“Well, we could always meet up somewhere for coffee? I hear they go great with coffee.”
“If that's the case,” he pulled out his phone and handed it to her to punch in her phone number. Once they'd finished swapping contact information, he tucked his phone back in his pocket. “I know just the place. I'll text you the address for the cafe, we meet up tomorrow afternoon for a coffee and a chat? Or a decaf tea, in your case,” he nodded toward her baby bump. Some strange part of her was oddly touched at his concern and mildly surprised that he knew caffeine was bad for a baby.
“Yeah, that sounds really great,” she said in a way that she genuinely hoped didn't sound as lame to him as it did to her. “I'll see you then!” She finished in a way that seemed almost too bright and cheery to come across as anything but nervous. Victor clearly picked up on it, because he tossed her another charming grin before barking another order at Anthony over his shoulder on the way out of the house.
“Looks like somebody has a date tomorrow!” Michael said with glee a few moments after the door clicked shut and Victor's footsteps began to fade. If she hadn't been so sure that her face was positively scarlet by then, it certainly was after Michael gently prodded her in the ribs for a, 'job well done,' something she felt was far more Anthony's doing than hers, frankly. “Ooh, that means we'll have to get you a fancy date outfit along with some regular clothes!” She felt dread sink in her gut at the idea of needing to try and feel sexy while pregnant, but decided to swallow it best she could; her friends were happy for her, and it wouldn't do to have them feel guilt over some silly feeling that would go away eventually.
“Ah, when did you two want to head out to do that? I'm in no hurry, just wondering,” she said, hands tucked in the front pouch of her hooded sweater. She cupped her slowly burgeoning belly in an attempt to alleviate a bit of the pressure gravity pressed upon it. Anthony grinned broadly.
“We'll head out just as soon as Michael's done looking like a kept housewife,” he nodded at his husband's baggy pajamas, all but threadbare and stained in some spots from late night snacks over the years. The blonde rolled his eyes at the Navy Seal Lieutenant before pecking him on the cheek. Muttering something about, 'can't all look as good as you do in blues,' he trudged down the hall into their master bedroom to change. “Ahh, the poor man,” Anthony said, running a hand through his short chestnut fade. “He'll deny it until his dying day, but he's been, 'nesting,' as it were,” he tossed a sympathetic glance first at her, and then let it drift toward the shut bedroom door. “I've tried to reassure him that everything will be alright, but I think he's just eager to have the baby here.”
“Oh, believe me,” she smiled wryly, giving her bump an affectionate stroke with her fingers. “I'm eager to get the baby here, too.” He laughed openly and happily. There was something to be said about the solidarity of expecting a child together; even if the child isn't going to be yours, there's an undeniable electricity in the air for the next nine months as you all wait through the changes for the little bundle of joy to come into your lives and change them forever. The truth in this was clear and undeniable, as far as Delanie, Michael, and Anthony were concerned, even only part way through the second trimester of the journey.
“I don't mean to interrupt your little heart to heart,” came Michael's good-natured droll as the bedroom door opened. “But I am presenting myself for inspection, Lieutenant!” He posed dramatically against the frame of the door, and while it got a good laugh out of Delanie, Anthony made a face.
“Don't make it like a uniform inspection, honey.” He shook his head with a sigh. “That just makes it really weird.” When he saw his husband's face begin to fall, he was quick to amend, “but I think you look positively ravishing in that shirt, dear.” Really, it was a simple, if crisp sky blue v-neck shirt with a rather warm looking gray cardigan thrown over it, but Delanie had to admit that it looked rather nice on him. He beamed at the compliment, and that was enough for them.
“You always know just what to say, Tony,” Michael chuckled as he stepped forward and gave Anthony another peck. “But if we're all finished lallygagging about, I say we all pile into the car and head out; I'm hungry, and Delanie needs new clothes!”
With laughter shared amongst the trio, they all agreed, Michael helping Delanie into the back seat even though she waved him off, insisting she was fine, and soon they were off, heading to the local mall in relatively little time. Or perhaps the time was shortened by the jokes, and the laughter that filled the car on the way. In any case, it wasn't long before they were walking through from the hallway into the maternity store.
After a sales representative took her measurements and gave her a size to work with, Anthony and Michael were quick to flit around the store, mostly looking for supportive bands for her stomach (which she was still incredibly reluctant about using, but knew it was just another inevitability,) and comfortable clothing for the every day for her to wear, saying that they were going to leave the, “date outfit,” to her, with the promise of chiming in their opinions after she'd found some options she liked. With a sigh she began to browse the dresses, thumbing through the selections available. Most of them were black or another slimming color, which wasn't terribly surprising to her, but she wanted at least a little color; it was for a date after all. She was just about to give up and go with a black dress when a particularly stunning number caught her eye.
She pulled a green Alexandrite jewel toned dress out from its spot on the clearance rack, turning it over for inspection. Three-quarter sleeves and a scalloped neckline tapered down to a fitted flare of a dress that stopped just below the knee. Intrigued, and surprised it was on sale for a rather reasonable price, she brought it to the cute couple she came with for approval. Both men ushered her toward the dressing rooms, eager to see how it looked on her. Now a little more than a bit curious herself, she stepped into a dressing room with the help of a sales associate with just a bit too bubbly of a personality.
Wriggling out of her clothing and toeing off her shoes with as much speed as the baby would allow, she pulled the dress up after stepping into it and smoothed it over her figure before taking a shaky breath and turning to take in her reflection. She allowed her self a quiet gasp at how flattering the dress was in how it draped across her frame. The fabric was rich, but stretchy enough to accommodate her without bunching or pinching in any unflattering or uncomfortable ways. And, in properly fitted clothing, she found a new appreciation for her figure when it wasn't being constricted by clothes not made to conform to the changes in a woman's body that a pregnancy invokes. Her figure, save for where the little one was being cradled in her womb, was largely unaffected, save for slightly widened hips and a little more padding on her backside. In clothes that were made for her size, she realized that ten pounds wasn't so bad to carry around after all.
Something about the dress put her hypersensitivity about the changes in her body into perspective, and it was with this sense of renewed confidence that she emerged from the dressing room for Anthony and Michael to see. They were folding up a few pairs yoga pants and sweaters that were similar to her usual style to hand on to until they were ready to pay, and hadn't quite seen her yet, so she coughed a little to get their attention.
“Well?” she asked with a lilt of uncertainty at their gaping.
“You're getting that one, right? Like, you need to get that one.” Michael said with a sagely nod.
“Seriously, 'Lanie,” Anthony piped up. “That's probably the most flattering thing I've ever seen you wear. Ever.” She grinned broadly. “I feel like Victor will rant and rave at me for not introducing you two sooner when we're out in the field.” At her raised brow, he sighed. “It's the military, honey. It's always ranting and raving about something not being done sooner.” She giggled at his dramatically somber look.
“Alright, lemme change really quick, and we can go. Lunch on me, boys?” Michael waved his hand as though that were the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Please, lunch will be on us. With the clothes...and the dress included,” They nodded to the folded up clothes they'd picked for her based on her measurements. “It would be criminal to not get that dress for you, dear.” She walked back to the dressing room with a ruby red blush but was otherwise pleased with the reaction. Once she had changed back into her clothes and their purchase was paid for, the trio happily made their way to their favorite soup shop, bags of purchases in tow, to tuck in to a late lunch. Save for a few clever quips toward Delanie about the fact that she was going to date Anthony's commanding officer, and some laughter around the table, lunch, and the subsequent car ride back to drop Delanie off was spent in content silence, pleased with the days events, even the surprising turns along the way.
Bringing her bags inside, she bade her best friends goodnight with the promise of telling them all about her date tomorrow, and closed up her house for the night. After bringing her bags into the bedroom, she carefully put her new clothes away, one at a time, until she came upon her lovely dress. Running her fingertips over the smooth fabric, she lifted the folded article of clothing with reverence, and laid it out for her impending date tomorrow. Slipping into some of her new pajamas and sighing with relief at the roomier clothing, she crawled into bed and burrowed under the covers. It wasn't long before she had drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and it hit fast enough that she didn't even realize she was sleeping until the first rays of the sun smacked her in the face hours later.
When she woke for the second time, it was when the shrill wail of her phone's alarm beside her pillow. After silencing it with a groan, she hauled herself out of bed and shambled over to the bathroom to relieve herself before stepping into the shower. The hot water soothed her aches and pains down to her very bones, and by the time she stepped out to towel off and blow dry her hair, she was feeling more limber and relaxed than the previous night. She had pulled on some lacy undergarments with enough stretch to fit her flatteringly before plucking her phone from the bed and firing off a message to Victor confirming the place and time before heading into the kitchen to start baking those Blondie brownies that had rightfully won her a date. Soon, the batter was in a pan, and baking in the oven, leaving her dart back into the bedroom to finish changing.
Checking to make sure she had enough time to do her make up, she slipped her new dress on and pulled the sleeves over her arms. Once it was smoothed out over her frame, she began applying a small amount if eyeliner and eyeshadow until she had a smoky eye of amethyst and black. Victor replied to her saying that she had the right information and that he was looking forward to the date just as she had the sweet confectioneries out of the oven and wrapped in a basket. Styling her hair as quickly as possible with gentle waves and letting her voluminous layers of hair flutter about her face, she stepped into a pair of black kitten heels and was soon in her car, on the way to the little cafe.
Thankfully, the cafe was local, and Delanie had made it with ten minutes to spare. Parking her car and stepping out into the brisk weather with her basket of baked goods tucked into her arm, she made her way toward the cafe entrance, letting Victor know she was there in a text. Evidently, she needn't have bothered, she noted wryly as she rounded the corner and saw him standing against the wall beside the front door, checking his phone, and no doubt just receiving her text announcing her arrival.
“You're here early,” she noted with a smile. He flashed her a charming grin and tucked his phone in his pocket. “Earlier than I am, even. I'm used to being the early bird.”
“Military talk for noon usually translates to, 'show up at eight,' so I'm technically late, according to my men.” They shared a laugh as he held the door open for her. Warmth flooded her numb fingers and toes, and she all but purred at the feeling returning to her appendages.
“As promised, good sir,” she said with a joking lilt to her tone, she offered the bundled basket with a dramatic flair akin to a squire handing a king his sceptre. Victor's laugh rumbled so thoroughly through her that she felt the baby hiccup to life in surprise at the sensation. She squirmed at the sudden heat pooling in her loins that she had to tamp down on the sudden surge of arousal she felt tingling under her skin; it was just a voice, she reminded herself firmly as they ordered their drinks and sat down.
“Ooh, and they're still warm. You know how to spoil someone, don't you?” He sneaked a square of the treat out of the folded napkins and began to munch on it happily. She smiled.
“Oh, what can I say? I'm a team player,” Victor's grin hadn't quite dissolved before the comment, and it quickly turned soft and regarding.
“More like a team provider,” he snorted. “Bradford- sorry, habit- Anthony would never say it to your face, because I suspect he wouldn't even know how, but you bringing them baked goods and being there for him and his husband for so long has kept him aloft in his rougher patches,” he seemed satisfied with his words, and excused himself to grab their drinks from the counter, leaving her to ponder what it was that Anthony had said up to this point. Anthony had a lot of stress from his job for years, sure, but she wouldn't be a good friend if she wasn't there for him, now would she? “Ah, there we are,” he said as he eased back into his chair, handing her the drink with her name absolutely butchered on the side.
“You seem to really appreciate good teamwork,” she said conversationally as she blew on her tea to cool it. “Must have had good squad members in your early days.”
“On the contrary,” he said with no mirth. “My squad was competent, sure, but we didn't have each other's backs. Not even for the little things,” He leaned back and blew on his coffee. “And then, when the big shit hit when we were deployed?” His eyes darkened. “I was alone. Because I didn't look out for them, and they didn't look out for me. We didn't care enough, and I wound up being the only one to survive.” He took a swig of his coffee like it was hard liquor; he drank like he didn't care how much it burned his throat. “So after I attended their funerals, I swore to myself that I would care for the rest of my life about my squad mates. I drill them hard, I push them far, but I haven't lost another one since.” They sat in contemplative silence before Delanie reached a hand over, laying it on his gently.
“It was a rough experience, to put it mildly,” she whispered. “I won't pretend to know what its like, but it's clearly shaped you into a better man than you were. Take comfort in that.” Something shifted in his eyes, and he gripped her hand tightly for a moment before sliding back into easiness with her.
“So, you know I'm a Commander in the Navy Seals already,” he started conversationally. “But that puts me at a disadvantage, Ms. Shores,” his hooded eyes roved over appreciatively from over the lip of his drink as he took a sip. “What do you do for a living,” she flushed under his heated scrutiny.
“Ah, well,” she swallowed. She loved her work, but she had no illusions as to what most thought of being an author to pay the bills. “I write,” she chose to keep it vague, to gauge his reaction.
“Oh?” He tilted his head in interest. “Like, articles, or books? Or something else?”
“Books,” she said, surprised he bothered to ask what she wrote. To avoid continuing being vague, she elaborated, “I mostly write mystery novels. It pays the bills, if nothing else.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I've always wanted to be a writer,” she answered honestly. “It...it's freeing to write about entire lives I'll never live.”
“Huh,” Victor popped another Blondie in his mouth. “Good for you, doing what you love and making a living off of it. One of the major keys to happiness, I should think.” Her surprise must have been evident, because he shrugged around his third Blondie. “What? I might be a bit...harsh sometimes. Maybe more than a bit. But I can appreciate that happiness and stability are important to anyone,” he nodded to her stomach. “I imagine you can, too, given what you're willing to do for Anthony.” He finished with a long pull from his coffee.
“I...” she looked at him as though
she saw him in a different light, and really, she did. “I hadn't thought of it that way,” and though their conversation after that was lighthearted, and they discussed their shared love of literature, if their differing preferences of genre, the air between them shifted, seemed to radiate with intense heat between them born of an understanding of how the world works that few perceived. Even after the last of the batch of Blondie brownies had been polished off and their travel mugs of hot chocolate and coffee respectively had been drained of their liquid, the two remained entrenched in their conversation, and without either of them really noticing, soft touches had begun to work their way in between their words. A shoe toed off so her slender foot could stroke up and down his calf, a calloused hand stroking her ankle when it came near enough for him to touch. It wasn't until he had to stifle a gasp when her toes brushed along an apparent bulge in his pants that she could make a quantifiable conclusion that was certainly not his cell phone.
“Ah,” the fact that she had enough of an effect on him to have him stammer for the first time was enough to add an extra spark to the fire that licked her insides, desperate for a release she hasn't felt in a long time. “This might seem a touch...forward,” his voice cracked when her toes made another pass at his pulsing erection from through his jeans. “But...maybe we could continue this discussion at my place?” He swallowed to regain himself. “Not that it has to end in anything, but,” he finally managed to scoot his chair until his crotch was just out of reach of her devilish metatarsals. “I'd rather like a more intimate setting.”
“For it, 'not having to end in anything,' Mr. Thompson,” she chided teasingly as she rose in a deliberately slow manner after she'd put her shoe back on; might as well give him a good show, she thought wickedly. “That seems an awful lot like an invitation.”
“I certainly wouldn't stop it from happening,” he admitted. She grinned, her mind made up about him; they had a lot of common interests, and he seemed roguishly charming enough. She was never one to do anything by halves, at any rate.
ROMANCE: NAVY SEAL ROMANCE: Morning After (Military Bad Boy Pregnancy Romance Collection) (New Adult Alpha Male Paranormal Short Stories Collection) Page 24