Three Little Words (#dirtysexygeeks Book 4)

by Melissa Blue

  Since the first time she saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test, she relaxed. “I know just the place.”

  “What kind of place?”

  “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

  His gaze dropped from hers to her hips. “Sounds good to me.”

  Iris stood there for another three seconds, waiting for the heat of that quick stare to die down. Wanting Porter despite common sense is why they were in this fucked up situation.

  She reminded herself of that the whole ride to the diner, and it didn’t help one bit.

  Liv + Fitz

  She took Porter to a Mom-and-Pop diner that didn’t take itself too seriously. Since the diner smelled like good eating, he had no complaints.

  Dark wooden tables littered the small space. The booths were in the back, and that’s where she led him. Everyone greeted her by name and gave him the I'm-watching-you stink-eye. She probably didn’t bring men to the diner often, if ever. It said a lot she invited him to this sanctuary.

  He waited for her to sit before he followed suit. “How often do you come here?”

  “More than I should, but a college friend runs the place. I met Joseph my senior year and kept in touch.”

  Joseph? “I’m jealous.” He crossed his arms, a nervous tick he couldn’t shake. “I don’t have any college friends who own diners.”

  “You should have gotten out more. Then again, you had the Goon Squad. I’m sure they’re handy in their own nerdy ways.”

  “You keep calling us that.”

  “When did I call you a nerd?”

  Amused, he stretched his legs under the table. “When I had a Rubik’s cube in my pocket.”

  She spread her hands like his answer validated her argument. “I’ve heard about the guys from Ashley over the years. There’s a comic book guy, an IT guy, a literal genius and his brother the professor. You’re an engineer. Nerds. I’ve worked with them most of my adult life, I can pick them out of a lineup blindfolded.”

  Since Iris was mostly right, he didn’t argue the point. “Where'd you go to college?”

  Her smile whipped out. “Conceding the point?”

  He shrugged. “I’m making a list of things I know about Iris Bellamy.”

  “After getting accepted to most of the universities here in California, I went to Florida State in Tallahassee.”

  “Yet,” he said, trying to read to between the lines, “you ended up back here. So did your friend Joseph.”

  She tilted her head. “A weird fluke. Or fate. I actually met a lot of people from California in Florida. We all went from one extreme to another and still couldn’t run away.”

  Run away. Porter wasn’t touching her word choice. He’d invited her out to lunch to get to know her a little better, not exchange every hurt in their past. If Ashley was friends with her, Porter could assume Iris was good people.

  He said, “I’m now imagining you as a surfer.”

  “Never did learn that, but I was a boss at snorkeling and water skiing.” She looked around the diner and waved to one of the servers. “Where did you go to college?”

  “After getting accepted into MIT and Berkeley—both schools filled with nerds—I went to the local Cal State.”

  She laughed. “They were too geek even for you?”

  No. They’d both been his dream schools. “Something like that.”

  He quickly flipped through the menu and it wasn't half bad for the relaxed atmosphere. He placed it at the edge of the table for the waitress to pick up whenever she came their way.

  Iris asked, “You're not going to eat?”

  “I’m getting a burger and fries.”

  “That simple?”

  “You can judge a place by how good their burgers and fries are. What are you getting?”

  “They have a mean chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and biscuits you would cut your mother over if she even tried to take one.”

  He shook his head, amused at her. Porter did take note this was the first real time she’d mentioned her family. “What did your family say when you told them?”

  She glanced down at the menu. “I haven’t.”

  He tried to process that and couldn’t. “You’re almost four months pregnant.”

  “My mother passed away when I was a little girl. Car accident. My father is … my father. My sister can’t keep a secret if she tried. It’s complicated, Porter.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that about your mom.” He thought about the rest of what she said for a second longer, and he had nothing to utter in reply.

  He had a shitload of questions though, but what did he have the right to know? “Are you planning to tell them?”

  “Yes.” She placed her menu on top of his and made eye contact with the server again. “To be honest, ‘baby' still feels like this far off idea.”

  “Huh.” It felt real as shit to him. Though, that could be due to watching Grady and Eva over the past few months. He knew pregnancy wasn't a concept. It ended with real and life-changing results. His shirt from a few days ago still smelled like sweet baby sweat, breast milk, and talcum powder.

  She flushed. “I shouldn't have said that.”

  “Why not?”

  She clamped her lips together, and it didn't take him long to think of at least one reason.

  He said, “I'm not going to think you're a bad mother unless you actually are one. And I can't know that just yet.” He thought about that then added, “Unless you're snorting cocaine and I’m unaware.”

  “How comforting,” she said then laughed. “For the record, I'm not. I didn’t even try pot in college when I had ample opportunity.”

  “Then you're golden.”

  Silence fell over the table and thankfully the waiter finally rolled by. The two women caught up for about five minutes before taking his order. Apparently Iris only ever ate one thing at the place.

  When the waitress left, Iris winced. “I really don't know what to ask you. You can't know a person from a series of questions. It's what they do, how they react, and what they say.”

  He agreed. “Victor told me to be your friend.”

  “He did?” she sounded shocked.

  “Yes, I know. He speaks.”

  “To you, to Ashley. I've tried to hold a conversation with him a time or two. He’s not a fan of words.”

  That sounded about right. “Give him time. We were in the same class, sat next to each other and he ignored me for six months. Then one day he struck up a conversation.”

  “And the rest is history?”

  “You could say that.”

  “So you're good with him again?”

  Fucking, Ashley. Did she keep anything to herself? “We're fine.”

  Iris put up her hands. “It was a nosy question. Sorry.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Friends. He had to try and make an effort here. She shot down the list, nicely, but he knew that I'm-trying-for-your-sake tone. “We're okay, and right now he's swimming in my karmic retribution.”

  Her brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  He rubbed his suddenly damp palms on his jeans. “I had this rule about family and friends not getting into relationships. I not only break it, I get my sister’s friend pregnant. So my soapbox kind of got kicked over and then set on fire.”

  Something dark flicked in her gaze. “I didn’t think of it like that.” She took her hands off the table and pulled back. “Is that why you went out of your way to flirt with me? To piss off Ashley?”

  His heart climbed up his throat. “No.”

  It didn’t sound like a lie but he’d answered too fast. Her gaze narrowed. “Being angry with them had absolutely nothing to do with you flirting with me? Even a little bit? How Ashley would react never crossed your mind? Not once?”

  He braced his arms on the table. “I didn't fuck you for revenge.”

  “But you didn’t say the important thing.”

  “I did think about how Ashley would react. I knew she’d laugh h
er ass off.”

  “So there’s a certain set of rules for you and another for Ashley? And aren’t you still kind of pissed about Ashley and Victor?”

  When the fuck did he lose control of the conversation? “Victor and Ashley...it’s different.”

  Iris sat back in the booth. “I can see you believe that.”

  “If shit went south with them, nothing would have been the same. Our lives are too entangled.”

  She tilted her head. “Here’s how I see it. Things were fine as long as Victor was a problem for any other woman he slept with, but not your sister. He could also dog those other women, and you’d remain his friend without a single blow up or ultimatum.”

  “That’s not—”

  “And what did you say to your sister? That she was the Whore of Babylon, and Victor was just another one of her chumps?”

  “I never said that.”

  “But is it what you meant?”

  Worse. He’d said shit meant to hurt her. She’d been scared she was too much like their father. It was something they both feared, and he’d used it. “I was pissed, and I said things I didn’t mean. She slapped me for it and I deserved worse.”

  “Yeah. Sure. You believed that so much you said fuck it and sought me out at the reception.”

  Her voice left him cold down to the bone. He glanced away from her to the kitchen area. “Look, Iris—”

  “Excuse me,” she murmured and got up, headed toward the bathroom.

  He’d told Ashley she was thoughtless and selfish just to hurt her. He brought his gaze up to the ceiling. So what did that make him? Callous? Fucking scum? Doomed to repeat the cycle of being a shit father?

  He pushed from the table and followed her path. He cracked open the bathroom door. The sounds of crying echoed in the small space. Had it been a sniffle, or I’m-kind-of-sad crying, he would have walked in. He would have done his best to comfort her.

  But big, deep sobs filled the space. He was on a first-name basis with that kind of grief. The kind where you know you’ve lost your father, would never see him again, yet he’s still alive. The kind where the dreams of your perfect family dies. The kind where you feel small and helpless, even when you’ve tried to do everything right.

  Porter bowed his head, feeling lower than low because he was the reason for that grief, and went back to the table. The waiter stood at the booth, looking confused as she placed their food on the table. She smiled when she saw him. That made him feel more like shit.

  He slid into his side. “Can you make the plates to go?”

  She look toward the bathroom then picked up their plates. “Sure thing. I'll bring the check, too.”

  He paid for the food and still Iris hadn't come out of the bathroom. Porter very much doubted she wanted to see his face at the moment. Or ever. They were stuck with each other, forever. From her view, Porter was a piece of shit. From where he was sitting, he could only agree.

  After the waiter brought two bags for them to take home with him, Porter borrowed a pen from the waitress and left the note:

  Text me your next appointment since I doubt you want to be my friend.

  He waited five more minutes and then told the waitress to check on Iris.

  Then he left.

  Romeo + Juliet

  Later that day, Iris was mobbed by a group of girls inside her father’s home. They were all under the age of ten, and they still loved her like she was some kind of perfect goddess who could do no wrong. They were so good for her ego.

  Jessie stood inside the doorway and shook her head. “That’s what you get for not visiting them at least once a month. I’m not even going to help you extricate yourself.”

  Iris’s heart melted at the happy squeals as her nieces pawed at her. She took her time kissing each one on their forehead. “Laura, Becka, Kayla, and Frances, let me hug your mom.”

  That was met with a chorus of whines. She shuffled over to Jessie to pull her into a hug. The house smelled of spaghetti, her favorite, and garlic bread. It smelled like home. Iris’s stomach churned. She held her sister longer and whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

  Her sister stiffened, but didn’t let out a single noise. She pulled back a moment to let her gaze drop down to Iris’s stomach.

  “Girls, go wash up for dinner.” Jessie swallowed. “Are you going to tell him?”

  The ‘him’ didn’t need to be stated. “It won’t be much of a secret for long.”

  “Shit.” Jessie squeezed Iris’s shoulders. “Wait until the end of dinner.”

  Jessie was the oldest and had weathered almost every storm first with their father. The only difference being when she’d sprung the news of a pregnancy—four times—she’d been married. Their father had rejoiced. No one mentioned how much he didn’t approve of Adam. How often he pointed out Adam’s flaws. How much grief he gave Jessie for Adam refusing to come to family dinner nights.

  Her sister asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to be mad at you for ten minutes for not telling me right away.” She dropped her hands and squeezed Iris’s middle. “Unless you’ve been eating your weight daily you’re more than a month or two.”

  “You can’t keep a secret.”

  Jessie laughed. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

  Her sister looked so much like their mom in that moment. From her low-hooded eyes, to the high cheekbones and lopsided smile. The long braids she currently wore were wrapped into a neat bun. Yoga pants had become pants around the third pregnancy, yet her sister wore the leftover weight in her boobs and hips.

  “I think I’m ready,” Iris said.

  “Ha!”

  “Shut up.” Iris broke from her sister’s embrace, plastered a smile on her face and entered the kitchen.

  Their father, James Bellamy Jr., stood at the stove. The radio played low, some song from an oldies station that still played songs Iris considered oldies. The scent of garlic, basil and thyme filled the room. Spaghetti was her favorite because it was the only thing her father cooked well. After her mother had passed away he’d done his best to do the things her mother had. He sucked at them, yet he’d never remarried.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Evening, Iris.” He wiped his hands on the oven towel and turned to her. He stilled, his gaze going to her stomach. “You gained some weight.”

  Ah. What every girl wanted to hear from their father. “Uh, yeah. Need some help?”

  “Everything but the bread is ready. Have a seat.”

  One by one her nieces trickled into the kitchen. They were subdued as they took a seat at the table made just for them. It was plastic with bright cheery colors. Jessie followed them and sat down beside her. She gave Iris a smile that scrunched up her nose.

  “Dad,” Jessie said, “want me to feed the girls?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll feed them.” He glanced at Jessie, one brow raised as though waiting for an argument. When one didn’t come, he glanced at Iris. “How is work?”

  “The usual, but in a month or two I’m going to help get the Silicon office off the ground.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be busy.” Her father used oven mitts to heft the pot of food to sit in the middle of the table. He motioned for Kayla, the oldest to stand first. He piled her bowl with food, and Frances came next. He did that twice more and then settled in at the table, a warm smile on his face.

  He had the salt-and-pepper distinguished look going for him. As a man in his late fifties James Bellamy looked the part of old school nerd. No matter the shirt, he seemed to pair it with khakis and tennis shoes. His shirt tucked in. He was handsome. He was her dad. Her shoulders tensed waiting for what he’d say or do next.

  “I will be busy,” she answered. “We’re trying to re-route a lot of the clients through our main office, through me.”

  “I don’t know why you didn’t open your own company.”

  She let that slide. She always did. “I didn’t have the capital or the conne
ctions. The tech world is still very much a man’s world.”

  He put a plate in front of her then utensils. She waited until both Jessie and her father was seated to put food on her plate. She said, “And this way I get to have a vacation when I need it. Alan doesn’t, and I don’t envy him.”

  “That was always your problem. You wanted your cake and to eat it too.”

  “Dad, not everyone wants to be an entrepreneur.” She added a joke to soften her criticism, “I like sleep too much.”

  He made a noncommittal noise and waited for Jessie to fill her plate before he put food on his. “I’m aware. I’m saying you’re wasting your potential. You could be running Temp-To-Tech. Or something with a much better name.”

  She’d helped Alan come up with that name. It was quirky and didn’t take itself too seriously, though they had some pretty serious clientele. They had coders, hackers, game developers, graphic artists, every and any skillset that had to do with computers, on their roster.

  They kept their ear to the ground for openings and mass hiring. They had people looking for long-term placement and freelance only clients. She was the head of HR, but she sat at the helm of a mini-empire that also taught classes to local high school students. She had no doubt she’d already met with someone who would be the next Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg. Hell, someone who was creating the next Angry Birds.

  She gripped her fork. It wasn’t that her father didn’t have the vision to see it, but whatever she did was never enough.

  Maybe her emotions were bleeding through because Jessie reached under the table and squeezed her thigh. “How’s work for you?” Iris asked as a buffer.

  “The same.”

  And that was that. She picked up the garlic bread and then grabbed another.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” her father said.

  She put that piece of bread back and pressed her shoulders into the chair. Her sister had told her to wait until the end of dinner, but Iris didn’t think she could last that long. “So...Dad.”

  “Iris,” her sister muttered.

  He looked between them then dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “I know that look.”