren moved away, pacing the living room. “I’m not sick, Dale,” she said, distractedly. Now is the time, she thought. To tell or not to tell?
“Then what in the hell is wrong?” he asked, gritting his teeth. And worrying. Have mercy, but she was starting to scare him. Her face was pale, almost gray, and her smooth cheeks were hollowed. Large purple half moons were under her eyes and her hair was as disheveled as he had ever seen it, loose and tumbled around her slumped shoulders.
Her Best Friend's Lover Page 6