Surprise, Baby!

by Lex Martin

  I’m about to blow my load. I’m urgent. Needy.

  But she’s still first.

  With a mewl, she releases again, her eyes closed and body oscillating. I hold my breath and jet, pumping myself into her as I hold her tight.

  We collapse together, intimately bound, breathing as one.

  Goddamn.

  If I was into Kendall when she hated my guts, and fell for her up at the cabin, now that she’s here in my bed—in my arms—in my life, there’s no other way to say it. I’m a lucky sonofabitch. Scared shitless, but smart enough to know a good thing when it smacks me in the face.

  I’ve gone through life being able to buy pretty much whatever I wanted. Cars, real estate, businesses? No problem. Nights out on the town? Easy.

  The right partner? I’m in over my head. These tender feelings have been in short supply. They’re new. Kendall makes me a beast in bed, a guard dog to anyone threatening her, and a lovesick fool—

  Shit.

  I’m not gonna label what I’m feeling. I just know she makes my heart expand. I can figure it out later.

  Cuddling into her, I draw her to me, not caring how messy we are. That’s what showers are for.

  I just wanna be with her.

  After zoning, she turns to me. “That was—wow.”

  My arm squeezes her middle, but as I replay the pleasant memory of what we just did, my gut sinks. “Fuck, KK. I’m sorry. I twisted you like a pretzel after I said I wouldn’t get crazy.”

  I get a full, tongue-in-my-mouth kiss, along with a purr. To clarify, the purr’s from Kendall, not Shaz. “I don’t think it’s that big a deal right now. I say we take advantage of the fact that, for the time being, I’m bendy.”

  “Still. Maybe we need to ask your gyno.” I shift her to my side. “You haven’t gone yet, have you? Can I go with you?”

  Her expression makes my heart warm. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’d like that.”

  “You sure? I mean, I’m gonna ask your doctor which sex positions are out. Might be awkward. Maybe you don’t want me to come.”

  She gets a devilish gleam in her eyes. “Oh, I definitely want you to come.”

  I chuckle. “I love it when you innuendo.” Speaking of… Sitting up and leaning over, I use my sexiest, lowest tone. “Ready to run some errands?” I whisper, and she laughs hard.

  28

  Drew

  “I can’t believe that ending!” Kendall says, as we burst out from the darkness of the Sellwood movie theater into the darkness of my birthday evening. She presses her hands to her cheeks, and I’m not sure if it’s from the adrenaline rush of the past two hours or the cold, rainy air misting our faces.

  I’m as pumped as she is. “Agreed! That boat-plane-motorcycle-helicopter-train chase was insane.” I wrap my arm around her, and she snuggles into my side.

  Where she belongs.

  My light heart skips, elated from enjoying a strange day of normal with Kendall. After the morning at my house, we stopped by her place to pick up fresh clothes. She dressed, then, all nonchalant, snuck a package wrapped with “Happy Birthday” paper down from the top of a bookshelf. With a bite of her lip and a hopeful glint in her eyes, she handed it to me, secretly pleased that she’d planned ahead.

  She said the cashmere sweater matches my eyes.

  I put it on immediately, and I don’t ever want to take it off. Unless, of course, she does the honors.

  Now, outside, her eyes remain wide as she tightens her arm around my waist. Pieces of her hair fall into her face from the wind, and she brushes them away. “That last fight scene was badass. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like you,” I say, chuckling and giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “I had no idea you got so into movies. It’s pretty fucking adorable.”

  A flush warms her face. “I love them. I just never have the time to enjoy them anymore.” A wistful look passes across her face and disappears. “Guess that’s something I gave up when I started my own agency.”

  “Well, we’re gonna have to go more often.”

  She reaches up, gives me a kiss, and slips her hand into mine. I stroll down a regular Portland street in the rain on a cold night, hand-in-hand with my girlfriend like I do this all the time. With effort, I keep from fixating on where our hands are joined.

  Because it feels intimate. It says, I claim you. We’re together. You’re mine. We’re a team.

  I could get used to holding her hand.

  When we return to my car, I reluctantly let go of it to open the door and let her in. As I’m circling around the trunk to my side, I pull out my phone, switching it to regular mode.

  Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep…

  Jesus, I have a lot of notifications.

  Between hanging with KK and shutting it off for the movie, I’ve ignored my phone all day. Apparently now it’s payback time, but rather than stand outside and freeze my nuts off, I hustle into the driver’s seat, slam the door behind me, and stare at the screen.

  Kendall’s quizzical glance invites an explanation. I hold out my phone and let her take a look at the crazy. “Everyone messaged me. I bet for my birthday.” We watch a video sent by Josh and Evie where they’re on set wishing me a “bitchin’ birthday.”

  I snort. “What is this, 1987?”

  Then my finger starts scrolling.

  Ian: Hey man, I’m in town and wanted to stop by, but I ended up partying with Sam and just woke up. Next time I’ll stay at your house. Have to catch a red eye back to NYC.

  * * *

  Frankie: Hope you have a good birthday, boss. Year end is gonna rock.

  * * *

  Ashton: D-bag! HBD. Need some blow?

  * * *

  Candy: I looked for your sexy ass at Club Citron last night and didn’t see you. Are you coming with us tonight?

  * * *

  Steve: What are you doing for NYE? Come hang. Or is the party at your house?

  * * *

  Fernando: You having people over tonight or what? Ian said you might.

  * * *

  Mark: What’s this I hear about a party at your house?

  * * *

  Bumble Bee: Happy birthday, Andrew. May your thirties be wonderful.

  Dude, even my grandma texts.

  “Fuck,” I grumble, running my hands through my damp hair.

  “What?”

  “Somehow everyone thinks there’s a party at my house.” I raise my eyebrows and shake my head, letting out my breath in an exasperated gust. “Hang on, let me deal with them. Do you mind?” She shakes her head, and I mutter my responses as I type my texts back. “No party… Thanks… Block this number… Not going to the club… Sorry, busy… Don’t come over… You heard wrong… Thanks, Bumble.”

  Kendall smooths her hands down her thighs, her expression pensive. “I don’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who makes you change your plans or takes you away from all your friends.”

  Her use of the word girlfriend makes goosebumps rise on my skin. I’m adding it to hand holding as my new favorite thing. “They won’t miss me. Some people can’t take no for an answer.”

  She nods, picking at lint on her coat and staring ahead.

  My finger traces her dainty chin. “Hey. I swore off these guys a while ago, but it’s taking a while for the message to compute.”

  “I get it,” she says, and her eyes soften.

  When I pull up at her house, Kendall tilts her head to the side. “Wanna come up? We already had dinner, but maybe we can have dessert.”

  I point my thumbs at my chest. “Diabetic, remember.”

  “I’m talking about a different kind of dessert.”

  I can’t get out of the car fast enough and spend the rest of the evening taking Kendall up on her offer.

  Best. Birthday. Ever.

  * * *

  Two days later, on New Year’s Eve, we return to the same historic theater in Sellwood, only this time, I punk Kendall. Instead of
crashing a big, public party with champagne and half-friends like I’d led her to believe, we open the glass doors to the smell of fresh popcorn…and no other patrons. Since Josh did the remodel, he hooked me up with the owners, who let me rent out the place for two, since they’d planned to be closed for the night.

  We’re gonna spend the last hours of the year enjoying our way through a few of KK’s favorite movies. Like Pretty Woman, which Evie told me she loves.

  After we step in and take our seats, I watch the dawning recognition appear in Kendall’s blue eyes. When the first movie starts and she realizes what I’ve done, she tackles me with a hug.

  Worth it.

  So is the fact that I get her all to myself tonight.

  At midnight, when I envelop her in my arms for a thorough kiss, I’m certain this will be a very different and momentous year to come, and for the first time, I’m looking forward to my future.

  Now, more than ever, I need to get my shit together.

  For real this time.

  Which means I can’t put off the situation with my parental units any longer, so the following week, I bite the bullet.

  When I pull into the circular driveway of my childhood home, I wish warm memories flooded me like they probably do for most people.

  But there’s nothing typical about my family.

  Neat, clipped hedges frame the enormous brick manor estate. Since I do my best to avoid this place, every time I return it feels less and less familiar. I know my way around, for the most part, but everything’s shifted and feels off. I’ve changed, it hasn’t, and I’m only here today because I’ve been summoned from on high, and I have to be. My nod at adulting is I made an effort to be on time and I’m not wearing any shirts with cuss words. So there’s that.

  As I walk up to the front door, a rueful smile tugs at my lips. It’s been a while, so I’m practically a stranger. Should I knock?

  Nah. I never do.

  Opening the door, I call, “Hel-lo. Anyone home?”

  While the place is heated, it still feels unused and empty. More for show than for living. No wonder I spent all my time at Josh’s house as a kid.

  Victoria, the housekeeper, comes bustling up. She seems almost apologetic. “Mister Andrew. Come, come. They’re waiting for you in the garden room.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stroll inside whistling, my hands shoved in my pockets. We pass through four rooms until we arrive at my mom’s office-slash-sitting room, where everyone’s gathered.

  “Andrew,” my mom says in a flat voice, giving me the once-over. “So glad you could come.”

  She’s anything but glad, given the last time we talked she screamed at me about being arrested after she saw the law firm bill that was accidentally sent to her. As well as the time before that when she told me the name of my company was a disgrace. And the time before that. At least, I know she screamed, but I don’t remember why.

  She’s spent years fighting this trust transfer because she doesn’t think I can handle it. In other words, it siphons funds from her monstrous fortune.

  Sorry, Mom. I didn’t ask for this.

  Her eyes betray years of criticizing everything I’ve done, and her strangely smooth forehead from too much Botox is eerie. Mom’s got one of those Barbara Bush-Nancy Reagan-Betsy Bloomingdale haircuts that’s shaped into a perfectly coiffed helmet. Basically, she’s in danger of being mistaken for a wax statue.

  God forbid she wear anything comfy in her own home. Nope. Haute couture Chanel suit and perfect heels to greet her son. I dutifully peck her cheek, smelling her heady perfume, which reminds me of evenings she’d go out to parties with my father, leaving me with the nanny.

  I hate how being around my parents makes me remember being eight.

  My dad’s stretched out behind her on the one piece of furniture she’s conceded to him—a leather recliner.

  “Drew. Nice to see you.” He gets up to shake my hand with a gleam in his eyes, like a falcon zooming in on prey. In his world, showing off how big a man you are is paramount. More money, prettier wife, fanciest car, biggest yacht. It makes me want to vomit, which is why I spent most of my life in ratty old T-shirts, ripped jeans, and muddy sneakers. I’ve outgrown that stage and live my life for me, but that doesn’t stop the tide of memories from returning whenever I come here.

  And he thinks I don’t deserve this either. Maybe I don’t, but I’m gonna turn it into something that’s worthwhile.

  “Dad.” I grip his hand like I’m going to arm wrestle him to the ground, and he almost looks impressed. Then he straightens his face and remembers he’s pissed at me, too, since I’m getting a controlling share in the family business.

  While my father’s wearing a button-down shirt, chinos, and loafers, everyone else—the team of lawyers—is in a suit. Tim Bryan, the one who bailed me out, stands in the corner with his partner, an associate, and a notary.

  I beam my biggest, fakest smile to the room, because I’m not letting them win. Any of them. “It’s fantastic to see everyone. I hope you all had a fabulous holiday season.” Then I mutter under my breath, “Let’s get this over with.”

  After giving the lawyers a general chin lift, I settle my butt down on the nearest antique couch, kick up my feet on the expensive coffee table, and cross my arms over my chest. Because even though I’ve outgrown a lot of this, I’m still an asshole.

  My mom stiffens.

  I wished for so many years that she’d loosen up. Smile. Get a wrinkle. Pretend she loved—or hell, even liked—her kid. Pretend for one minute that I mattered to her.

  But now I’ve given up hope she’ll ever be human.

  A younger guy pulls out a notary book and stamp. “May I see your driver’s license, Andrew, to enter your information?”

  I pull out my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle wallet and pass my license to him. So much for being an adult. My father’s brows knit together.

  “Like it?” I ask, waving my wallet. “Bumble gave it to me.”

  Tim’s partner hands me a sheaf of papers. “These are trust transfer documents for you to review and sign. Trust transfer deeds, share certificates, a buy-sell agreement, shareholder agreement, and beneficiary designation.”

  Now that I’m thirty, a whole lotta shit kicks in with no strings attached and nothing making me beholden to my family.

  Thank fuck.

  Obviously, I’m damn grateful my paternal grandparents did this, and I’m planning to use the funds to expand the charitable arm of my own company while making MerrittCo more environmentally sustainable. But my mother’s made no bones about her belief that I can’t handle the money and will waste it, and my father thinks I’m taking it away from him, even though he has more cash than several small countries combined. While this could be a joyous occasion, it’s more like signing up for the draft.

  After I sign my name a dozen times, ink my thumbprint in the notary book, and receive a folder full of documents, the lawyers leave.

  I stand, my thumbs hooked in my belt loop, rocking on my heels, staring at my parents.

  “Now that you have your inheritance, Andrew,” says my mother in her steeliest voice, “you better not foul it up with any of your mistakes.” She hisses this last part. Gone is the veneer of social nicety now that it’s just me and her and dear ol’ Dad.

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” I force a smile and long to let it all out. Tell them my plans. Let them know what I’ve been doing lately. How I’ve been successful in business, because I don’t think they believe my company had any chance.

  But it would be a waste of breath.

  They don’t care.

  With a leaden heart, I wave goodbye and zip out of there, not realizing until I’m home that I never told them they’re going to be grandparents.

  29

  Kendall

  Covering the receiver of my office phone, I hurl into the trash can, but as soon as I expel the evil egg sandwich I had for breakfast, my stomach immediately settles. Thankful
ly that one didn’t spurt out my nose too. Those are always so gross.

  Tristan comes bounding into the room as I’m wiping my mouth. I balance the receiver on my shoulder and hold up a finger. He nods, taking the seat in front of my desk while I resume the call.

  “Sorry for the interruption. Like I was saying, it won’t be a problem to get you those mock-ups by Monday.” I smile when my new client tells me how excited she is about the campaign I’m helping her craft.

  When I hang up, Tristan’s laughing at me. “Did you just vomit during that call?”

  “So? She didn’t hear me. I was multitasking.”

  “Where we at now, Wonder Woman?”

  “At this rate, we might have to hire another rep by the end of the month.”

  We’ve gotten so much business from Drew’s T-shirt campaign and Gary’s retraction, Tristan and I have been slammed. LaRoe not only dropped his threats to fire us, he actually paid us.

  Euphoria threatens to take over my face when I think of the video Drew posted, raving about how I came up with the idea for his campaign. Then he shared the new T-shirt he designed for me, which said #SavageAF emblazoned across the front.

  I make a mental note to give my boyfriend some extra-kinky sex for all of those tags on Instagram. If I can stay awake that late.

  I pause to mull it over.

  I’m dating Drew Merritt. Seriously dating.

  Still seems surreal.

  Because he’s actually a great boyfriend. Sends me flowers. Buys me lunch. Always makes sure I come first. Who would’ve thought?

  “Kendall. You listening?”

  “Sorry. What?”

  Tristan points a finger at me. “You’re making that face again.”

  “What face?” Reaching for my bottled water, I start to take a sip.