Save the Date

by Carrie Aarons

  I wink at Reese, and he touches me once more. This time, his hands splay on my open thighs, where I sit cross-legged on the bed.

  “You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He rubs his hands up and down my skin, stoking the flames once more.

  “Don’t go getting all soft on me, carrots.” I reach below the sheet that covers his waist, grazing his half-hard cock.

  “Who you calling soft?” He gyrates his hips into my hand, and is hard in another millisecond.

  I think I’m going to be pulling an all-nighter.

  Thirty-Four

  Reese

  “No wonder this baby is thriving, you give her more attention than three nurses combined.”

  Preston walks over to where I sit in the rocking chair by Carina’s bassinet, holding her and talking to her as she watches me. In the past few weeks, she’s gained four pounds, is eating from a bottle, having regular bowel movements (a great, if not disgusting, sign), and has begun to look around when you talk to her. She’s almost ready to go home, and if it means me working two extra shifts a week to get her there, I’ll do it.

  “I always think that human contact really helps them. And I may be a bit biased toward her.” I let her grab onto my finger, her grip strong and reassuring.

  “It’s a proven scientific fact, so yes, I’ll agree.” He nods.

  “How is your shift going?” I give Carina a kiss, something I’m probably not allowed to do but I know this little one, and then set her down in her crib for a nap.

  “Not too bad, I won’t say quiet because we know the jinx that puts on things.” Preston shrugs.

  “You may have just jinxed us just with that sentence.” I give him a pointed look. It’s like saying Macbeth in a theater.

  We walk to the front desk of the NICU, a couple of other nurses nodding at us as we pass. It’s an odd time of day, around eight p.m. Either the parents with babies here have left for the night, or won’t be in until after dinner if they have other kids at home. Sometimes, we’ll have the odd visitor, but this is usually the downtime of this unit.

  I log Carina’s stats, and then the stats of my other baby I’ve been watching this shift. We each have two a shift, who are on relatively different schedules. All of their feedings, poops and sleeps are logged and accounted for, so that the doctors can make the best diagnosis and treatment if something were to happen.

  “So, I went out with Jill again yesterday.” Preston shuffles his feet, trying to casually drop his dating life into conversation.

  But we’re good friends now, having worked together for more than a couple of months, and I know he wouldn’t bring up something personal unless he wanted to talk about it.

  “I’m happy you did, man. How was it? She’s a great girl.”

  He nods. “She’s amazing. Smart and funny, and she knows how to keep the conversation going. If you couldn’t tell, I’m probably not the greatest social dater.”

  I smirk. “Nah, I couldn’t tell.”

  To his credit, Preston gets my sarcasm for once, and even rolls his eyes. I almost fall off my chair. “I really like her, I just … she’s going to tire of me eventually.”

  His face falls, and I clap a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in that manly way that we men do. “Don’t say that, man. I know Jill, and she does not stay with someone if she’s not interested. Trust me, I saw her on that first date, she’s interested.”

  “She won’t be for long. I … I can already sense myself doing the same old thing.” He looks so little like the confident doctor that I’m used to.

  I have a feeling this is going to drudge up some baggage. “What is that?”

  Preston sighs, looking around to make sure that no one is listening to us. The other five nurses on this shift, plus the number of administrative personnel and doctors, are either rounding, doing notes by a bassinet, or in their offices.

  “I haven’t … you know … done it. I haven’t in a really long time.” He looks so embarrassed, his tan skin turning a deep shade of red.

  I squirm, both interested but not sure if I should be the one having this conversation with him. “How long is a really long time?”

  “Remember how I told you about my high school sweetheart?” He picks up a pen from the desk and begins to tap it rhythmically on the Formica counter.

  I nearly choked on my own spit, and I have to physically clap my chest a couple of times to clear my throat. “I’m sorry … you were what, eighteen? You’re telling me you haven’t had sex in ten years?”

  He shushes me. “Keep it down. I don’t need that advertised in here.”

  I blink. “Sorry … I just, I’m not even sure I know how that’s possible. You’re a goddamn monk, man.”

  Preston grimaces. “It’s possible. I’ve gotten very acquainted with myself.”

  “I can imagine. Jesus, man, why?” My mind is boggled.

  I can’t imagine not having sex for a month, less a year. But ten years? I would go insane. They’d have to literally check me into the psych floor.

  Preston looks around again, but no one is paying any attention to us. “Ever since what happened, you know … getting my girlfriend pregnant. Well, she was the first girl I ever slept with. And look how that turned out. My brain, it just won’t let me. I’ve come close a couple of times, and I … just can’t. Something is mentally blocking me. I’ve done studies on it, tried to diagnose myself and treat it. But nothing works. And believe me, I know the thing still works. Just not around pretty women.”

  I blow out a breath. “Jeez, I’m sorry. Maybe you could go see a therapist? Talk it out with someone?”

  He waves me off. “I don’t believe in that feelings crap. Medicine should be able to fix it.”

  I wasn’t going to get into that argument with him. I didn’t see it that way, but he was so straight-laced and set in his opinions that I was tired just thinking about debating with him.

  “Well, man … don’t count yourself out. You never know. Maybe it will take that special girl to fix it all. Jill could be that one.”

  “Maybe … but if I can’t, uh, perform … she’s definitely not going to stick around. Why would anyone?”

  Poor guy. He’d been really screwed up.

  “Just go down on her. She’ll love that. But don’t do the alphabet trick. Never do that.”

  “Why would you ever do that? It doesn’t work. Only the suck and blow method, I’ve found that to be successful.” His face is so earnest when he says it that I have to crack up.

  “Tell me you didn’t research cunnilingus.”

  He grins proudly. “I’ve read four books on it, and I can say that I’ve never had a disappointed customer.”

  I drop my head in my hands, chuckling. “Of course you have.”

  Just two guys, talking about their lack of sex education in the middle of the neonatal intensive care unit.

  Thirty-Five

  Erin

  The day that Morgan and Jeff were finally able to bring Carina home from the hospital, Mom and I set up a little intimate brunch at our family home.

  I’d done so much Pinterest research for this coming home party, and documented almost all of it on my Instagram stories on the blog. I’d told Morgan she was under strict orders not to watch them, or look at my blog posts, until they got here. Sure, I could have waited until after, but when you were handmaking wood letters covered in fake flowers that spelled out your niece’s name, and you were a lifestyle blogger, you have to document that shit.

  “Is this straight?” Reese stood on a chair, wobbling as he hung a canvas banner that read Welcome Home. I’d cut and sewn that myself … this homecoming party had really brought out my inner-Martha Stewart.

  “As an arrow.” I smirked, and he turned his head to look at me.

  Reese stepped off the chair and sauntered over to me, his hips conveying just what we were both thinking about. Thank God my mother was in the other room.

  “Are you in the gutter over here, peas?�
� Those big hands gripped either side of my waist, squeezing gently.

  The sensation was between a tickle and a pinch, and it sent a sizzle of lust to my core. It was no longer weird that we were sleeping together because … well, the sex was just too good. Why had we waited this long to do this, again?

  My heart fluttered a little thinking about lying in bed with him, like we’d been doing night after night. We’d been living at each other’s apartments, a few days at one, and then a few days at the other. I wasn’t sure, before we’d started this back when I was contemplating the pact, how it would work. Relationships had always intimidated me, given me a nauseous feeling, and not the good butterflies kind. But with Reese, it was just an extension of our friendship. We’d melted into dating and exclusivity like it was the next natural progression. I still don’t think I believe that love conquers all or that soul mates will always be destined to find each other, but maybe my view on love is softening. Maybe it exists, if it’s right.

  Why had I spent so much time denying that with Reese, it would be right?

  Not to say that I wasn’t cautiously optimistic. Because I was extremely cautious. He still annoyed me daily, I wanted half an hour of alone time when I got home from work, and there definitely wasn’t enough closet space for my shoes and his to coexist … but we were working on it every day. And his little admission that he’d always had a crush on me, that he’d wanted to do this for a long time, it reassured something in me. That he didn’t just fall on this idea because of this pact, or because he had been sick of Renée. Reese had always wanted me, but I’d been too intimidating to pursue it.

  “And if I am?” I winked up at him.

  “Maybe I need to lie down with you in that gutter. Quick, they’ve got a spare bedroom somewhere around here, don’t they?”

  I grind my ass into the front of his plaid shorts, and he inhales a sharp breath. “Oh, yeah, that’d be appropriate. Welcome home, we’re just banging it out for a second. Be right there!”

  I pull away from him, and he tries to chase me, a giggle working its way up through my throat.

  “Hello!” Morgan’s voice sounds from the front door, and we hear footsteps.

  I point my finger at Reese, threatening him silently not to start any funny business with me because they were home. He takes one step forward, biting his lip and making his dimple pop. He was the devil.

  They walk into the kitchen, Morg looking like a beam of starlight she’s so happy, with Jeff trailing behind her, carrying the baby in her car seat.

  “Welcome home!” I cry, going to hug my sister. And then pushing her aside so I can see the baby. “Oh my gosh, look how cute you are in your little Janie and Jack outfit!”

  I’d found this adorable blue and white dress that made her look like a little Parisian girl. I’d told Morgan that she better put it on her to bring her home or I’d boycott.

  I wouldn’t really have, but I haven’t been able to do a photo shoot with my niece because she was in the NICU and I’ve been dying to. Today was my opportunity to post a hundred Instagram pictures of her.

  “Can I hold her?” I smile at Jeff.

  “Of course.” He nods, starting to unstrap her.

  My brother-in-law is a more reserved kind of man, although we’ve always gotten along. He’s given me some great advice about how to redesign my website, or make it more user-friendly with blog posts, sale alerts and even linked my social media to it when I could not figure it out. And we bond over our mutual love of Morgan, so he’s always been all right in my book.

  As he puts her in my arms, she rubs her little eyes, opening them for two minutes and then nodding back off to sleep. She is so perfect, and I can’t express how happy I am that she’s finally home and out of the hospital. I can’t even imagine how my sister feels. She’s a fucking warrior. All moms are, and even though I’m not one, having a niece gives me a bigger appreciation for everything they do.

  “So, we wanted to ask you two something …” Morgan looks at Carina while I hold her, my niece covered in blue and eyelet from head to toe.

  Her fashion sense has already made her auntie proud. Reese and I blink at them, waiting for the question.

  Morgan and Jeff look at each other, and then at us. “We wanted to know if you would be Carina’s godparents?”

  My heart warms, but not for me. I knew I’d be her godmother, hell, I’d have been pissed if I wasn’t. But the fact that they’re asking Reese … they’re really including him as part of the family. Not that he isn’t, he was a member of it far before Jeff. But it just solidifies that even if we aren’t together, he is an integral part of Carina’s life.

  “Of course,” I say at the same time Reese says, “Seriously?”

  I look at him, his expression dumbfounded. “You guys want me to be her godfather?”

  I swear, he’s about to cry.

  “You took such good care of her in the NICU, and you’re already part of the family, Reese’s Pieces. So yes, of course we want you to be her godfather.”

  Reese lays a hand on Carina’s forehead. “I promise I’ll always support and protect her.”

  Jeff walks over and shakes his hand, a look of manly oath passing between them.

  “Great, you’re making him more of a sentimental nerd than he already was. Thanks for that. What’re you, Iron Man?” I rolled my eyes at them.

  Reese’s eyes light up. “I’m more of a Steve Rogers, not a Tony Stark. But I’m proud of you for your Avengers knowledge, peas.”

  I grumble, “That’s because you made me watch them all back-to-back in the last month.”

  Morg laughs. “You guys are so cute.”

  I pretend to make a gagging noise, and then look at my niece. “Carina, never fall in love. It makes you weak. Except when it comes to you. I’ll love you until the end of time. Until the Met Gala and skinny jeans cease to exist.”

  “Yeah, because those are the important things in life.” Reese chuckled.

  Thirty-Six

  Reese

  When we’re young, we think birthdays are the be all end all.

  And I guess, for me, this birthday is the be all end all.

  Since the day we made the pact, I’ve thought about my thirtieth birthday every year I blew out candles on my birthday cake. For my eighteenth, when Erin and I were about to venture off to separate colleges. My twenty-first, in a tequila-induced haze, watching Erin sway on the dance floor. While I was away from her on my twenty-eighth, sitting across from Renée.

  I thought about what this birthday would bring. Whether we would already be married, to each other or to other people. Would she be gone forever? Or sitting by my side?

  And here she was, doing the latter. In a pink willowy dress, outside at the local brunch place in our hometown. We sat across from our respective mother, having promised to take them out for breakfast to celebrate our own birthdays.

  But really, this was just a front. Because today was the day. My thirtieth birthday. The day I’d been thinking about and wishing for when I blew out candles for so many years. This little breakfast was all a front to get Erin right where I wanted her. In our hometown, in front of our moms.

  This was where I wanted to propose. In one of the places that we’d spent so many moments in our childhood. Sunday brunches were a thing of the past at this tiny cafe off of Main Street, but if I had my way, I’d bring them back. I wanted her to be surprised, but not embarrassed. Erin wasn’t the hot air balloon proposal type of girl. Really, she wasn’t a proposal girl at all. Even though she loved a well-placed, girly Instagram photo.

  I watch as she chats with our mothers, showing them her latest blog post on the flower arrangement class she’d done and documented. She’d smelled like fresh blooms for a week, and I’d loved it.

  The crinkling package in my pocket felt like a weight, and I couldn’t wait to slide it onto her finger.

  I’d tricked her, not bringing anything up on her own birthday that we’d celebrated two weeks ago. We’d g
one to Atlantic City, the Borgata if you’re getting technical. I’d gone all out, getting us a room, booking reservations at this swanky Asian restaurant, sitting at the blackjack table for half the night and then going out dancing with her. I didn’t make mention of the pact the entire weekend, and I wasn’t sure if she noticed or she just didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to address it either.

  We’d come home, and for two weeks, I’d acted normal. Coming home from work to her. Going out to the occasional dinner. Fucking like bunnies trying to win a race.

  But in the back of my mind, I was planning. And plotting.

  “Reese?” All three sets of eyes look at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry?” I can feel the sweat trickling down the back of my neck.

  Erin squeezes my hand under the table. “Do you know what you’re going to get for breakfast?”

  I’m not even remotely hungry, the sudden burst of nervous energy hitting me like a tidal wave. My stomach rocks like I’m seasick on a Disney Cruise, and I grip Erin’s hand a little too hard.

  But something in me pulls me out, forcing me to recover. “What I always get, the western omelet.”

  My mom rolls her eyes. “That thing is massive … I always wondered how you stayed so slim, my boy.”

  “Good genes.” I wink at her.

  Both moms melt and say, “awwww.”

  We put our orders in, and the conversation turns to the latest network television drama they’re all watching. I tune them out, waiting for the exact moment I want to do this.

  My opportunity opens after our server brings over the second round of mimosas. Well, mimosas for them, black coffee for me.

  I feel like I’m about to pass out as I back up discreetly, each squeak of a chair leg on the linoleum sounding like a gunshot to my ears. I begin to pull the package from my pocket. It was now or never. Erin probably wasn’t ready, but I’d been dragging her along with me in this pact and relationship for this long, so I’d have to push her into one more thing.