Romance: Seducing The Quarterback

by Stacie Duncan

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I do need to get away. Or I need an adventure. I need something to take my mind off of non-stop baby stuff.” I looked over at her daughter and smiled, my heart both melting with love and turning green with jealousy. “She’s so beautiful, Ang.”

  Angela turned back to the table and to me. She put her hand on mine. “It’ll happen for you and Brady. I don’t know what the holdup is, but I know that, when you do get pregnant, it’ll be for keeps and it’s going to be amazing. You will be the most radiant mama ever.”

  We paid the bill and walked to the car. Angela buckled Ava into her car seat and Angela drove me home.

  “I’ll see you soon, at dinner next week, right?” Once a month, a group of six of us got together for dinner at one of our houses or occasionally a restaurant. We were three couples, and, now, two of the three of us had babies. Brady and I were the only couple left.

  “You know it,” Angela said. “I can’t wait until I can drink again.”

  “Funny,” I said, smiling so she would know I was keeping it light, “I can’t wait until I can’t.” I got out of the car and closed the door. Angela rolled down the passenger side window and called out after me,

  “It’ll happen before you know it!”

  I walked up my steps and into my house. The garage door was closed, so I didn’t see Brady’s car in the garage, but there he was in the house. It was a surprise because it was mid-afternoon and he should have been at work.

  “Hey, sexy,” he said, greeting me from the kitchen. I set down my purse and took off my jacket, tossing it over the chair. He came over and embraced me, kissing me and patting my ass.

  “Hey, grabby,” I said, smiling and pulling away. “What are you doing home so early?”

  “We had a company-wide meeting and it ended early, so those of us who had worked through lunch got to leave when the meeting ended.” He kissed me again. “I wanted to get home to my favorite woman in the entire world.”

  I was happy to see him, but I was a little crabby too. I was still bothered by some of the lunch conversation with Angela, more by what it stirred up in me, and I’d been looking forward to having a few hours alone before Brady got home. Not that I could tell him that.

  “How was your day?” he asked. “Did you find some things to do?” He had turned back to the counter where he was in the middle of slicing up a large green pepper.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, more harshly than I intended. He meant nothing by it and I knew it, but the idea that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing—raising our baby—and so I needed to find other things to do, well, that wasn’t sitting well with me, especially today.

  “Honey,” he began, putting the knife down and turning to me.

  “No,” I said. “I found some things to do. I ran errands all morning, and then I met Angela for a late lunch where I spent two hours with her and her beautiful new baby.” I heard my voice raising and I worked to control it; I was crabby, but I didn’t necessarily want to pick a fight. But, seriously, I thought, why does he need to ask such stupid questions?

  “I’m sorry, Gabi, you know I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” I said. “I know what you meant.” I shook my head. “I think I just need to go take a bath and read for a while. Clear my head. It’s… it’s really nice that you were able to come home early.” I hugged him and he kissed the top of my head.

  “Don’t worry about dinner; I was planning to make stir fry. I’ll just finish cutting up the veggies and we can put it together when you’re ready.”

  “That sounds perfect.” I walked upstairs and ran a bath for myself, doing my regular ritual of bath salts and bubble bath. I lit two candles, one at each end of the tub and, just as I slipped into the water, I reached my hand for my glass of wine… and I realized I’d forgotten it.

  I sighed. I thought about calling to Brady but I decided I’d be okay until dinner. I opened my book and started to read. Not two minutes later, there was a quiet knock at the door.

  “Honey,” Brady said, slowly opening the door. “I thought you might want this.” He came in with a glass of Sauvignon blanc in his hand and any ounce of my crabby anger at him melted away into a pool of relief and relaxation.

  “You are my hero, for real,” I said. I reached my hand out and took a long sip of the cool liquid. It was sweet on my throat and I savored the tang of the alcohol and fruit on my tongue.

  “That’s all it takes, huh?” he said, smiling down at me.

  “Well, I mean, you did have to leap over at least three tall buildings in a single bound to get it, right? Because otherwise, I’m sorry, I have to reduce your status.”

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am, that information is classified.” He bowed and turned to leave the bathroom. He left but poked his head back through the door. “Your body is absolutely slamming, by the way, I hope you know.” He closed the door quickly before I could try to splash him with water from across the room.

  I sighed and settled into the warm water with my wine, my book forgotten. I thought about what our baby would look like. His eyes, my lips. His height, my slightly curvy build. I didn’t know why, but, in my head, we always had a girl. I had, of course, over a hundred names picked out. That helped in some ways and hurt in others, as did most anything surrounding babies in my life. I stared at the ceiling, tiled in a light blue Spanish pattern that complemented the other tiling in the room. Brady had rebuilt the bathroom after gutting it just a few months after we’d moved in. Most of the rooms in the house had needed work, and, of course, we’d been planning a family, so we had a nursery all picked out.

  Right now, that’s where our offices were. Instead of a crib, there was a desk. Instead of a rocking chair, a mini fridge. And, instead of a dresser with adorable pink and blue decals, there was an ugly gray filing cabinet.

  I sighed and shook my head. I needed to figure out something else to think about. Baby fever is what everyone called it. Maybe some of the doctors were right; if I stopped thinking about getting pregnant, it would happen before I knew it. I traced my index finger over my belly, feeling the soft curves. I looked at my wine and wondered if I should stop drinking it now. If we were going to try again tonight, I didn’t want any alcohol in my system.

  I got out of the bath and dried myself off with one of the green fluffy towels that made getting out of the bath not completely suck, and I dressed in sweatpants and a white tank top. I drained the bath tub and, while it was draining, I poured the rest of the wine down the drain. If we were going to have a baby, we needed to be serious about it.

  I told Brady exactly that at dinner. That we needed to be serious about me getting pregnant. He put his fork down, sighed, and stared at me.

  “Gabi, we are serious about it. We’ve been to every doctor in the city. We’ve tried every holistic, herbal, Zen, whatever method that exists.”

  “Don’t yell at me,” I said, my voice quiet.

  “I’m not yelling at you, honey. I just want to make sure that you know that I’m just as serious as you are about us having a baby. I want to have a baby with you.” He put his hand on mine and squeezed my fingers. I’ll admit it: sometimes I do really blame Brady. I have to. Every one of my friends and so many people I know in general are pregnant or have given birth to a beautiful, perfect baby in the last year. My mother, trying to be helpful, reminds me that I’m “at that age,” where everyone is getting married and getting pregnant.

  “Be grateful you snagged a man as wonderful as Brady on your first time,” she said. My mom had divorced my dad when I was in junior high. She had gotten married four years ago, and says that if she’d waited past “the first man she ever laid eyes on,” she wouldn’t have made the mistake of marrying my father.

  At which point I would always interject that if she hadn’t married my dad she would never have had me, at least not in my current, most perfect form. Then, she would laugh and I would laugh, and we would go on to talking about som
ething else.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly. I looked at him and saw the same pained expression on his face I’m sure was mirroring my own.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. I pulled my hand from under his and picked up my wine glass, which Brady had refilled and which I had not protested. “A toast,” I said. “To you and me, and to whatever the future holds for us.”

  He smiled and clinked glasses with me. We finished dinner and began to clean up the kitchen.

  “Dinner is next week, right? Do you want to invite your mom and over sometime this week for dinner?”

  “Why would we do that?” I asked, making a face. I loved my mom, and Randall, my stepdad, was great, but there was no need to just go randomly invite them over. “They might think that we want them around all the time,” I joked, pretending to shiver.

  “I thought it might help take your mind off of everything,” Brady said.

  I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, have you met my mother? Every other word out of her mouth is baby this or baby that.”

  Brady blushed. “I’m just trying to help, you know.”

  “I know you are, dear,” I said, grabbing the salt and pepper off the table. “But my mother is never the solution to a problem. And, yes, dinner next week with the crew.”

  When we went to bed that night, I couldn’t sleep, as usual. For the last year I had been unable to fall asleep because of the thoughts running crazy marathons in my head. I debated taking an Ambien and decided against it. Instead, I rolled away from Brady and bunched up my pillow so I could see out our window. The sky was full of stars; it was an incredibly clear night. I wished upon every star I could see. I think I fell asleep wishing.

  Chapter Two

  “We’re going to be late,” I said, putting my lipstick on and blotting it lightly with a tissue. I stood back and looked at myself in our full length mirror. I had bought a new dress for dinner tonight, not because it was a special occasion, but just because I’d been feeling so down the last few weeks. The dress was a soft orange rust color and offset my green eyes and copper hair in a really nice way. I loved the color the moment I saw it in the store window and it didn’t take me long to determine that I deserved it because of everything that was happening.

  “I’m basically ready,” Brady said. “What time is the reservation?”

  “Eight.” I looked at my watch. “We’ve got to go.” I grabbed my sweater and the keys. Brady met me in the entry way and held out his hand for the keys.

  “I’ll drive tonight,” he said.

  We got into the car and drove to the restaurant, which was near the center of downtown. We hit some traffic on the way, but we parked the car at 7:55 and I breathed a sigh of relief. Brady came around to my side of the car to open my door for me. I stood and took a huge breath of fresh air as we walked across the parking lot. This restaurant was one of our favorites and we’d been coming to it for ages, ever since all of the couples became couples. We’d had marriage celebrations here, baby announcements here, you name it. It was called Delio’s and it was the best Italian in town.

  As I walked toward the door, I spotted a huge Harley Davidson bike parked in one of the motorcycle spots near the front of the restaurant. I stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Brady asked me.

  “That looks like Austin’s motorcycle.”

  “Your stepbrother?”

  “Yeah,” I said distractedly. I walked over to it, trying to remember his plate number. “Oh well, I guess if he’s in there, we’ll say hi.”

  “When’s the last time you talked to him?” Brady asked. He knew that my stepbrother and I hadn’t grown up together. He was five years younger than I was and had just turned twenty-four. He was a good guy and I wouldn’t have minded growing up with him, but we barely talked even though we got along well.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “No matter when it was, it’s been too long considering we live in the same town and share a set of parents.”

  Brady held the door to the restaurant open for me and I walked in; he followed behind me. As the hostess took us to our table, I kept my eyes peeled for Austin.

  “Here you are,” the hostess said. We were the first from our party to arrive, so we sat next to each other on the wall side of the table so we could face the majority of the restaurant. “Can I start you with something to drink?”

  We ordered a couple of bottles of wine for the table, and, just as we did, Angela and her husband, Mark, arrived. I stood to hug Angela and, as I did, I finally spotted Austin sitting at a small corner table with a woman.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Excuse me for a second; my stepbrother is over there and I want to go say hello.”

  I would recognize Austin anywhere. He looked like he could belong to any biker gang of his choice. Tattoos, strong muscles that came not from lifting weights but from working with his hands and his body day in and day out. His hair was longer than I remembered, though still jet black. Lots of people thought both Austin and his father were Native American when they first noticed them, but they both just happened to be blessed with dark features, smooth, tan skin, and thick, black hair.

  I worked my way through the tables and over to where Austin sat with his date.

  “Hey Austin,” I said, smiling as I approached the table.

  “Sis!” he said, standing up to give me a hug. When I put my arms around him, I noticed that his shoulders had broadened; his core was rock hard. His biceps pressed against the threads of his shirt. I felt my body grow warm as he embraced me, and we pulled away to look at each other. “It’s been forever,” he said. “Pull up a chair! Denise, this is my sister, well, stepsister, Gabrielle.”

  “Gabi,” I interjected.

  “Fine, Gabi, and this is Denise, my girlfriend.”

  I arched my eyebrows in surprise. Though I’d only known Austin for three years, one thing I’d figured out very early on was that Austin didn’t have girlfriends. He had encounters, connections, energetic exchanges, good times, sweet lays, and “friends,” but he was never with a woman long enough for either of them to start getting the idea that there would be labels involved.

  “It’s really nice to meet you, Denise,” I said, holding out my hand. “And I’d love to sit with you, I would, but I’m here with some friends.” I nodded over in the direction of where Brady was sitting.

  “Aw, that’s too bad,” Austin said. “Next time. Hey, did you see my sweet ride outside? Just got her.”

  I nodded and smiled. I noticed as Austin spoke that his eyes flashed with energy; their green tint balanced his red lips, white teeth, and tan skin, making him look like he ought to be more on the cover of GQ rather than sitting in a restaurant with anyone named Denise.

  “I sure did,” I said appreciatively. “You gonna give me a ride on her sometime?”

  “Anytime you want!”

  We talked for a few more minutes and then I excused myself back to my table, promising that I’d call and we could get together for a ride.

  I walked back to the table. The other two couples had arrived, so we ordered appetizers and drank wine. We did this dinner about once a month; it was a way to stay caught up. Of course, it was largely because of the couples with children that we had to set a certain time each month—babysitters—whereas Brady and I were free far more often, but I didn’t care about that tonight. Seeing Austin had put a smile on my face that hadn’t been there all day, and I found it easy to listen to all of the conversations about diapers and late night bedtimes without feeling sad.

  Until, our friends Rachel and Damien paused and asked for everyone’s attention at the table. We had just ordered our entrees and were snacking on the appetizers.

  “You may have noticed that Rachel isn’t drinking the wine tonight,” Damien began. Brady squeezed my hand underneath the table. I felt my stomach drop. That only meant one thing.

  “We’re pregnant!” Rachel squealed, not able to control her excitement long enough for her
husband to do the announcing.

  Everyone at the table began to congratulate Rachel, and of course I did too. Angela shot me a look and I looked away; I was close enough to crying as it was. Brady did not let go of my hand as Rachel and Damien answered all of the questions. Due August 12th, no they didn’t know the sex, yes, all the grandparents were so excited.

  I excused myself to go to the restroom and I spent a few moments collecting myself. As I stood at the vanity, the door opened and Rachel came in.

  “I wanted to check on you,” she said. She put her hand on my arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Rachel,” I said. “I’m super happy for you, I really am, I just…” I stopped. I didn’t want to add a ‘but’ onto my congratulations. I was her friend and I was happy for her. That was it.

  “I know,” she said. “And, for what it’s worth, I told Damien we shouldn’t make the announcement tonight. I know how hard you’ve been trying and the toll it’s taking on you. Are you and Brady doing okay, like, as a couple?”

  I nodded. “We are. I argue with him more than I should,” I said. “But listen, I don’t want to focus on myself tonight; I want to focus on celebrating you and that beautiful family addition you’re having!”

  We talked for a few more minutes and then another group of women came into the restroom so we went back to our table.

  When we returned, dinner had arrived and I was able to focus on my food. Brady shot me a look when I sat down; he looked a little irritated with me, but I didn’t care. The night wore on and the conversations centered around Rachel and Damien’s plans for their new nursery and where they were going to take their next, and last, childless vacation. I tried to look interested.

  In the car on the way home, Brady was quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him. I was, frankly, a little put out that he wasn’t asking that question of me. Or at least acknowledging that yet another pregnancy announcement was weighing on me.

  “You were pretty rude tonight to Rachel and Damien,” he said.