“Okay,” I say confused. “What do you want to call me? Mother of your child, or something more proper?”
He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips, obviously uncomfortable with this conversation. It immediately puts me on alert, and yet, we just had a great date, didn’t we?
“What if I called you my girlfriend? But only if you want,” he adds on quickly.
I know my jaw drops wide open, but I couldn’t stop it if I tried. A myriad of emotions runs through me—shock, disbelief, excitement. But the most prominent feeling is happiness. Well, and fear. I wouldn’t be me without a healthy dose of unnecessary and irrational skepticism to go along with everything else.
If I wasn’t in such a state of shock, I’d explain all this to him. But instead what comes out of my mouth is, “What?”
He steps forward and grabs my hands, linking our fingers. “I like you, Rosalind. Really like you.”
“I really like you, too.”
“And not just because we’re going to be parents together.”
I suck in a breath, overwhelmed by his words and how they’re making my heart beat faster and stronger. Is this what a real relationship feels like?
“I love how strong you are, even when things are uncertain. And how you gave up everything for our child, and even for me in a way. I want to take care of you and make you happy. And yes, I even want to make you come as often as possible.”
And he’s back. There’s the Joey I recognize. The one who makes me laugh.
“I know this is sort of a backward way of doing things, but if our paths had crossed in a different way, I’d still be totally into you. Do you maybe want to be my girlfriend, no matter how immature and odd that sounds?”
It takes me just a moment of absorbing his words before I launch myself at him, as close as I can get with my belly in the way. My arms wrap around his neck and I kiss him with such force, such passion, he’s knocked off-balance momentarily.
We are a mess of lips and tongues and hands roaming as I pour all the emotions I can’t seem to express verbally into this kiss.
He finally pulls back just slightly, his lips still against mine. “Is that a yes?”
“You know my default mode is still bitch right? The snark is strong over here.”
“I’m counting on it,” he breathes before getting right back down to it.
As we kiss, he guides us toward the bedroom, disrobing as we go. My new dress ends up on the floor somewhere in the hallway. Joey’s shirt lands in the doorway. The rest of our clothes are scattered about as they are tossed aside in our haste to get them out of our way.
Joey finally lays me on the bed gently, careful not to lie on top of me, and clasps our hands together above my head on the mattress. He pauses momentarily to look into my eyes before pushing slowly inside me and it occurs to me as he moves—this isn’t just fucking. This is making love. And we finally got it just right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
JOEY
The day I have been waiting for is finally here. My very first Strongman competition is about to begin, and I can’t tamp down my excitement. How can I? I’ve been training for this day for so long, the energy coursing through me is almost overwhelming in the very best way.
I glance around the gym and try to absorb every second of this experience. The roar of the crowd. (A small crowd anyway. This is a local competition.) The menacing looks on the other competitors’ faces. (Menacing is a stretch. No one looks like they want to pummel anyone else.) Stan and Nicolas walking toward me.
Stan and Nicolas walking toward me?
“What are you guys going here?” I ask immediately, reaching out to shake their hands. They both slap me on the back in camaraderie as well.
“You’ve been talking about this day non-stop for weeks,” Nicolas says as he looks around the room, probably taking everything in like I am. The meet is being held in the weight room of a local competing gym, but they did a nice job of clearing out all the equipment to make room for today’s events. “We wanted to see what it’s all about.”
I turn to look at Stan. “He was talking smack about how he could take on anyone here, wasn’t he?”
Stan chuckles. “You know it. The man never learns his lesson.”
I shake my head and put my hands on my hips. “I guess I need to get some bigger tires, then, since he’s already mastered them.”
“No!” Nicolas practically yells, putting his hands up. “I talk a lot of shit, but we both know I’m a pansy. Please do not get bigger tires.”
I gotta give it to him—at least he’s honest.
“So, is your woman here, or did she decide there’s too much testosterone in one small area for her taste?” Funny how Nicolas can twist any conversation from working out to women. That takes some talent.
Also funny how I can feel the goofy grin on my face. “My woman.” Yeah, she is. “Nah. She’s actually at her baby shower today.”
“Oh man, you got lucky you had an excuse to miss that,” Nick adds. “We got stuck going to Rian’s shower before their baby was born. I don’t know who cried more, Rian because she was so sick of people trying to touch her stomach or Carlos because he’s become a huge puss since she peed on that stick.”
My eyebrows rise in question. “That doesn’t happen to everyone, right?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Nicolas admits. “Our office isn’t exactly full of your average everyday people. I wouldn’t worry, though. You’re getting a big dose of manliness right here.”
“Are you doing all these events?” Stan asks, and if I’m not mistaken, I see a bit of awe on his face. He’s not the only one. I’ve done a double take or two since I walked in. Some of these guys are beasts. They make my Cipher Systems guys look normal sized in comparison.
“Nah. Since it’s my first one, I’m only doing a few events. Get myself acclimated to the environment. Test out my body when I’m adding adrenaline. Set a bar for myself. Just see how it goes, ya know?”
“Smart,” Nicolas says with a nod of his head. “But I don’t see any Atlas stones anywhere.”
“They’re probably still in the back and haven’t been rolled out yet. They need a dolly to move them.” Both men nod in understanding. “But I’m not doing that event today. I’m doing the farmer’s carry, the overhead log lift, and the max keg press series.”
Stan cocks his head to the side. “You’re going to lift an actual log over your head.”
A broad smile crosses my face just thinking about it. “I hope so. We’ll see if I can get it up.”
“Jesus, Joey. Don’t say things like that in a crowded room,” Abel quips as he joins our little group, shaking hands with the other guys in greeting.
“Yeah, you’re super funny, DiSoto. Especially since your cousin didn’t have any complaints about my abilities to get it up last night.”
Abel grimaces. “Why do you always have to bring Rosie into it? I don’t need to know this shit.”
“No one calls her that.” I shrug. “But you walked right into it this time.”
Stan and Nicholas nod in agreement.
“Listen, we just wanted to come over and say hi,” Stan says. “But we’re supposed to be in the spectator area, so we’re going to head that direction. Good luck, man. And don’t hurt yourself. I may have extra motivation for next week’s session after watching this, and I need you in tip-top shape.”
“Noted.”
After the obligatory back pats and hand slaps, they leave Abel and me to prep for my first event—the keg press series.
There are three levels I have to complete to be considered successful, all in sixty-second increments and all progressively harder. First up is lifting a two-hundred-pound keg as many times as I can in one minute.
“You ready?” Abel asks me as he helps me get on my wrist bands.
“I think so.” As nervous as I am, I’m feeling pretty good. Confident in the training I’ve been doing and excited to see if I can accomplish this fe
at in front of a crowd.
“Good, good.” He tosses me a peanut butter sandwich, giving me a quick protein boost. “I have a question though.”
“Shoot.” I rip open the baggie and shove a bit in my mouth, watching closely as the first competitor gets in position. He’s a huge, burly man who is carrying a ton more weight in his gut than I am. He takes several deep breaths before leaning over to begin. Here we go.
“I was talking to some guy at the sign-in table.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m only half listening as I chew, trying to keep my nerves from getting the best of me. This guy may be chunky, but he’s got great form. Lots of control and hits his marks quickly.
“When I told him who I was here with, he laughed and called you ‘Cinnamon.’”
“Yeah.” Holy shit, he just did seven presses in one minute. No way I’m beating that score, but damn that was a good set.
“Joey.”
“What?” I turn my attention to Abel who is still babbling about food or something. I have no idea, but I’m a little irritated he’s pulling me out of my zone.
“Why did the guy at sign-in call you ‘Cinnamon’?”
My shoulders sag as I finally register what he’s asking. “Fuck me. I was hoping he’d drop it.”
Abel furrows his brow and I sigh, knowing full well he’s not going to let up until I tell him.
“He decided I needed a Strongman nickname. Like other athletes have.”
“You mean like WWE.”
“That’s what I said. It’s stupid. But he was adamant, and I just wanted to check in, so I told him to do whatever he wanted. I guess he thought that meant he needed to start promoting it as well.”
“Okay, so he’s a strange bird. But why ‘Cinnamon’ in particular?”
I really don’t want to tell Abel. He’s never going to let me live it down. But I also need to focus, so I’ll let him have his fun. This time.
“It’s because of my hair.”
Abel cocks his head in question.
“A man bun?” I wave my hand around the lovely locks in question because I may not want a nickname for it, but I still can’t deny I’ve got a great mane. “Like a cinnamon bun?”
It finally registers on Abel’s face only he doesn’t laugh like I thought he would. “That’s… kind of stupid actually.”
“I agree.” I turn my attention back to the next competitor, knowing my turn is coming and that I need to refocus.
Abel crosses his arms over his chest, staring the same way I am. Finally he can’t take the silence any more. “You know I’m never going to let you live that down, right?”
“I’ve already made peace with that.”
“Good. Good.”
Just a few short minutes later, my name is called, along with the stupid-ass nickname that I ignore, and I take my place.
Visualizing the form I need to use and the muscles I need to concentrate on, I take three deep breaths. Then, I lean over and lift.
Grunting and straining, I do my best to ignore the people around me who cheer every time I lift the keg. Every part of my body is screaming with effort as I pay attention to not just my movements, but the judge noting when I hit my marks.
Sixty seconds seems like a lifetime and yet it goes by in an instant as the first part of my first Strongman event comes to a close. I finally drop the keg and smile, proud of myself for a job well done, regardless of the outcome. I felt good. I felt strong. I just hope the judge felt the same.
Looking over at the results, a cheer comes from my friends and I “whoop” in delight. Five reps in one minute—not the best score we’ll see today, but a solid start for a newbie, and I move on to the next round.
“Nice job, Cinnamon,” Abel yells as he slaps me on the back and squeezes my shoulder.
I want to be irritated by him using that name, but I’m so pumped now, I can’t even find it in me to care.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ROSALIND
The day I have been dreading is finally here.
My baby shower.
Logically, I know everyone has the best of intentions, and I’m appreciative of it. Hell, the gift pile alone is pretty impressive. But I’ve been here for a whole seven minutes, and yes, I am watching the clock like a hawk praying time will move a little quicker, and I already want to bolt. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for me to go. I was kicked out of my apartment this morning so it could be set up for the party.
The bad news is that meant I had to shower and get ready in the gym locker room while I waited for the text that I was allowed to return home. The good news is at least I don’t have to lug a bunch of gifts up all those stairs. Let my family and the other random guests do the hard part. I admit that’s the only reason I agreed to let them invade my living room.
Stepping foot through my front door, it’s clear after my mother banned anyone from helping her with decorations, she put in a tremendous amount of effort to make this day perfect. There are balloons covering the ceiling and beautifully decorated craft tables offering activities ranging from writing me notes on a card to decorating a onesie I’m sure the baby will never wear. It’s all very charming. Sickeningly charming. It makes me want to hug her for her effort and barf from the cheesiness of it all. My feelings are very conflicting which doesn’t help my already anxious mood.
Plus, if one more person asks when Joey and I are going to get married, I might be the only third trimester inmate in county lockup.
“Fucking Joey, leaving me here by myself for this shit,” I grumble under my breath when I see the itinerary for today. Yes, there is an actual printed itinerary that includes a list of games we’re going to play and when I get to finally eat. This baby is hungry already.
“Did you see the cake yet?” Elliott sidles up to me and whispers the question in my ear as she wraps her arm through mine and walks with me to the refreshment table.
“Oh no. Tell me it’s not a red velvet cake shaped like a baby. I don’t know if I can stomach the crime scene once it’s cut open. Even if it’s delicious.”
Elliott giggles lightly and the sound of it give me a bad feeling. “I think you’ll wish for one of those after seeing what your aunt Natalia got instead.”
I groan. “Natalia was in charge? We are totally fucked, aren’t we?”
“Umm…” She bobbles her head back and forth. “That’s one way to put it.”
We quickly make our way to the cake table and my hands immediately go over my mouth as I gasp. “Ohmigod, what was she thinking?”
It’s a baby alright. Only it’s so much worse. The cake is designed to look like childbirth. In particular, a closeup of the exact moment the baby’s head comes out of its mom’s hooha. It is way too lifelike, and even worse, the naked lady in the childbirth porno has nothing on this icing bush.
“I am not eating fake pubes!” I whisper yell to Elliott, who gives me a sympathetic look and pats my arm.
As if it couldn’t get worse, my mother approaches before I can get the horrified look off my face.
“Isn’t it incredible?” she breathes, staring at this shit-show in awe. “So much attention to detail.”
“You knew she was doing this, Mother?” I try not to shriek, but I’m barely hanging on, waiting for Nonna to tell me this is a lifelike version of when she had my mother or something equally as disgusting. Even the thought makes me want to gag.
“Of course, I did,” she answers, like this isn’t the tackiest and most inappropriate cake choice they could have made. “It’s a beautiful cake for the beautiful event childbirth is.”
“It is a vagina, Mother. That you want me to eat.”
She gives me a mom-glare, as if I’m the one that’s crossed the line. “Don’t be crass, Rosalind. Now stand next to your cake so I can take your picture.”
I’m sure my eyes are wide when I whip my head around to look at Elliott, a silent plea for help.
She pats my forearm again and mutters, “The good news is she doesn’t know ho
w to upload that picture anywhere. And she lost the connector to the printer.”
She’s got a point. Small miracles for that.
“I’m so glad Joey isn’t here.”
Elliott smirks. “We will never, ever speak of this in front of him.” I nod, eyes still wide. “Now turn around and smile for your picture.”
I’m not sure it was a smile that crossed my face, but whatever it was, it has stayed in place for the last two hours as I’ve been poked, prodded, and questioned about everything from baby names to nursery decorations to whether or not I’ve been doing Kegels to build up my vaginal muscles for birth.
Women have absolutely no filter when it comes to this stuff. I’m sure some women feel a connection to others by sharing their battle stories of peeing on their doctor during birth or whatever, but I’m not one of those women. I don’t need to be part of that clique. In fact, at this moment, I kind of want to run away screaming and never have anything to do with any of these people again.
Thank goodness we don’t have another major holiday for at least seven months. Surely by then, someone in the family will be engaged and my “miracle” will be long forgotten. One can hope.
And if not, I’m going to throw Abel under the bus and tell everyone I found little blue pills in his cabinet. Uncalled for? Absolutely. But these are desperate times and I’m ready for them to be o-v-e-r.
Elliott pushes some torn wrapping paper off the couch and plops down next to me, having finally escorted the last person out the door. Mom and Lucia are in the kitchen doing dishes and talking loudly about the shape of my hips and how that will determine what gender the baby is. Nonna has apparently had enough and is lightly snoring in the tacky chair I let Joey keep across the room.
“Cake aside, that wasn’t too bad, right?” Elliott asks as she slips her shoes off and gets comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as she can while she absentmindedly folds wrapping paper to throw away later.
Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Page 20