by Max Monroe
“Oh, don’t worry,” I answered and pointed up toward the rafters. “I’ve got three cameramen up there recording every single second of it.”
Winnie’s eyes went wide in shock. “Oh my God!” she shouted and bumped me with her hip. “You knew this was going to be a spectacle, and that’s exactly why you agreed to it, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t hide my secret smirk.
“You are evil!” she exclaimed on a laugh. “And a fucking genius!”
“Fingers crossed by next week our boys will have their fine, toned, graceless-as-fuck asses on several social media networks and late-night talk show interviews.”
She continued to stare at me in amazement. “Man, Georgie. You play the sweet and innocent card so well.”
Dean laughed. “Oh, homegirl is all girl next door, but I’ll tell ya, when it comes to business and marketing, she is a freak in the streets and knows how to work it on the down low.”
“Did you just compare my business tactics to a hooker?”
He nodded. “Sure did, honey.”
I laughed. “You’re such a bitch.”
“Oh, for sure, but so are you,” he tossed back. “You’re the one who has a team full of professional football players twirling like fucking ballerinas, knowing full well that a few will most likely become comedic entertainment for the country.”
I shrugged. “They’ll get over it when they see the endorsement checks roll in.”
“Amen, sister.”
My gaze moved out toward the auditorium, and I watched as Kline walked back into the main seating area. His eyes met mine, and as I took in his handsome face, concern took up residence in my belly. Something was off with my husband’s expression, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I tilted my head to the side and mouthed, “Are you okay?”
He mouthed back, “Got a minute?” And his finger pointed toward the corridor behind me. He wanted to talk, right now, and I immediately had the feeling it wasn’t going to be a happy conversation. Guts have feelings; it wasn’t medical, but it was fact. And by the way mine clawed and scratched, he was about to tell me something awful.
My heart hit the floor when I realized what day it was and what phone call we were supposed to receive today. Fertility test results. And instantly, I knew; I just knew it was the reason Kline had stepped out of the auditorium. He had most likely gotten the phone call from Dr. Taunton.
I wasn’t even sure if I had responded to him or told Winnie and Dean where I was going, but somehow, my feet found the will to move. Kline wordlessly followed my lead down the quiet corridor and into a storage room for costumes.
I glanced around the small room, focusing on the minute details of color and texture and each small tear in a piece of destroyed fabric, as Kline closed the door with a quiet click. Maybe this room filled with sequins and costumes and fucking tiaras was probably not the best place to receive dismal news. Or, I hoped, maybe it would be some measure of comfort after the upset.
I didn’t have the strength to turn in Kline’s direction. Literally all I could manage was a whisper. “We can’t get pregnant.” My shoulders sagged the second the words left my lips and, suddenly, I had to fight the out-and-out emotional demand to burst into a sob.
His hands rested on my shoulders moments later, and he nuzzled his face into my neck, pressing soft and tender kisses to my skin. “No, baby. That’s not what I need to tell you.”
Confused, I turned in his direction. “So you didn’t get the phone call from Dr. Taunton yet?”
“I did.”
My eyes searched his soft blue gaze. “Well, then what did he say? Do I need to do more testing or something?”
He shook his head, a soft smile curling his lips as he kneeled at my feet unexpectedly. His hands lifted up my blouse and pulled down the waistband of my skirt a few inches so he could press his lips to my lower belly.
“Kline?” I started to shake. “What’s going on?” I asked, staring down at him with a million questions and zero answers and the scariest assumption I could ever wish to hope for swirling dangerously close to my heart.
“Our little baby is in here, Georgia,” he whispered with awe and love and pure amazement in his every syllable. “You’re pregnant, sweetheart.”
Immediately, I shook my head.
“No,” I refused, too fucking scared to get my hopes up.
His tender gaze met mine, and his fingertips dug into the flesh right at the top of my hips. “You’re pregnant, Georgia,” he repeated his words. “And our baby, our baby, is right here, inside your belly, growing and getting bigger and stronger every day.”
My nose stung and my eyes flooded, my heart rate tripling. “I’m pregnant?”
“Eleven weeks pregnant with our baby.”
“I’m pregnant?”
He nodded, a tear dripping from the corner of his eye, and the biggest, happiest smile I had ever seen kissed his mouth.
I started to cry too. It was impossible not to as so many emotions crossed through me at the same time—relief, joy, fear, love, hope, anxiety. The two words I had been so desperate to hear for so long had finally been said, and I couldn’t seem to make sense of them. I was excited. I was nervous. I was filled with more love than I thought was possible. I was scared. I was elated. I was worried.
It was too much.
Was I happy? Of course.
But was I a little scared? I was fucking terrified. Was the baby okay? Was the baby healthy? Would this pregnancy make it?
Kline stood and pulled me into his arms, instantly quieting the questions and concerns and absolute hysteria filling my head.
“We’re going to have a baby?” I whispered into his ear as our tears mixed where skin met skin.
He leaned back and gripped both of my cheeks with his hands. “We’re going to have a baby, sweetheart.”
“I love you,” I whispered past the emotion in my throat.
“I love you too, Georgie,” he said against my lips right before he pressed soft and gentle kisses to my mouth.
He wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me so tightly that my feet came off the ground. They had a long way to go if they were going to catch my heart, though.
I was pregnant.
We were pregnant.
Kline and I were finally going to have a baby.
Oh. My. God. Is this real life?
Please let this be real.
Please…Please…Please let this be real.
Heads turned as I extended my strut, striding faster and longer than any mortal would be able to keep up with—not anyone under six foot two anyway.
Ace slept soundly against my chest, the rough jar of my steps not even remotely disturbing enough for a little man in desperate need of sleep. His carrier was pretty tight around my shoulders, but I’d cut the straps apart and sewn in extensions so it fit better than before—when it hadn’t fit at all.
Okay. I paid someone to do it. I’m crafty, but no matter how hard I tried, I hadn’t been able to master a serger. And that’s what I needed—a regular sewing machine wasn’t tough enough for this job. My boy’s safety was at stake.
One trip to the best tailor in Chinatown, and our setup was fit as a fiddle. Cassie bought another one for herself when she found out, though. Said I’d “ruined hers.”
If she wasn’t so goddamn hot, with big, bountiful tits that didn’t quit, a smile that burned in my brain, and eyes that could challenge any man… Well, I’d still love her. Because being ridiculous was her. And it was me. And it was so totally us that even I feared a little what our child, the combination of the very basis of us, would become. Her insanely hot exterior was just the catalyst for my attraction—everything since then was fundamental, chemical, and completely inescapable.
Several women dressed up for either the pageant or dinner with their husbands or boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever swooned and smiled and waved their delicate but seductive hands in my direction. They mouthed “Hi” with innu
endo and sexual offers and everything else the sight of a man with a baby evoked deep in the ovaries of a woman right before she exploded.
A happily married man and a father who wanted to be an example of how to treat the woman who was your everything, I turned a blind eye more than once, eventually just looking all the way down to my shoes as I put one foot in front of the other. I had to look up to inspect the path in front of me every once and a while, but by and large, not looking around my surroundings seemed to be the safest plan.
My long legs ate up the distance quickly, and before I knew it, Ace and I were in the same room with something I never thought we would be—the Miss Teen USA pageant.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Wes muttered from right inside the door, back behind the rows and rows of already seated attendees, as he caught sight of me and my boy entering the room as a unit.
We were both decked out in our best attire for the night, the finery of the satiny lapels of our tux jackets shimmering in the twinkling pageant lights.
“Did you swallow Zach Galifianakis?” Kline questioned through a smirk, his arm around his much better half. Wes and Winnie were to their left, backs to the wall, hands linked and looking aggressively in love, and Lexi kneeled behind the rows of seats and looked avidly at the stage. Ah, but it was a good feeling to have the gang all at peak contentment. The group of them was huddled together in their evening wear, but none of them had taken it to quite the suave extent that Ace and I had. Kline and Wes were both in everyday suits—fucking amateurs.
“Ace and I are one hundred percent originality,” I argued.
Sure, I was sporting a full beard, and Ace and I were protecting ourselves from the glare of the lights by wearing our sunglasses at night, but having him strapped to my chest was a matter of sheer convenience rather than a nod to the Hangover movie empire.
“You are definitely unique,” Georgia muttered, and I didn’t miss the sarcastic derision in her tone. But I was completely impenetrable by insult and offense, thanks to the sweet, sleeping baby force field in front of me.
“Where’s your wife?” Winnie asked, the first to get over me and my styling son and focus on the matter at hand—the one missing member of our group.
“She’s getting a massage.”
“What?” Georgia shrieked, waking Ace with a start.
“What?” I asked back, after taking a beat to make sure my little man wasn’t in the mood to rage. It seemed to me like some parents didn’t understand that a tantrum was sometimes necessary—kind of like their Facebook rant or Girls’ Night Out tirade—but I wasn’t like them. The human kettle needed an outlet for some of that steam; it just had to evolve with age, wisdom, and experience. At least, for me, that was my hope, what I wanted to instill in my child as a parent. Now, as an infant, Ace’s need for stress output came with wild tears, and there was no way I was going to get in the way of that. The Kellys—wild was our way. The same went for my wife and her need for a little relaxation. “She’s a new mom. She deserves a little downtime.”
“Oh my God. That’s so sweet,” Winnie murmured as Wes rolled his eyes. Kline looked to the ground as Georgia’s body shot straight into fight-mode.
“She hasn’t been watching your baby half the time!” Georgia went on. “I have!”
Did I mention that tantrums just evolve with age?
I covered Ace’s ears to shield him from her insensitivity, and he kicked his legs back and caught me in the gut. He didn’t like to be out of the know, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. Gossip didn’t build character, but it sure as hell kept life interesting. As long as it doesn’t do any harm, dip your toe in the information pool and do it often, I say.
“So why don’t you go get one too?”
I asked what I thought was an obvious question, but by the way Georgia blinked, her face clearing nearly instantly, obvious was one of those things that only existed in the eyes of the beholder. “Well…I hadn’t thought of that.”
I nodded solemnly in Kline’s direction. “It’s hard for husbands to be as good as me.”
Kline laughed as Georgia reached behind herself and clamped on to Winnie’s arm, eyes nearly manic in her demands. “Come on. We’re going.”
Winnie didn’t stand a chance as Georgia’s Vulcan claw started to drag her away.
“Wait a second!” Wes complained, and I shook my head. The prick always complained. Winnie paused briefly, but Georgia didn’t exactly take to it nicely. Winnie was like a stuffed animal stuck in the stack with the others as the little contraption pulled on it mercilessly.
“You’re not going to let them go relax?” I asked in disapproval before whispering in Ace’s ear, “Real men hold down the fort, son.”
My voice was softer than its usual boom, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t heard—and that was my intention.
“Give me a break,” Wes said with a laugh, scratching at his cheek with a pointed middle finger. “Georgia organized all of this. I’m just trying to avoid any surprises.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s all planned and rehearsed. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Oh, man. Those were famous last words if ever I’d heard them. Thank God Ace and I would be here to commentate as things went wrong.
“Do you want me to stay?” Winnie asked sweetly, and I nearly choked. How my asshole of a friend had snagged this one, I’d never know.
“No,” I answered for him before he could.
He shook his head at me, but he did it with a smile, looking around my back to Lexi.
“Hey, Lex,” he called, and her head turned to look back at us. “Come here for a second, sweetheart.”
She jumped up, jogging over to Wes and looking up at him, her little eyes doe-like and trusting. He swept her hair off her shoulder and rubbed a sweet thumb down the side of her cheek. “Your mom is going to go get a massage with Georgia. Are you okay hanging out with me?”
And that was why Winnie Winslow was with a man like Wes Lancaster. Goddamn, if I had ovaries, they would have detonated.
Lexi’s smile was bright as she nodded yes before turning to her mother. “Even though there are nearly seven hundred skeletal muscles in the body, only around two hundred are widely relevant. Your massage therapist may find clinical importance in more than the layperson, however.”
“You hear that?” I asked Ace. “Take it in, boy. That’s the kind of woman or man you want to be chasing. Intelligence is key, okay?” I thought about it as Lexi went back to her observation, and Winnie kissed Wes’s cheek like he was the best guy in the entire world—which, seeing as that guy was me, was completely false—and then clarified, “Don’t expect them all to be at her level, though. Wouldn’t want you to build unreasonable expectations.”
Wes’s face faded back to its normal ugly arrangement as Winnie and Georgia disappeared through the door, and Kline moved closer to me and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Advising your two-month-old on the ways of the world?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Never too early to learn.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s scientifically impossible for him to retain that information at this point. Ask Lexi.”
I laughed. “Yeah, how’s that feel?”
Kline squinted in confusion. “What?”
“You used to be the smartest one in the group, no contest, but you’re really unimpressive these days.”
He looked to Lexi and Wes, huddled together as he kneeled down to her height and listened to her prattle on about the pre-pageant setup, and then back to me. “Feels meant to be.”
Ace cooed and wiggled in my arms, and Kline’s words hit a little deeper as a result. “Hell,” I admitted. “Maybe you are the smartest one.”
He laughed and slapped me on the shoulder before shoving off the wall with his foot as the lights came down. “Looks like it’s time to take our seats.”
I followed behind him and Wes as we walked down the aisle to our seats and scooted in past the people who had already been there wh
ile we shot the shit in the back of the room.
Three men and a beauty pageant. Sounds like there’s movie potential there.
I lay on my belly with my face resting on the headrest of the massage table, and the relaxing sounds of soft, classical music filled the darkened room as Eduardo’s fingers dug into the tired and achy muscles of my neck and shoulders.
I moaned out loud and without shame when he successfully rubbed out a persistent and painful knot below my left shoulder blade.
God, the room was so serenely peaceful, my body had started to feel boneless and my eyes were falling farther and farther closed with each soothing caress of Eduardo’s fingertips. I was convinced he had been sent straight from masseuse heaven just for me.
Yeah…this is fluffing bliss…
“Does that feel good, Miss Cassie?” he asked on an extrasoft whisper.
Jesus, even his voice was soothing. I was half tempted to ask Thatcher to buy me Eduardo for Christmas, but I thought better of it when I remembered that I often used massages from my husband as a segue into any sexual act that would lead me straight into a toe-curling orgasm—and that Christmas was still several months away.
Plus, my husband had wicked huge hands that knew all of my secret spots.
Who needed masseuses like Eduardo when you had a huge, sexy, Jolly Green Giant at home to wait on you hand and foot?
I mean, don’t get me wrong, Eduardo was talented, but no man could ever match up to Thatcher’s skills.
The music switched over to a soft piano solo, and a dreamy, content sigh left my lips.
Yeah, nothing would ruin this perfect moment of peace and quiet and delicious rubbing and caressing for me. Absolutely nothing. Ace was with Thatcher at the ridiculous beauty pageant for the evening, I had no work to do, and for the first time in forever, I was blissfully alone.
All of those things equaled the freedom to get pampered and have zero responsibilities for the time being. Hallelujah!
As Eduardo’s hands moved down my back, I started to drift off to that glorious place of being not fully asleep, but not fully awake. The place where your mind was silent and your body was content just to be lazy and half comatose. No moving forward or looking back, just being.