by Jillian Dodd
"Do you want me to attend them with you?" she asks.
"Yes, if you can. Premieres always go smoother when you're with me."
"It's really too bad when we go to all these amazing places that we never get time to see them."
"It really is," I agree.
"I'm dying to go back to that spa in Bath," she continues. "It was the most amazing city I've ever been to."
"We should go sometime," I say, appeasing her and trying to get the heck out of here.
"Okay, so the studio will take care of our accommodations. Your stylist is bringing wardrobe options next week. We should be all good, except for the fact that you're acting weird. What's going on?"
"I think maybe I'm coming down with something. Not a big deal, just not feeling great."
"How are things with Cade?"
"Fine."
"When are you going to tell your brother?"
I roll my eyes. "Don't pressure me, okay. I'll tell him when the time is right."
"And when will that be?"
"When I figure things out."
"What's there to figure out?"
"Just stuff, okay!" I say forcefully. "I'm going to lie down."
"Fine," she says with a huff.
I return to my bedroom and lock the door behind me. Then I go back in the bathroom and dig out the test that claims to be the most sensitive. All of the tests claim to be able to detect a pregnancy within four days of a missed period, but this one says it can detect a pregnancy six days before. Since I'm beyond that, I'm hoping it will tell me what I need to know.
I read the instructions, pee on the stick, then set it on a flat surface and watch as the pink color moves across the window. I grab the instructions again, wondering what that means, only to find out it means the test is working.
I look at the timer on my phone.
Two and a half more minutes.
My period has been a few days late before, but it's always shown up. I've never taken a pregnancy test before.
Another first since Cade has been back in my life.
I let out a maniacal laugh in spite of my nervousness.
My phone buzzes, causing me to jump.
Okay, this is it.
No, I can't look yet. I grab the instructions and read them one more time. Alright, one pink line means I'm not pregnant. Two pink lines means I am.
But what am I going to do if I am?
I'll tell Cade. He'll either be happy or--I start to cry--not happy. What if he's not happy? What if--just look at the test before you freak out over nothing.
I open my eyes and pick up the stick.
Two pink lines.
Let the freak-out commence.
I run through a gamut of emotions while I'm getting ready for my date. The whole time I was in New York, all I could think about was getting back home to Cade. Especially after all his adorable texts.
Now, I'm dreading our date.
On one hand, I can't wait to see him but, on the other hand, I don't even know how I'm going to carry on a normal conversation! I'll probably burst into tears the second I see him, and he'll wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.
I'm being ridiculous. I'm twenty-eight years old. Cade is thirty-four. It's not like we're kids who got pregnant in the backseat. We're adults. Although I'm nervous about it, I'm excited too. I want children.
My mother will be thrilled.
And Pike will be--pissed.
I grab my handbag and walk out of my room, finding Pike on the couch channel flipping.
"Hey, how was your trip?" he asks.
"Busy," I reply. "How did it go at the doctor's today?"
He pulls a throw off his leg, revealing a full leg cast.
"Oh, wow. I thought you were going to get a boot?"
"Me too. I got royally chewed out for taking off the splints and switching to the boot. I have a hairline fracture on the tibia up by my knee along with all the damage at the ankle. I did get to see the X-rays. Crazy the amount of metal holding it all together. But the good news is no more wheelchair."
"You look happy about that."
He laughs. "You should be happy about that. I'm pretty sure I've killed most of your walls with that thing."
"It wasn't that you were a bad driver, per se, it was the fact that your leg was sticking straight out. Made it hard to judge."
Pike smiles at me and pats the sofa, so I sit down next to him.
"I know I've been a pain in the ass. Crabby. Emotional. Probably a bit of a dick. Especially with the whole Bethany situation. But I just want you to know that I appreciate you taking me in. It means a lot to me."
"Of course I would take you in, Pike. You're my brother. It's what family does. We take care of each other."
He shakes his head, looking emotional. "I just really appreciate it."
"Pike, what else did the doctor say today?"
"What I already knew. That my playing days are probably over."
"Why? You're a pitcher. It's not like you hurt your arm. I read online about a player who broke his ankle, rehabbed, and then had the pins removed so that he could run again. He came back good as new."
"I think I read the same article. The difference is that he was in his early twenties. Not his mid-thirties. And if I do retire, I could take the job as a pitching coach. At first I was sort of offended that they thought I couldn't come back, you know? And I like the idea of being able to stay in the game."
"I like the idea of you being back home," I say. "I've missed not having you around."
"I've missed you, too. Our family is small. Just you, me, and Mom. Maybe it was being in the hospital that made me think a lot about Dad, and I know you're busy, but I'd like it if we spent more time together as a family."
What he says makes me very emotional, causing me to tear up. "I'd like that too, Pike." I give my brother a big hug.
"Oh, gosh," he says with a laugh. "Don't start crying on me. You know I'm not good with tears."
I laugh at him, grinning and holding his hands across his face.
"So, I've made a decision."
"Are you going to take the job here?"
"No. I'm just going to retire. If I take the coaching job, I'll still be traveling with the team." He gives me a big grin. "Don't laugh, but I'm thinking I might want to settle down. Have some kids or something."
"That's really great, Pike."
"Yeah," he smiles. "You're not getting any younger either, sis. You should start thinking of having kids, too. Wouldn't it be fun if our kids could grow up together?"
"That would be amazing," I reply, stunned, both that my brother wants to settle down and that he chooses today, the day I find out I'm pregnant, to have this conversation.
"You look really pretty. Where are you off to?"
"Dinner. I'll be late though."
"Have fun." He points at the couch he's sitting on. "I'll be here if you need me."
My mind is all over the place during the twenty-minute drive from my house to Cade's. When we first dated, he had a cozy little condo on Laguna Beach, and I lived in my parents' guest house. His commute to work in Beverly Hills sucked, but he could surf every morning and was close to his family and the friends he grew up with.
After we broke up, our careers advanced, and we both relocated, me moving into a cozy ranch in Toluca Lakes--the ideal location when you're filming at the studios in Burbank or at Universal City. Cade bought a condo in Beverly Hills. When I first saw the modern glass and steel structure with its sleek entrance, I expected the condo to be modern and cold, but it wasn't. Even though it's bigger, it still has the same industrial rustic beach vibe of his smaller place and instantly felt familiar.
I put my hand across my belly, still trying to fathom the fact that there is a baby growing inside me. Cade's baby.
I try to figure out what I will say to him. How I could break the news.
I could go serious: Cade, we need to talk.
Or take a funny approach: You'll never guess what
happened on the way to the maternity ward.
The direct approach: Say I'm pregnant the second I walk in the door.
The broach a subject approach: So, Cade, how do you feel about having children?
The psycho girlfriend approach: Hand him the movie Knocked Up and start laughing manically then crying hysterically.
The foodie approach: Put buns in his oven.
The sexual approach: Draw a heart and a stick baby on my stomach and wait until he finds it.
The funny sexual approach: Hey, remember when you put your P in my V and we didn't use a condom? Guess what's in me now?
The ironic approach: Wrap up the pregnancy test stick, let him open it, and see if he cries like a baby.
The proposal: Ask him to marry me and instead of giving him a ring, give him the pregnancy test.
The surfer approach: Dude, your life is about to get totally gnarly.
The casual approach: Hey, do you know if they make integrated car seats for your Bentley?
The scarf approach: Chow down on dinner and when he notices the massive intake casually mention that I'm eating for two.
The barf approach: Wait until I have morning sickness, barf all over him, then scream, It's all your fault!
The textual approach: Send him a text, telling him I can't come over tonight because I'm sick. When he asks with what, I reply, Pregnancy.
The violent approach: Punch him in the face while yelling, You bastard, you knocked me up!
The pathetic approach: Burst into tears and sob, hoping he will ask what's wrong.
The indirect approach: Hide a baby rattle in his bathroom and let him find it on his own. Preferably when I'm not there.
The Chinese takeout approach: Stuff a fortune cookie with this message: Oh, boy, dude, is your life about to change. Like if you want it to. Like if you want to be part of the baby's life. Like we know it was from a crazy, wine-driven screw, but, whatever. Confucius say, It is what it is.
I shake my head to get all the stupid ideas out. It's not a big deal. You are an adult. It doesn't matter if he wants to play daddy. You will raise the baby yourself if you have to, and you will be an incredible mother.
Possibly.
Shit.
Stop freaking out. Don't even tell him tonight. Give yourself a day or two for this to all soak in, then you will be more level-headed when you break the news.
That's it. That's the plan.
I'll wait.
When I step off the elevator, the first thing I notice is the wonderful aroma of tomato sauce mingling with Italian herbs. Cade steps into the entry wearing a pair of jeans, a white dress shirt only half buttoned, and a blue suit jacket, the lapel half flipped up. He looks undone, sexy, and devastatingly handsome. His facial hair is at a three-day scruff. His dark blond hair is pushed back off his face, and all I can think about is running my fingers through it.
With his eyes locked on mine, he takes a step closer, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me tightly against him.
"I've missed you," he says, lowering his lips to mine, causing the air to pulse with anticipation. It's only been a couple days since we last kissed, but the simple brush of his lips across mine leaves me aching for him.
I push my fingers through his thick hair. The tantalizingly musky scent of his cologne draws me to his neck. I nuzzle my nose into it then rapidly suck-kiss my way back to his waiting lips and give him a soul-searing kiss.
Our tongues are tangled. Our limbs entwined in a tight embrace. The fire inside me burning out of control.
I feel his arousal pressing against my core as he takes my face in his hands and deepens our kiss. The sound of him kicking the door shut heightens my desire, and I sigh into his mouth when without breaking our kiss, he lifts me up and carries me to his bedroom.
We land roughly on his bed, his tongue deep in my mouth. My fingers slip inside his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his muscled chest.
He abruptly stops kissing me. Stands up. Tosses his jacket to the floor. Undoes his pants, sliding them down just far enough.
"I fucking need you, Palmer," he says, pushing my skirt up and pulling my panties down with a feral force then flipping me over and pulling me to my knees on the edge of the bed.
He leans forward, his chest pressing against my back, gripping my hips and moving himself into position. I can feel his erection pressing against me and am so turned on I can barely function.
He pushes himself into me in one swift motion, filling me and holding it in place, grinding it inside of me.
"Holy fuck," I mutter out.
"You like that?" he says into my ear. "Tell me you like it if you want me to keep doing it."
"I like it, Cade. Love it," I groan, waves of pleasure pulsing and causing me to tighten around him.
He lets out a devious chuckle and leans back, almost completely pulling out then slapping my ass.
"Do you want me to do that again?" he asks, his voice rough and sexy.
I can't say anything, just mutter a pathetic, "Please."
He responds in the way I want, pushing deep inside me, and making the grinding motion that takes me over the edge. My breathing speeds up, and even though I've orgasmed, I'm aching for more.
"Harder," I manage to whimper, moving my hips back and forth in an attempt to get what I desire.
He curses, adjusts his grip on my hips, and pounds me roughly with a frenzied abandon. I scream his name, pleasure coursing through me as he's climaxing.
He holds me tightly in place for a few moments, our still bodies a contrast to their motion a moment ago. He leans down and kisses the back of my neck. "I guess I really missed you," he teases as we collapse onto the bed. "These got completely ignored." He moves his hand up to fondle my breasts.
"What's that smell?" I ask, suddenly realizing something is burning.
"Shit!" he yells, leaping off the bed and running to the kitchen. I jump up and follow him.
When I get to the kitchen, he's pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven, the crust black and smoking. He drops the pan in the sink and runs water over it, but the smoke alarm starts beeping anyway.
He shuts the oven door then waves a dishcloth in front of it, causing the beeping to stop.
"Did I make you forget about food, Cade?" I tease.
He pulls me into his arms. "You make me forget about everything."
We get dressed, then he seats me at a table on his balcony, which I notice he's preset with placemats, china, and even a small bouquet of roses.
"Those are for you," he says, pointing to the flowers. I was supposed to give them to you when you got here."
"They're beautiful," I reply, leaning in to take a whiff. "And they smell wonderful." I watch as he bangs pots around in the kitchen. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Nope, you just sit there and look gorgeous," he says, handing me a glass of wine. I start to take a sip then remember that I'm pregnant.
After a few minutes, he places a big bowl of pasta covered with red sauce in front of us along with a plate of meatballs.
"This is what I've been doing all afternoon."
"You cooked all this?"
"Yep. Mom's recipe."
I look across the table at him and smile, my heart melting into a puddle. "That's really sweet."
"My plan was to feed you before I attacked you," he admits. "But then you had to go and kiss me."
"Oh, so it's my fault?"
His hair is mussed, his eyes bright, his smirk flirtatious. He's downright adorable. "Absolutely."
Pike
I'm enjoying a cold beer and watching the latest on demand big-budget action flick. Although I'm grateful that my sister allowed me to move in with her while I recover, I will admit that it's cramping my style.
I haven't gotten laid in weeks.
I toss back the rest of the beer, pause the movie, and scroll through my phone. Just because the cast is awkward and clunky, doesn't mean my dick doesn't work. And Palmer will be out late.
> Hmm.
I decide to text Cameron.
Me: Are you back in town yet? I'm dying to see you.
I want to say my dick is dying to see her, but I'll throw that into the conversation later.
I take another sip of beer and stare at my phone.
Cameron: Remind me again why we broke up?
Me: Because you were off doing movies and only flew to my games when you wanted the kind of hot sex your male costars couldn't give you. And we stopped seeing each other because you didn't want a commitment.
Cameron: We were so young. The first time.
Me: We weren't so young the second and third times we dated.
Cameron: We're getting older, Pike.
Me: I love when you call me that.
Cameron: Everyone calls you that.
Me: It always sounds the best coming from you. If I were a girl, I'd say I was swooning.
Cameron: Bullshit. I literally just landed. I was going to call you tomorrow.
Me: Come see me.
Cameron: I'm jetlagged.
Me: I have a cure for that.
Cameron: You still rehabbing at Palmer's house?
Me: I am. But she's out for the night.
Cameron: I knew I should have shaved my legs this morning.
Me: I love stubble.
Cameron: You're just horny.
I don't reply. She's right. I am. And she knows it. But she also knows that I was in love with her. The first time we dated. The second time we dated. And the third. And pretty much the whole time in between. Cameron has always been the girl who got away. Again and again and again. I rub my palm down my face, not even believing she's coming over.
If there was one girl in my life who made me consider the whole marriage, white picket fence, and having babies thing, it was her. She's fun, sexy, sweet. But god damn is she elusive.
She recently was engaged to a rocker. Everyone thought she was finally ready to settle down. I may have done a little internal cheer when I saw in a tabloid that she broke it off. I tuck my nose under my armpit and take a whiff, making sure that I don't stink. I grab my crutches, hoist myself up off the couch, and go brush my teeth.