Surprise, Baby!

by Lex Martin

  His eyebrows lift slowly. “And we’re not telling your BFF about this why?”

  My lips twist. He knows me too well. I’d usually beeline to Evie to dish. At least regarding the big picture. “It’s not that I’m not telling her. Exactly.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Because it’s about the party boy, the one you swore off eons ago.”

  I cringe. “Something like that. Ugh, Tris, I’m so conflicted. On one hand, before the cops came down on us like we were Bonnie and Clyde, we’d had an amazing weekend. He was nothing like the guy I first met. He was sweet and thoughtful and really attentive.” Yes, Drew gave me lots of special, naked attention. My face heats from the images flashing through my brain.

  It’s Tristan’s turn to snicker. “And he obviously rang your bell. Many times.”

  I sigh, unable to help the wistfulness in my expression. “He’s a magical bell-ringer.”

  “Waving his magic wand.” Tris jumps up, thrusts his hips, and pretends to spank someone.

  “Oh, dear God. Never do that again.” I’m laughing so hard, tears form in my eyes. Tristan puts on a super serious front to people who don’t know him, but once you get past that, he’s a jokester and the biggest sweetheart. He always knows what to say to make me feel better, which is why we make such perfect business partners and best friends.

  He settles back into his seat. “I still got the moves. Just saying.”

  “You totally do, Ace Ventura.”

  He motions to me. “My guess is the guy probably called or texted you, especially if you think he was responsible for getting the charges dropped. If the weekend went as well for him as it did for you, then he’d want to check on you at the very least.”

  “But why did he leave the police station without talking to me?”

  He rubs his chin slowly. “Are you sure he left?”

  I stare at him a moment. “I mean, I can’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but that’s the impression I got from the receptionist. Plus, the prima ballerina had her knickers in a knot and was going to leave me behind if I didn’t book it out of there, so I didn’t have time to ask anyone else.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve bailed your sad little ass out of jail.”

  “I would’ve if I could’ve remembered your number!”

  “I’m so hurt right now.” He sniffles and wipes pretend tears. “Here I thought I was your male equivalent of Evie.”

  “You are. You so are. And I’ve learned my lesson—I’m going to commit your number to memory so the next time I commit a felony, you can rescue me instead of my scary sister.”

  Tapping my phone, he directs us back to my internal crisis. “Call Evie. Ask for everyone’s digits since you have a new phone. Her dad’s. Josh’s. Drew’s. Those are all numbers you had, right?”

  I nod slowly. “I feel bad not telling her what happened, though.”

  “You mean all the nookie you got this weekend?”

  “I guess I’m embarrassed because Drew and I have had epic arguments over the years, and Evie’s been front and center for most of them. But she and I haven’t really talked much about sex since she and Josh got serious. It’s not like she wants to share what goes down in their relationship.”

  He laughs. “Can’t say I blame the girl given how they started out.”

  Tristan is one of the few people who knows about Josh’s naughty blog, which is what initially brought him and Evie together.

  “But yeah, I’m not wild about sharing that Drew and I hooked up.”

  “Judging what you just said about her and Josh, I’m sure she’ll understand if you keep it under wraps while you figure out what’s going on with you and the party boy. Evie’s solid. Then bite the bullet and give Drew a call. You’ve waited a respectable amount of time since this weekend, so he’s not going to think you’re planning the perfect wedding. Mention your phone was DOA but you wanted to let him know you got home and ask if he’s why the charges got dropped.”

  That all sounds reasonable. Relief finally settles over me. “You’re good at this.”

  “I am.”

  “Why don’t you have a girlfriend again?”

  “Can’t tie down this beast, babe.” He blows on his knuckles like a jackass.

  “I’m so glad I’m not attracted to you.”

  He rolls his eyes again. “It’s not my fault you kiss like a crazy chameleon.”

  I gasp and toss his dumb press release at him. “I do not.”

  Tris and I kissed once in college on a dare, started laughing in the middle of it, and swore to never do it again. And now we’re besties through and through.

  He dusts off the piece of paper and places it on my desk. “Stop deflecting. Call Casanova, and then let’s grab something to eat before I waste away.”

  After he walks out, I stare at his empty seat for a few minutes trying to work up the courage to call Evie and then Drew.

  For some reason, I’m scared to do it, which means I must really like the guy because I’m never this nervous about anything.

  God help me. I have a crush on Drew Merritt.

  * * *

  After hunting high and low, I finally find Evie’s number in one of my old planners at the bottom of my desk drawer.

  “KENDALL!” Her shriek makes me pull the phone away from my head.

  “Are you okay? Because you sound like you’re being murdered.”

  “There’s water everywhere.” She curses and then curses some more. “The new property we just closed on flooded from all of the melting snow. I’m standing in a lake of ice-cold water in the freaking kitchen.”

  “Oh, man. That sucks.” I check the time, internally groaning at the idea of squeezing in one more thing today, but there’s no way I’m going to leave my best friend hanging if she needs help. “If you give me a few hours, I can head over and give you a hand with the cleanup.”

  “I knew there was a reason you were my best friend.”

  “I’m your best friend because I gave you tampons in junior high when you were too embarrassed to ask your dad to get them.”

  She laughs, and I smile at the impromptu trip down memory lane. “Don’t remind me. My dad still shudders if you bring up anything dealing with Aunt Flo.”

  “Give me the address to the property, and I’ll get there as soon as I can. Just promise me there’ll be no cameras.” She and Josh flip houses for her TV show, and I refuse to sweat while being filmed.

  “That’s okay. I know you’re slammed. Josh should be here soon, and he already called in an agency to handle the major cleanup because he wants to make sure we don’t get mold, but thank you so much.” She pauses a moment. “Ken, I feel terrible about what happened last week. That you got stuck up on the mountain without electricity or heat!”

  So Drew must’ve told Josh something.

  That knot in my stomach tightens.

  “It’s fine. I’m okay. I’ll give you all the gory details the next time I see you.”

  Because I can’t do it right now. I can’t make sense of it myself much less explain what went down with Drew.

  We agree to grab lunch as soon as she’s able to get a handle on life, and when we start to get off the phone, I remember why I called in the first place.

  “Wait. I need one more thing.” I keep it simple and tell her my phone died—while listening to my heart beat in my ears. Seriously, why am I so nervous about this guy? “When you get a chance, can you email me everyone’s phone number?” I rattle off all of the names, hoping I sound casual enough when I include Drew’s.

  “Sure! I should be able to do that tonight or tomorrow.”

  I feel guilty that I don’t tell her more, but I promise myself to come clean about everything when we grab lunch.

  Except one day turns into two.

  By Friday morning, not only has Drew not called or texted, but Evie never sent me the phone numbers, and she hasn’t texted bac
k about hanging out. I’d bug her about it if I didn’t know how busy she is right now.

  Plus, I might be chickening out.

  Because what the hell? I bone this guy all Thanksgiving like I’m a sex addict and he doesn’t call?

  The cautious part of me says Drew played me. That he isn’t calling because he’s on to the next best thing.

  And as I click on Gary the Gossip’s blog to make sure my clients aren’t being scandalized, I freeze when I see a photo of Drew at a party.

  Last night.

  With a drink in hand.

  Surrounded by three gorgeous, scantily-clad girls hanging off him like barnacles on a ship.

  That twisted, gut-wrenching sensation returns with a vengeance, stinging my eyes with tears.

  So much for Drew 2.0.

  He’s back to being Drew-you’re-dead-to-me.

  19

  Kendall

  I nudge the glossy bag over until it’s perfectly aligned with the ten in front of it. Presentation is everything in this business.

  With a contented sigh, I step back and admire the bright labels and cheery bows adorning each package.

  “Our donors are going to love these.” Howard LaRoe’s campaign manager Marshall gives me a wide smile. “This was a great idea, Kendall.”

  “The best part is how the products tie into his speech.” I don’t usually get into this level of detail, but Howard is one of my highest-profile clients, and I didn’t want to trust this to my staff. So I spent the last two weeks researching items made in Oregon to promote Howard’s buy-local philosophy, which will hopefully garner him extra face time on tonight’s news.

  Howard’s image has needed a boost, and extending my attention to these gift bags from my typical focus on his press kits has been fun. Although Howard might be a pain in the ass sometimes, I love his platform, so I’m willing to go the extra mile. I don’t even mind that Howard will take the credit for my ideas.

  The ballroom doors open and donors stream in. In the background, a quartet plays holiday music softly. An enormous Christmas tree sits in the corner where guests place gifts they’re donating to families in need. Although my gift bags might be getting the attention tonight, the fact that we’ll donate so many presents to children who might not otherwise get something this winter is the best part of my evening.

  An image of Drew sitting by the fire at the cabin a few weeks ago comes to mind. I wonder how he’ll spend the holidays.

  When it was just the two of us wrapped around each other over Thanksgiving, I’d wondered if we might see where things took our relationship afterward and even thought about getting him a present for Christmas, which is in a few days.

  That’s when I get hit so hard by a wave of melancholy, I have to brace my arm against the pillar next to me.

  I never did speak to him. To talk or tell him off or tell him I miss his face.

  Evie’s had all kinds of problems with her new property, and between that and being somewhat of a newlywed, we’ve barely spoken in the last two weeks since her kitchen flooded.

  Which means I haven’t had a chance to broach the subject of Drew again, not that I’ve wanted to. Much.

  But yeah. I miss that douchebag more than I care to admit.

  I might have a serious case of the stupids. Because one minute, I want to sock him in the face for being an asshole and the next I’d do anything to strip him naked just to cuddle.

  Sure, the feminist in me has been riding my ass to call him and bitch his ass out for going MIA. But sometimes—especially after what we shared over Thanksgiving—a woman wants to know she’s important. That what she shared with a man was significant enough for him to pick up the damn phone and call her.

  Apparently I wasn’t.

  A waiter stops by with some hors d’oeuvres and waves a platter of golden crab rangoon in front of me. I rarely eat anything fried, much less at a client’s event, but for some reason, I want to devour everything in front of me.

  Marshall must sense my hunger because he motions toward the server. “Please enjoy the food, Kendall. I know Howard’s been a slave driver lately, so the least I can do is feed you.”

  I press my hands to my suit skirt, needing a minute so I don’t dive face first into the finger food. The smell of my lunch this afternoon almost made me hurl, so I’ve been reluctant to eat anything because I could not miss Howard’s event tonight. I’d chalked it up to nerves and stress and downed a ginger ale instead of what I’d brought from home.

  Needless to say, I’m ravenous as I place crispy nuggets of deliciousness on my plate. I catch the scent of bacon and my head swivels toward it like a dog in search of a bone.

  But as I’m driving home two hours later and the crab rangoon, fried shrimp, bacon wraps, and egg salad with tapenade are shooting out of my mouth—while I lean out of my car on the side of the road—I know I shouldn’t have deviated so far from my typical eating habits.

  The next day isn’t much better, and I groan into the phone as I catch up Tristan with the details from last night’s fundraiser.

  “You hurled your cookies on the street?”

  “On the corner of Burnside and Third. Everyone at Voodoo Donuts saw it. Hopefully I drove away before anyone broke out the camera phones.”

  “Yikes. Well, next time give me a heads up, and we can sell tickets to your late night showing of the Exorcist.” We both laugh, and I reach for a granola bar. “I think we should charge LaRoe more for giving you food poisoning.”

  With a shrug, I tear the wrapper. “I wasn’t feeling great yesterday afternoon, so it probably wasn’t the food at the hotel.”

  “You might have a stomach bug.” He pauses. “Or maybe you’re pregnant.”

  We’ve joked about one of us having kids a few times over the years, always laughing off the idea that either of us was ready to settle down like that.

  Except right now, I’m not laughing. With the granola bar halfway to my mouth, I’m petrified like one of those people in Pompeii when they got axed by that volcano.

  When I don’t fill in the silence, because I’m too busy internally screaming WHAT THE FUCK? Tristan clears his throat. “Honey, are you pregnant?”

  “Oh, shit.”

  I drop the granola bar and phone and reach for my laptop.

  After I type in the wrong password three times, it finally unlocks, and I pull up iCal. Like a zombie, I reach for my cell. “Tris?”

  My hands are shaking as I do the math.

  “You want me to come over?” His deep voice is the only thing tethering me to this couch.

  “Yes, please.”

  By the time he rings my doorbell, I’m frantic.

  I throw my arms in the air as he walks into my apartment. “I can’t be pregnant. No one gets nauseated this early in a pregnancy. Just because I missed my period and I’ve been a little queasy doesn’t mean I’ve got a bun in the oven.”

  Maybe I have cancer or a brain tumor or irritable bowel syndrome. I know because I Googled the symptoms.

  “I would’ve gotten you some pregnancy tests, but I have no clue what kind to get.”

  I pause. “You mean none of the girls you’ve banged have had a pregnancy scare? Ever?”

  Tristan shakes his head.

  “You’ve banged a lot of girls.”

  “I wrap it up. Always.”

  “We did too!” I pause as all of the dirty, naked things I did with Drew come rushing back to me. “Except for that last night. Goddammit. What was I thinking?”

  A chuckle escapes him. “I have a pretty good idea what you were thinking.”

  “Now is not the time to be funny.” I start pacing back and forth in front of my coffee table. “We ran out of condoms.” A sound of disbelief bursts from his mouth. “What?”

  He rolls his eyes as his jaw tightens. “Some guys are looking for an excuse to not use condoms, or they let them slide off in the middle of the act. I hear bastards at the gym brag about that all the time.”

  I blink an
d blink again. “So the whole ‘we used the last one’ line could’ve been bullshit? He was just trying to get his jollies?”

  The hysteria in my voice has him pulling me to his chest. “Before I go after him with a rusty saw blade, let’s get some confirmation about the stork sighting, okay?”

  I don’t remember getting in his car or driving to the pharmacy, but once we’re there, Tristan takes my hand and pulls me down row after row of medical supplies until we get to the pregnancy tests.

  We pick out several different kinds and grab a giant container of Gatorade and head to the counter. I’m getting out my credit card when I notice the magazine next to the register.

  “Portland’s sexiest bachelors.” I scoff because those guys are always such assholes when you meet them in person.

  But then I see who’s on the cover, and for the second time in two days, I lean over and puke.

  * * *

  I stare at the four positive tests lining my bedside table and start to cry. Now that Tristan went home, I let it all out until I’m hiccupping into my hands.

  Tris assured me everything would be fine, that he’d help me with whatever I needed no matter where things ended up with Drew. And even though it’s reassuring to have his support, I still feel like the sky is falling.

  After the tears subside, I consider calling my mom, but she’ll be delighted to be a grandmother regardless of the fact that the baby’s daddy is probably out fucking cocktail waitresses two at a time this weekend. I can see him now, sitting in a bar with that damn magazine, pointing to his photo, and scheduling blowjobs into next year.

  And even though my sister’s been through pregnancy, she’ll be as sympathetic as a dishrag.

  So when Evie texts and tells me to come over tonight so we can catch up, I immediately tell her yes.

  Because I could really use my best friend right now.