Speaking of which . . .
I dig my cell phone from my handbag. As Nico smoothly turns the conversation to another topic, I send a text to my dick du jour, Marcus.
My friend went into labor today. I’m at the hospital. Have to cancel dinner tonight.
Because he’s a talent agent to some big movie industry names and has to be available 24-7, his phone is always attached to his hip. So even though it’s Sunday, it’s no surprise when I immediately see three little dots appear on the screen, indicating he’s composing his answer.
I’ve never had sex in a hospital . . . ?
There are some women who’d be insulted by that response, especially since today is Valentine’s Day and it’s supposed to be all about the hearts and flowers, yada, yada, yada, but his interest in casual sex as opposed to committed relationships is one of the top two things I most enjoy about Marcus.
I’ll give you a hint what number one is. It has four letters, starts with C and ends with K, and is longer than eight inches.
I type: I have. It’s not as exciting as you might think.
Unlike the man himself, his answer comes fast. Quickie in the parking lot?
I consider it, but decide to pass. I suppose I can forgo cock for a few hours for my best friend. This time.
Can’t. I’ll catch up with you later. Send me a dick pic to tide me over.
I have to wait a little longer for his answer, but my patience is rewarded by a gorgeous, close-up shot of Marcus’s erection, jutting proudly from his unzipped trousers. I’m sure he’s sitting behind the desk in his home office at this exact moment, reviewing some boring contract, but getting a boner is like his superpower. The slightest sexual innuendo will make the man’s dick jump to life as if it’s spring-loaded.
My thumbs fly over the keyboard of my iPhone. Stroke it. I want video.
The conversation continues around me but now I’m completely focused on the cell in my hand. I swear these things are mankind’s greatest invention.
After about thirty seconds a video loads, opens, and starts to play.
Loudly.
As he strokes himself, Marcus’s deep baritone blares from the phone. “You want my hard cock, baby, you got it—”
I yelp and try to get the video to stop. In my fumbling rush I hit the lock button instead. The screen goes dark, but Marcus’s voice plays on.
“—right fucking here for you any time you want it—”
Kenji, whose timing is always impeccable, returns with his drink in hand just in time to hear Marcus say, “—you bad sexy girl, you make me so fucking hard, I want your sweet wet pussy on my face—”
“Jesus Christ!” I shout at the phone, frantically hitting the volume button on the side. I finally get it silenced, and blow out a relieved breath.
When I look up, everyone is staring at me.
Ethan, Chris, and Barney all have mouthfuls of food but have stopped chewing.
Kat’s eyes are wide and unblinking.
Nico looks as if he might burst into laughter.
Kenji has a hand to his throat and has gone pale.
Brody’s dark brows are lifted high on his forehead, but it’s not from shock. It’s from amusement, evidenced by the way his voice shakes with repressed laughter when he says, “I have so many questions.”
My composure regained, I simply smile at them all and wave a hand as if I’m passing by in a royal carriage procession. “Oh, that’s just a work thing. Research.”
I stuff the phone back into my handbag and keep my serene smile on my face, even when Barney says in a husky tone, “If that’s from your work, I need to change jobs.”
I meet his penetrating gaze and wink. “I can always use another hand around the office.”
Kat snorts. “‘Use’ being the operative word.”
“My God, lovey,” says Kenji, fluttering his lashes. “Who was that? And can I get an introduction?”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Marcus—all six foot four, two hundred thirty pounds of him—would break Kenji in half.
The appearance of Thomas interrupts any further questioning. He bursts into the room shouting, “Chloe’s dilated to seven centimeters!”
With her brows pulled together, Kat exclaims, “Already? That’s so fast!”
Concerned by the look on Kat’s face, I ask, “Is that bad? What does it mean?”
Thomas chuckles. “It means she’s swearing like a sailor and giving her mother fits.”
Kat flashes me a look but doesn’t say anything else. My concern deepens.
Thomas adds, “They took her into the delivery room with her mother and A.J. The doctor seems to think it won’t be more than an hour or so before the baby’s out.”
“An hour,” Kat repeats slowly.
While all the guys murmur their approval at how efficient Chloe seems to be at hatching new members of the human race, I watch Kat. She’s gone pale and has started chewing on her lower lip, sure signs of distress.
I pity Nico. I know his wife’s mama bear instinct is going to make her freak out with worry until she can see for herself that Chloe and the baby are both fine.
I slip my feet back into my heels and am about to go over and comfort her, but Brody beats me to it. He moves closer to Kat, bends his head down near hers, and says softly, “My sister’s first kid came really fast, too. It’s not that unusual.”
Kat looks up at him. Her big, almond-shaped eyes fill with hope. “Really?”
Brody nods, smiling down at her reassuringly. “Chloe’s gonna do great. She’s strong and healthy. Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise.”
He sounds so confident that Kat actually lets out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Brody.”
He nods, shares a smile with Nico, and then, whistling, casually strolls away toward a vending machine on the other side of the room, as if he didn’t just prevent a nuclear meltdown.
As the rest of the group chats with Thomas, I follow Brody over to the vending machine. He’s staring at the collection of candy and chips behind the glass like it’s a maddening puzzle.
When I walk up beside him, he asks, “Salty or sweet?”
Without hesitation I pronounce, “Salty.”
He grins, nods in satisfaction as if I’ve passed a test, inserts a bill into the machine, and presses a key for his selection. A bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips falls from its shelf. Brody retrieves it from the tray and turns to look at me, his cocky grin still firmly in place.
I say, “Thank you.”
He knows exactly what I mean. His shrug is dismissive. He tears open the package of chips, pops one into his mouth, and starts to munch.
I briefly admire the sun-kissed glow on his cheekbones, the copper and gold highlights in his finger-combed brown hair, and the way the muscles in his square jaw flex with every chew, before mentally slapping myself and getting back to what I was saying.
“No, really. Thank you. If Nico or I tried to reassure her it probably would’ve made her worry even more.”
Brody swallows. He licks a fine dusting of salt off his lips. His full, sculpted lips, which now glisten with moisture, might as well be calling out “Kiiisss meee” in a sultry voice.
Stupid lips.
Looking straight into my eyes, Brody says in that low, sexy voice of his, “I didn’t do it for her.”
I think, Holy sparkling unicorns. The way my hoo-ha is tingling, I might as well be watching Ryan Gosling prance naked through a Tiffany store in Paris. I need to never, ever speak to this man again.
Then the clinically trained part of my brain muses, Could this be what it feels like to lose your mind?
My pulse accelerates, my palms start to sweat, and my stomach flutters like a flag in a stiff breeze, but I keep my expression neutral.
I’m excellent at that kind of thing, having practiced it every time I’ve been near him in the past eighteen months.
“Oh. Well, either way. It was a nice thing to do.”
“Nice
like when I kissed you in the bathroom at Nico’s?”
My pulse zooms into Formula One racing mode. Naked Ryan Gosling dives into a pile of emeralds and rubies and comes up spouting gold coins.
Steady, Grace. STEADY.
“When you tried to kiss me,” I correct.
Brody’s gaze drops to my mouth. “I don’t know, when two people’s lips meet, I think that’s technically a kiss.” When he looks back up into my eyes, his own are burning.
This is how it’s been since the first time our eyes met. That click, like something snapping into place, the aha! when you remember something you’d forgotten. Kat took Chloe and me to see Bad Habit play a gig at the House of Blues and there he was, up on stage, slinging his guitar around his hips like he was fucking it. He looked over at me standing in the shadows offstage and grinned at me, and I just about had a heart attack.
He was the sexiest man I’d ever seen. Every cell in my body screamed “I want!”
I’ve been avoiding him like the plague ever since.
“It’s not a kiss if there’s no tongue. Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with me.” I was going for playful but there’s a distinct edge to my voice, almost like a challenge.
Wonderful. Even my voice has a lady boner for this guy.
Brody moves closer so I can smell the soap he uses, the wind-clean fragrance of his skin. He leans in and whispers into my ear, “I know exactly what to do with you, Grace. And you know I do. So when you’re done with your latest disposable boy toy and find the guts to give me a chance, you know where to find me.”
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me flushed and flustered, heart racing, hands trembling, full of exquisite longing for something I know I can never have.
Fate doesn’t play favorites with girls like me.
Exactly one hour later, just as Thomas is about to try to get an update on Chloe’s progress, A.J. and Chloe’s mother appear around the corner of the waiting room wall. She has her arm linked through his and is carefully leading him, murmuring directions in a low, somber voice.
A.J.’s cheeks are wet with tears.
My stomach drops. Everyone falls silent. Sitting next to me, Kenji grips my arm with a little gasp of horror. From one breath to the next, the mood in the room goes from happy to terrified.
If A.J. Edwards—biggest, baddest badass of them all—is crying, it can only mean one thing.
Disaster.
From the chair on my other side, Kat leaps to her feet. She cries, “A.J.?”
He exhales a long, shuddering breath. His mouth works, but no sound comes out.
Elizabeth pats his hand. She says quietly, “It’s all right, dear. Tell them.”
Everyone stands. No one makes a sound except for Thomas, who jerks forward a few feet and sputters, “What is it? What’s happened?”
A.J. makes an awful choking noise. He drags the back of one hand across his eyes. Then he sucks in a deep breath and shouts at the top of his lungs, “IT’S A GIRL!”
A beat of silence.
Then we all start screaming and rush him, everyone talking at once.
I throw my arms around the huge bulk of A.J.’s shoulders. I hear the guys’ gruff congratulations, Kat’s happy wail, Thomas’s curses of relief. Kenji’s scream sounds like an air raid siren. We’re a big ball of laughter and tears, arms entangled around one another, hugging, euphoric, jumping and jostling, making a scene, but not one of us cares.
Chloe and A.J. have a little girl.
For the first time I can ever remember, I start to cry.
“Congratulations, big guy,” I whisper, my wet face resting against A.J.’s shoulder. “You’re a daddy.”
Blubbering like a baby, A.J. drops his forehead to mine. He’s crying so hard his whole body shakes. “I’m a d-daddy,” he repeats hoarsely, and then bursts into another round of sobbing.
I start to laugh through my tears. Happiness expands inside my chest, so hot and big it feels as if it might break me wide open.
Elizabeth says, “I hope we didn’t scare you too much! A.J. wanted to be the one to tell you all, so I had to give him a moment to compose himself.” She beams up at him, her eyes shining with pride. “He was a rock for Chloe in the delivery room, but as soon as the doctor put the baby into his arms . . . well. You can see.”
A.J. sobs again.
I’ve never seen anything more adorable.
“How’s Chloe?” I ask.
“Perfect,” answers Elizabeth. “Her doctor said he’s never seen such a fast, easy first delivery. She only pushed for seventeen minutes! And Abigail’s already nursing. Things couldn’t have gone better.”
Gulping and hiccupping, A.J. nods emphatically.
“Abigail Aleksandra Elizabeth Edwards,” whispers Kat, her voice shaky.
It’s the name Chloe and A.J. had picked out if they had a girl, honoring their mothers with the two middle names. I meet Kat’s watering eyes, and reach out for her. We clasp hands and squeeze hard, smiling at each other.
“When can we see the little muggle?” sniffles Kenji.
His face is blotchy. His cheeks are streaked with mascara. One of his false eyelashes is hanging askew. If he had any idea what he looked like, he’d faint.
“Chloe can have visitors as soon as she’s ready. She’s going back to the maternity suite in a few minutes. I know she wants to see you all right away.” Elizabeth turns her gaze to me. “She really wishes you girls were with her during the delivery, but the hospital policy is two people maximum in the delivery room.”
“We know.” I swipe beneath my eyes with my fingers. Then from over my shoulder, a tissue appears.
I turn. Brody winks at me and wordlessly waves the tissue.
“Thanks.” I take it, wipe my face, try not to like him even more for being so sweet and thoughtful, fail utterly, and then decide I need another drink because this day is far too emotional for me to handle sober.
“Thomas,” I say, turning to him. “Do you have any champagne in that minibar?”
“Do I have any champagne?” he scoffs, squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin. “You might as well ask if the pope has any funny hats!” He raises his arm in the air like a general giving marching orders to his troops. “To the maternity suite!” he cries.
“To the maternity suite!” everyone shouts back in unison.
Like a crazed horde of barbarians, we throng down the hospital hallway, hooting and hollering, scaring the shit out of several unsuspecting nurses and doctors on the way.
Blinking up at me in hazy, slack-mouthed confusion like someone awakening after a long night of hard drinking, the creature snuggled in a pink blankie in my arms is so astonishingly beautiful I can only stare at it in silent awe.
Her, I correct myself. I stare at her, little Abigail, feeling as if everything I thought I knew about life is complete and total bullshit.
Today is a day of two huge firsts for me: I cried, and I fell in love.
With a baby, of all things.
Next thing you know I’ll be wearing sweatpants in public and taking in stray cats.
“She’s so perfect,” I whisper, marveling at the teeny fingers gripped around my thumb. She has her father’s startling eyes—clear golden amber, the color of fine whiskey—but everything else about her is pure Chloe, from her rosebud lips to her long, elegant limbs, to the wispy blonde curls on the top of her head, fine as chick fluff.
Well, she did get one other thing from her father.
She’s huge.
“This kid’s gonna be an athlete,” muses Barney, looking at Abby over my shoulder. “Swimmer, maybe. Or volleyball player.”
“Or basketball star,” pipes in Nico. “How long did you say she was?”
He looks at Chloe. She’s propped up on a pile of pillows in the hospital bed, smiling dreamily, glowing and gorgeous like no person who’s just shoved nine pounds and five ounces of infant through her birth canal has any right to be.
She says, “Like half
a mile, I think.”
A.J., sitting in the chair next to Chloe’s bed and finally composed, chuckles. “Sixty-one centimeters.”
Nico does the math faster than the rest of us. “Jesus. That’s two feet of baby, brother!”
Equal parts horrified and impressed, we all stare at Chloe.
She says, “You’re gonna feel even worse for me when I tell you that I was too dilated to get an epidural. I had her with no drugs.”
Fanning himself and softly moaning, Kenji sinks into a chair on the opposite side of the room.
Kat glares at A.J. He can’t see it, but it doesn’t stop her. She barks, “I have one word for you Mr. Edwards! Diamonds!”
Smiling, A.J. lifts Chloe’s hand to his lips and gently kisses it. “Already on it, Auntie Kat.”
Hearing him say the words “Auntie Kat” makes her lower lip quiver. Mollified, she says, “All right, then.” Her voice breaks over the last word.
Grinning, Nico pulls her into his arms and murmurs something into her ear that sounds like “big softie.”
“Can I hold her?”
We’ve all taken turns holding the baby except Brody, who now stands in front of me with his arms out, wiggling his fingers in a “gimme” gesture. I carefully place Abby into his arms, and then step back and watch him as he starts to coo down at her, rocking her gently and making funny faces.
He appears to be very comfortable holding a baby. I wonder how close he is with his sister and her kids.
Then I wonder what the hell is happening in my uterus, because I could swear that watching him cuddle that child just made my ovaries twinge.
I abruptly turn away. “Thomas—more champagne, please!”
“Coming up!”
When he hands me a full glass of bubbly, I ignore the way Kat is looking sideways at me with narrowed eyes.
That woman should be spying for the CIA!
“Welp, I think we’ll get going and let you get some rest,” says Chris, speaking for himself and Ethan, who seem to operate as one unit, always arriving and departing together. They approach Chloe’s bed and say their good-byes—each of them bending to give her a kiss on the cheek, then bumping fists with A.J.—and then trade hugs with Nico, Kat, and Barney. They then shake hands with Thomas and Elizabeth, who are both high as kites with pride and look as if they might go out dancing after this.
Sin With Me (Bad Habit) Page 3