He’s got an odd point. She was a piece of work. I know I love attention and the finer things in life, but even May has me beat with those qualities. She isn’t just a princess; she’s completely wrapped up in herself too. Case in point, leaving her daughter behind for her job. Granted, I’m not a mother quite yet, but I already can’t imagine leaving this baby behind for anyone or anything, and I’m barely even showing.
That’s part of why I’m still freaked out by Joey being so excited to co-parent with me. I know he wants the baby, but what if he doesn’t want me? We’re doing all of this backwards and that rarely ends well. What if we end up in a massive custody battle and I’m given supervised visitation only? What if he moves to Canada and takes the baby with him?
I’m fully aware that these are very irrational fears, and I’m almost positive Abel would never be best friends with someone like that. But the stress of all this hasn’t exactly had me thinking rationally lately. My protectiveness is in full swing.
Wait. Is that the maternal instinct everyone talks about? The need to protect your child at all costs? I had no idea that would show up. I thought I wasn’t wired that way. I assumed I’d act just like my mother. Cool.
“Small mercies.” I take another bite, this time being aware of what noises I’m not going to make if I want to hold a conversation with someone other than myself. It may be too late though. I glance up, and sure enough, all the boob talk has him looking right at my chest again. “So, what are you doing here, anyway?”
Shockingly, he looks away from my chest to focus on my words. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“Check on me? Why?”
“Because you’re pregnant, and I know you’ve been throwing up a lot lately.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Every one of my clients when they come out of the locker room. They don’t know it’s because of my seed growing inside you. They assume you’re sick.”
I roll my eyes at his ridiculous use of the English language. At least he’s entertaining.
“They all tell me some lady is throwing up and unless half our clients have a stomach bug, I assume that’s you.”
I shrug. “I hear it’s normal to have morning sickness all day long.”
“So do I, but it still sounds like it sucks.”
“I’ll manage.”
He looks around my supercute living room taking it all in. I love this part of my apartment. It took me a couple years to get it decorated exactly the way I wanted it, but it’s my favorite place to be now. I have a bad feeling Joey isn’t going to ask me about the paint color, though, and this conversation is headed into territory I don’t want to be in yet.
“You gonna manage with this apartment?”
My hackles immediately rise. For years, I’ve fought with my mother about my independence and being able to provide for myself. It’s a touchy subject for me because I have no desire to be dependent on anyone else for my survival. Maybe I’m just strong-willed but relying on others hasn’t always ended well for me. It’s part of the reason I had to get out of my parents’ house so soon. Relying on them to pay the bills meant pretending to be the person they thought I was. I don’t want to go back to that.
So Joey, ready to ride in on his high horse and save me from my mistakes, isn’t going to end well if I don’t keep my DiSoto nature under control. I may be a Palmer in name, but that maternal gene pool is strong.
“What’s it to you?” My tone is laced with unnecessary anger. Not only is this a sensitive topic for me, after today’s events at work, I’m kind of sick of the machismo getting thrown around. “Don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“I know you can take care of yourself. I also know you don’t have to.”
Well, doesn’t that just deflate my own hotheadedness. I wonder if he’s envisioning another deflating balloon right now.
“Cheri— wait… what do you want me to call you?”
I can’t help my smile. It’s funny that we’re having a baby together and he doesn’t even know my name.
“Rosalind. That’s my preferred name. Roz is okay too since my name is kind of long. Do not call me Rosie. Abel got away with it this time, but he won’t for long. With my mood these days, I have no problem kicking him in the nuts if he doesn’t quit.”
“Noted.” Joey tries to discreetly cover his junk, but I catch the movement. You have to be slicker than that on my watch. “So, Rosalind,” he says making sure to accentuate my name, “how long did you go without working before you started at the gym?”
I take another bite of the world’s best chicken, stalling for time. No, that’s wrong. I’m truly enjoying the greasy goodness. But I’m also trying to avoid talking about my dwindling finances. Turns out Joey is as stubborn as I am when it comes to gathering information. I didn’t see that coming.
“I didn’t. Worked right up until the job change. I still paid all my bills.”
“You gonna be able to keep doing that on your new salary?”
I purse my lips and glower in his direction, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t faze him. He’s been hanging out with Abel too long. He’s apparently immune to the Palmer intimidation tactics, not to be confused with the DiSoto temper. That comes from my mom’s side. Still, it’s not his business. I think. I suppose it’s partially his business because I’m carrying around his child, but not totally.
“I’ll be fine. I always figure it out.”
“Rosalind.”
“Joey. I’ve been on my own for a long time. You may have gotten me knocked up, but that doesn’t mean you get to come in here and get all up in my business.”
He raises his hands defensively, and I tuck back into my food. The minute I start chewing, my mood gets better.
Shit, am I going to be hangry like this for the next six months? I had heard pregnancy hormones are a bitch, but I didn’t expect to feel defensive over every little thing. I’m going to have to keep myself fed regularly just to stabilize my moods.
“I’m not trying to get in your business,” he continues, and my irritation starts ratcheting up a notch just at the sound of his voice, which makes me feel a twinge of guilt. These pregnancy hormones are no. Fucking. Joke. “I just…”
“You what?”
He sighs deeply, like he’s feeling discouraged. I stop chewing and watch him closely. “I’m trying to say this without it sounding like it’s going to sound.”
I start chewing again but drop the bone back in the box and wipe my hands. I’ve been trying to dissuade him from this serious conversation, but it’s a losing battle. Might as well get it over with. “Say it anyway.”
“It’s not about you. Hell, it’s not about me. It’s about this little blobby-looking thing inside you.”
I want to stay mad, but his words take some of my anger away. “Blobby-looking thing?”
“I have looked at the picture you gave me a million times, and I still can’t figure out what I’m supposed to be seeing. It looks like—”
“A blobby thing.”
“Yeah.”
I sigh and think through my words. It’s admirable that he wants to make sure his child is cared for. But it also stings a bit that everything he does, everything he says, none of it has to do with me. He doesn’t want me. He wants the baby. And I don’t understand why that hurts.
“So, you’re not here because of me. You’re here because you want to take care of your baby.”
“Yeah. Taking care of the baby means taking care of you, too, to an extent.” I cock an eyebrow at his terrible answer because we both know that part is only through default. “Or at least helping you take care of yourself.” Much better answer. “And I know this apartment has to be really expensive. I don’t want our baby to have to uproot later or something because we’re too busy being independent to help each other out.”
I turn away, not able look him in the eye. He’s right, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. Here he is trying to plan for the
future of our child, and I’m picking fights with him because I don’t want to think about the reality of my dwindling bank accounts. I feel like I’ve already failed as a mother, and I haven’t even given birth yet.
Leaning over, I put the remains of my dinner on the coffee table and turn back around, crisscrossing my legs. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had—one where I let my guard down, listen, and give total honesty.
“Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Really?” Joey looks at me, delight written all over his face. It makes me roll my eyes.
“Yes, really. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I can’t be held responsible for my weird mood swings right now. What plan did you come up with?”
He looks around my living room again before turning back to me. “You have a really nice apartment.”
“Yeah.”
“And it was probably not hard to afford on a stripper’s salary.”
“Nope.”
“And you and I both know you aren’t getting paid nearly the same at the gym. None of us do.”
I wind an errant piece of hair around my finger and look down, not exactly embarrassed by my lack of income, but definitely uncomfortable talking about my finances with someone I’ve only had a handful of conversations with. Weird that this feels intimate but reverse cowgirl didn’t.
“So, I was thinking you could move in with me.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I blink more times in a row than normal. Pretty sure it’s an acceptable reaction when your baby daddy springs something like this on you.
“Um… we’re barely friends. Don’t you think that’s moving this relationship a little too fast?”
“I don’t mean as boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s not like that.”
I’m glad we’re on the same page. But still… ouch.
Joey turns and props his leg up on the couch so he can face me fully. “I got a sweet deal on a two-bedroom apartment a couple years ago. It’s owned by this little old couple who live below me. They love me, because what’s not to love”—another eye roll from me—“so they don’t raise my rent whenever I re-sign my lease. The neighborhood isn’t as swanky as this one, but it’s nice. Real family friendly. Close to work. And it’s affordable.”
Still feeling the sting of his dismissal, I opt for some pushback. “But you’re a stranger.”
He scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “This stranger is going to be in your life for at least the next eighteen years and beyond, so we’re about to know each other really well. Besides, even with all his agitation, has Abel warned you off of me?”
I have to think about that. Abel has been angry. He’s been shocked. He’s been way too mouthy for my taste, but he has never once said to watch my back because Joey would hurt me or this baby.
“Fine. So, I can trust you not to steal all my money or whatever. But how come I’m the one who has to move? Why don’t you just move in here?”
“Because even if we combine resources, there is no way we could afford a place in this neighborhood for long. And from what I’ve been told, you grow out of a one-bedroom apartment quickly when you have a kid.”
I hate that he’s right. I really don’t want him to be because I love this apartment. But he is. I’ve known since the minute that stick popped a plus sign that I wasn’t going to be able to stay here for long, but I was avoiding reality, hoping for a miracle that I already knew wouldn’t come. I guess it’s time I suck it up and face the truth.
“Fine. As much as I hate that you’re right, you are.”
“I am?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I say with snark. It only makes his smile grow.
“I just thought I was going to have to work harder to convince you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I just hadn’t figured out the logistics of moving yet.”
“But you would have eventually.”
“Of course, I would have.” I pause to backtrack. The goal is to be honest with Joey and that wasn’t totally accurate. “Okay, fine. I might not have had a solution I could live with without your help.”
“Wow.” He sits back slowly, as if he’s totally stunned. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“One step at a time, buddy. I’m used to being independent, so let’s do this as a hypothetical for now. When are you wanting me to move in?”
He rests his back into the couch, hands crossed over his chest, that damn man bun which both turns me on and pisses me off bobbing as his head moves. I hate that I’m so attracted to him right now. I want to blame the hormones, but he’s just so damn sexy when his arms flex like that.
“When does your lease run out?”
“I’m actually going month to month.”
His head whips over, eyes showing more shock. He’s easy to get a reaction from. “Rosalind Palmer. You already had a plan in place, didn’t you? Were you just hoping for a better offer?”
I shrug because the thought may have crossed my mind. “Coincidentally, I was supposed to re-sign my lease the same week I found out I was pregnant. I figured paying the extra month-to-month fee would be cheaper than breaking a lease when I moved home or something.”
He crinkles his nose, and it’s oddly cute. I have the fleeting thought that it might be fun if our baby has his nose.
“Were you really considering moving in with your parents?”
“If it came down to it, what other choice would I have? Why? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“It just didn’t end well for Elliott.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Oh, there are many stories there. Most of them ending with the same lesson—don’t move back in with your parents unless you want to end up in the looney bin.”
“Any of these stories end with promoting the idea of living with your baby daddy that you only met once before being tied together forever?”
He looks up at the ceiling, and I can practically hear him thinking. “I’m sure there’s a random eighties movie about it.”
“Eighties movie?” I ask with a laugh. “Where’d you come up with that?”
“It’s history, baby! A sexual revolution like no other. George Michael’s I Want Your Sex. Madonna’s Like a Virgin. Teen pregnancies skyrocketing. Safe sex discussions implemented in health classes. Public fights over condoms being available in high schools.”
“That is possibly the weirdest random fact I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re still getting to know me. It’ll get worse, I’m sure.”
That may be the first thing he’s said to me that I don’t doubt at all.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few seconds, Joey resting his head again while I pick at my nails. I’d really like to get them done again, but unless I can barter for something, a trip to the salon may be out of my budget now. That reminds me, I need to figure out how I’m going to afford to get waxed on the regular. Having a baby doesn’t mean I can let the upkeep of my hoo-ha go.
“So,” Joey says after a minute, “that means your lease is technically up at the end of the month?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, if we get you moved next weekend, that’ll give us a few days to clean this place and get your deposit back.” I shrug because that sounds about right. “Great. Then I’ll put the date on my calendar to help you move.”
I have no response to that. Looks like I need to find some moving boxes.
Chapter Seven
JOEY
“How do I—” I huff and take another breath. “—always get suckered into moving furniture?”
I brace myself, trying to balance the dresser while standing five steps below Abel. A normal dresser isn’t heavy. Hell, Abel and I can each bench-press four hundred pounds. But I swear this antique piece must be made of concrete. Not to mention, it’s a weird, bulky shape to carry up to the third floor.
“Qui
t your bitchin’,” Abel puffs out, giving away that he’s as winded as I am, which makes no sense since I’m the one doing all the pushing. “You’re the one that asked her to move in. If anyone should be complaining, it’s me.”
“You’d never not come help your favorite baby cousin.”
“It has nothing to do with my cousin. It has to do with the favor you’re going to owe me when we’re done.” He leans against the front door temporarily. “Get ready. I’m opening the door. One, two, three—”
I groan, lift, and push on his mark, glad to finally be inside the apartment. Hopefully, this is the heaviest thing Rosalind brought with her and the worst of it is over. It was so much easier moving things out of her ground-floor apartment—no stairs involved.
Since it was a last-minute decision to move, Rosalind didn’t have time to downsize. Not that there was much. Her apartment wasn’t all that big, so there wasn’t a whole lot of furniture, thank God. But until she decides what she wants to keep, all of her furniture is coming here. I have a feeling it’s more of a strategic move on her part so she can convince me to redecorate. As long as she lets me keep my supercomfortable oversized chair, she can do whatever she wants in here. Clearly, she has a better eye for decorating than I do.
Apparently, she also has figured out how to swindle us into doing all the work, too.
“What the hell, Rosie?” Abel yells, dropping his end of the dresser, making me cuss as I almost lose a finger.
“No one calls me that!” she shoots back, not even bothering to look away from the television while she munches on some Bugles. The lack of movement makes him even more irate.
I, on the other hand, find it weirdly cute. But what’s not to like? The Cherise I knew at The Pie Hole was all big hair and long eyelashes, strutting around in her glamorously naked glory. But Rosalind is fresh-faced and relaxed, her long dark waves secured on the top of her head as she watches Dr. Phil give some random advice on saving a toxic relationship, while she licks Bugle dust off her fingers. She also shoots me a flirty grin that basically has me like putty in her hands. I know she’s about to milk this situation for all it’s worth, but the clever way she does it keeps me on my toes. I like it. Life will never be boring, that’s for sure. A man like me could get used to this.
Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Page 5