by BJ Harvey
I have less than four weeks left of uninterrupted alone time with my baby daddy. I guess I better prepare myself for all the sex I can handle. Especially if it means I can relax and enjoy this last month of my pregnancy without tearing my house apart and putting it back together again.
One thing is for sure: I definitely know Ezra will be all on board with this plan.
Bath, relaxation, and a little preparation before testing out Ronnie’s hot tip.
Sounds like the perfect end to the night to me.
The thing about best-laid plans is they can go awry. Case in point: I’m currently stuck—more like wedged—in the bath by my hips, one leg bent in the water, the other ankle hooked on top of the faucet, and try as I might, I cannot prune the overgrown lady garden to save myself.
This isn’t a new problem. I tried to get in to see my lovely Taiwanese aesthetician last week, and she informed me that she was fully booked for the next month. It’s my own fault. I figured I’d get to be the size of a whale—like I am now—and the last thing I’d want was sex because sex was what got me into this situation in the first place. Regardless, I begged and pleaded and made an absolute fool of myself, but she couldn’t fit me in. I could’ve booked somewhere else, but there’s a special relationship between a woman and the person she trusts with hot wax and her vagina.
That doesn’t help me right now though. Horny, frustrated, and wanting to make a good impression when I jump Ezra, I thought I could just give myself a quick tidy-up down below, and all would be well.
Except I couldn’t get the right angle with a mirror in one hand and a razor in the other, and there’s no way I can see around my giant pregnant belly full of my son whose latest trick is to bounce off my cervix like a trampoline.
But I’m too stubborn and too proud to call out to Ezra to come save me. He poured a beautiful-smelling full bath for me, lit the few candles I had scattered around the room, then helped me down into the water and then left me with a kiss on the lips and a spring in his step, no doubt caused by knowing he’s going to get himself some—and soon.
It’s definitely not going to happen now, because by the time he comes looking for me, I’ll be a wrinkled, pruney mess and my vagina will resemble a soaked hedge attacked by a swordfish.
My eyes sting with tears, but I blink them away. Then they start falling, and I try to swipe them off my cheeks until I can’t keep up and I drop the razor and my dignity and bury my face in my hands.
The door creaks open, and I know this moment has just gone from bad to worse.
“Are you still aliv—hey, what’s wrong?” Ezra asks, crossing the room. He gently pulls my arms away and tilts my chin up, his worried eyes searching mine. Dropping to his knees beside the bath, he pulls me in for a hug.
“I’m getting you all wet,” I whimper.
“Don’t care about that. I do care that you’re sitting in the bath crying when you’re supposed to be relaxing.”
I bury my face into his neck, my shoulders shaking with sobs. “I… I… I can’t even shave myself.”
He pulls back and frowns at me. “What? Why do you need to shave your legs?” My beautiful clueless man.
“Not my legs…” I say, my voice cracking as the tears hit me again, my frustration and anger rising. “All I wanted was to make it easier for you,” I whine. Ez opens his mouth, but I’m too far gone. “And my waxing lady couldn’t fit me in, and now I’m going to give birth, and Dr. Cameron won’t know if it’s the baby’s head full of hair or my Sasquatch vagina,” I sob. “And then I got stuck!”
“Sweetheart,” he says, all soft and warm, and making me want to slap him in my irrational pregnant rage. “You know I don’t care about—”
My head snaps his way, and my eyes narrow to slits. “Every man cares about whether they can find their woman’s pussy or not, Ezra. You need to know where it is so you can see where to stick your big cmmph.” My words are muffled by Ezra’s hand covering my mouth, his lips twitching up yet his eyes gentle—albeit apparently amused by my meltdown.
“I think I can help you out if you’ll let me.”
“How?” I snap, my stupid emotions even giving me whiplash.
“Well, first,” he says, shuffling back and standing. He leans over, cups my face, and kisses me long and hard and deep until I forget my own name. Then he slides his hands down my body to my waist and locks his gaze with mine. “Brace your arms on the sides, and push up as I lift.”
“You can’t—” I gasp, and his eyes narrow.
“I can, sweetheart. Now one, two, go,” he says, bending his knees and lifting me with a quiet grunt he no doubt tried to hide.
By the time I’m back on my feet in the now knee-deep water, I’m gripping his biceps so tightly; I’m expecting to see a row of half-moon bruises there tomorrow. I let out a huge sigh of relief and sag against his soaked T-shirt. “Thank you,” I breathe.
He drapes a towel around my back. He steps away and wraps it around my front. “Why didn’t you call me to come help you?”
I avert my eyes, and my cheeks burn. “Because it’s embarrassing.”
He pushes my chin up with his index finger and dips his head. “Do you know that Faith got herself into a pile of trouble trying to paint the cornices in Lottie’s nursery a week before giving birth?”
“What?” I ask.
He grins. “Yep. Bry found her on her tiptoes on top of a three-step ladder with paint spread from her nose to her toes. She had to brace herself against the wall with her spare hand because she somehow forgot that her center of gravity had shifted due to her baby belly.”
“Mine was my big ol’ child-bearing hips getting wedged on the sides of the bath when I tried to—”
“Do something you could’ve asked me to do?”
I cover my face with my hands. “I would never subject you to that.”
His lips twitch up into a devilish grin. “I’m quite attached to the place you’re so adorably disparaging.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“No. What I know now is that you’re going to drop that towel and sit down on the bench in the shower.” He closes the distance between us, one hand curving around the back of my neck, the other drifting down to grab my ass. “And then I’m going to shave you how you’d like, and then I’m going to turn you around and show you just what this beautifully curved body of yours does to me.”
My mouth drops open, my breaths quickening as a wave of heat washes over me, and I have to clench my thighs together to stay standing.
“Any objections?” he rasps, leaning in so his lips are moving against mine.
“Nope,” I squeak, earning a grin against my mouth.
“Good,” he says, giving my butt a quick, sharp smack before stepping back. “Now carefully go get ready for me. I have some pubic art to create. I might even shave my name down here, just so everyone knows you’re mine.”
My mouth drops open, and I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You didn’t just say that?”
He shrugs and shoots me a sexy smirk. “Hey, it’s only me and Dr. Cameron who will see it. Why not have a little fun with it?”
I narrow my eyes and point a finger at him. “You will not do anything fancy down there, mister.”
He quirks a brow. “And how would you know? Besides, isn’t vajazzling the thing to do these days?”
My eyes bug out of my head as I wonder who the hell I’ve procreated with. “Nope. I’ll let you trim the forest but no decorating the tree, okay?”
He bursts out laughing and starts stripping off, still chuckling by the time I drop my towel. He grabs my hand, and together we walk into our new double shower.
For the record, every shower should have a bench to sit down on, kneel on, and brace yourself on.
It makes showers—albeit a little embarrassing—a lot more enjoyable. It also allows for a modified reverse cowgirl, and Ronnie was right—it works a treat.
21
Ezra
“Yo
u going to use that hammer, or are you just going to sit there and stare at it since you’re not used to having something big in your hand?” Cohen calls out from across the big empty room. We’re working on the bottom apartment at the three-flat rental. Our current task is removing the baby-shit green carpet in every room.
I look down at the tool I’m gripping tightly and give it a good shake before lifting my head and arching a brow. “I was just thinking this is rather small in comparison,” I say with a wink.
“Dick jokes. Have we really sunk that low?” Jamie asks.
I snort and meet his eyes. “When have we ever not been in the gutter?”
“Good point, well made,” he replies.
“Not long to go now,” Cohen says. “Just a few weeks and little Ezra Baker will be all grown up and be a dad.”
“Yep.”
“Nerves kicked in yet?” Jamie asks.
“Yep,” I reply without hesitation.
“And Gilly?”
“She’s bored shitless and wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘sit down and relax’ if it bit her in the ass,” I say, my lips tipping up into a smirk. “But our house has never been cleaner or more organized. She even came to my office and created a whole new filing system. My secretary was not impressed. Then Gilly cried when I said I’d take her to Purple Taco for lunch, then again when they didn’t have fresh-off-the-boat-that-minute tuna for her, which made the waitress cry too, and again when the chicken taco she ended up ordering came out and was ‘the absolute best thing she’s ever had in her mouth.’”
That sets both of them off; Cohen bent over with laughter, and Jamie bracing himself against the wall. “It’s not that funny—not when I’m the one in the middle of it.”
“It’s hilarious, and it’s even better because it’s you dealing with it,” Cohen says, still snickering.
Jamie chuckles. “So, how will she cope being a stay-at-home mom?”
“Well, she won’t be pregnant and crying at absolutely everything.”
Cohen shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. Bry says Faith was super emotional for at least a few months after Lottie’s birth.”
“Heaven help us. I think Gilly beats them all on the ‘crazy mood swings’ front. She cries if she’s happy, sad, mad and even…” I trail off because the knowing nods on their faces tell me they get it.
“Although,” Co begins, his amused eyes locked with mine. I drop the hammer and turn around to lean against the wall, my lips twitching as I wait for his smart-ass reply. “Are you sure she’s not crying because you’re just unable to get the job done?”
“Good enough to make a baby, Co,” I say, flipping him the bird at the same time.
Cohen’s shit-eating grin widens. “Yeah, but even Jax managed to do that. I’m not sure it’s that hard.”
Jamie shakes his head at the baby Cook brother. “God, I can’t wait for you to get Skye pregnant so we can give all this back to you tenfold.”
“Now that I can’t wait to see. He’ll be beside himself, and we’ll all sit back and laugh our asses off,” I muse, nodding at Jamie.
“I know how to wrap the salami.”
“Bloody mini-hotdog more like it.”
“Better than a cocktail sausage.”
“And again, dick jokes. C’mon, boys. Surely we can do better than that,” Jamie says, shaking his head but doing it with a smirk. He lowers down and starts pulling up another row of staples out of the floor. “Ez, has Gilly decided what she’s doing about starting her own law practice?”
I get back to work. “I think it’ll happen eventually, but there’s no rush to get back to work after the birth and absolutely no pressure from me to do anything other than recover at her own pace and look after our son. If she wants to start working sooner rather than later, then I can always work from home anyway. I’m not expecting her to put her career on hold just because she’s the mom.”
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Cohen says. “That’s really forward-thinking of you.”
“It’s not forward-thinking—it’s called being in an equal relationship. We both played our part in making this baby, so we both have a part in raising it—whoever does the day-to-day care doesn’t matter.”
“Aww, our Ezzy is all grown up, Jamie,” Co teases.
“How have I never realized how much of an asshole you are, Co?” Jamie asks.
Cohen gasps in mock offense, his twitching lips giving him away. “I’m just giving Ezra shit because I can.”
“I noticed,” I reply with a smirk. “But now, we need to get this room stripped because I have things to do before Gilly’s pre-baby girls’ afternoon is over.”
“Oooh, yeah,” Jamie says, rubbing his hands together. “Ax is at Mom and Dad’s for the night, and April is drinking champagne, which means I’m in for a good night.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Cohen says, gagging for added effect. “Parents don’t have sex.”
I chuckle and wink at Jamie. “But daddies do.”
“Oh, no. Dear God no,” Cohen gasps, sounding truly horrified.
“Who’s grossing Cohen out, and can I join in?” Skye asks, popping her head in the door of Cohen’s old apartment.
“Old man sex, apparently.”
“Oh yeah? That’s only ’cause Cohen can’t have any sex right now. Isn’t that right, Cass?” she asks with a satisfied-looking grin.
Her boyfriend groans. “Did you have to tell them that?”
“They should know to keep the power tools out of reach, you know… just in case,” she whispers. “Anyway, I thought I’d see if you needed an extra set of hands.”
“Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?” Jamie asks.
“Nope. I’m making eggs, not growing fertilized ones. I won’t do any heavy lifting, obviously, but I can still find something to help you guys. Cohen is here, and if I go upstairs, I’ll just be vegging on the couch anyway.”
Jamie nods. “I’m not going to say no to extra help. More hands makes for a quicker day and an earlier home time.”
“Did you get everything sorted?” I ask quietly as she moves my way.
“Yep. All done and ready for takeoff.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“No worries. It was fun. Oh, and Faith says hi and also said to do this,” she says, just as she swings her hand up and whacks me around the ear.
“What was that for?”
“She says you’re copping out, but she absolutely loves you for it.”
“You right there, colluding with my girlfriend?” Cohen says, sidling up beside us.
“Yeah. I’m trying to recruit her to become part of my harem. You know, with a man who can actually have sex,” I muse.
“Damn, that’s harsh, Ez. Even for you,” Co says, shaking his head.
Skye high fives me and we both have a good laugh about it.
Jamie chuckles then points his hammer first at me then at Cohen. “If you two want to stop with the back and forth, we might actually get this done within the hour. Then I can get home and do some vegging of my own.”
“Was that vegging or edging? Cause I know some daddies are into that kind of thing,” Cohen deadpans.
Jamie drops his head and groans while I give Cohen the high five this time.
Then we get down to work, and we’re all finished within forty-five minutes, and Jamie, Co, and Skye go up to the top floor to enjoy a beer before Jamie heads home.
I’m in my SUV outside when I receive a text from Jamie.
Jamie—So, without big ears listening, you going to tell me what’s happening tonight? Is it what I think it is?
Ezra—Nope, not telling anyone and nope, not sure it’s what anyone thinks it is.
Jamie—Cryptic much?
Ezra—I’m not going to screw it up, though—I can promise you that. That’s why you’re texting me, right?
Jamie—Yep. You got it in one.
Ezra—There is absolutely no way I’m going to do anything to lose Gilly now
. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, and it will never change.
Jamie—But didn’t you think that about the first two as well?
Ezra—No. It was completely different. I see that clear as day now.
Jamie—All good. Just owed it to you to check in.
Ezra—Apart from proposing when I found out she was pregnant, nothing I’ve done with Gilly has been impulsive.
Jamie—Well, I hope for her sake, there has been SOME spontaneity.
Ezra—And he makes a sex joke.
Jamie—I could’ve said that needing Viagra makes it hard to be spontaneous.
Ezra—That’s what she said.
Jamie—EXACTLY.
Ezra—Thanks for always having my back.
Jamie—Hey, we’ve got money invested together now. Your business is literally my business.
I’m chuckling as I turn the engine on and pull away from the curb. I quickly check the time, seeing I still have a few hours to kill, but also wondering how Gilly’s last “child-free hurrah,” as she’s calling it, is going.
I wait until I’m on the freeway heading back to our house when I ask my car to bring up Gilly’s number and press call on the steering wheel.
“Hey, baby daddy.”
“Hey, baby mama. How’s it going?”
“Good! Even if none of us are drinking except the moms, we’re having lots of fun.”
I groan. “Mom and Marcy are tying one on?”
She giggles, and I hear the two moms in question cackling like witches in the background.
“Scratch that. I can hear the answer.”
“They’re hilarious.”
“They’re something,” I mutter.
“Your mom gave the baby a check for his college fund. And I burst into tears,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Sounds like round two is coming soon too.”
“God no. We’re looking at round five I think.”
“Jesus, sweetheart. I hope you’ve been rehydrating.”
She sighs into my ear. “Yes, Dad.”
“Yeah, Daddy,” April calls out, followed by a cacophony of laughter.