by Sam Mariano
“I’ll try to survive,” he assures me, dryly.
“Laurel.”
Rafe’s voice pulls my attention to the foot of the bed, where he stands and talks to the doctor while I joke around with Sin. The serious look on his face startles me and I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not the baby,” the doctor assures me, flicking a glance at Sin. He’s probably wondering why he’s the one standing at my side now. Rafe could move back into that spot, but Sin doesn’t move.
“Then what is it?” I ask.
Rafe cracks a smile and shakes his head. “You have a weak uterus.”
“What?” I frown, glancing from Rafe to the doctor, then back to Rafe. “This is funny? Why are we amused? What does that mean? Is the baby safe? How do I fix that?”
“You’ll be all right as long as you’re careful,” the doctor rushes to assure me. “It’s nothing to stress about. Rafe has my number, should you experience any bleeding or cramping, you can call me straight away, but this isn’t something to get yourself upset about.” His gaze flickers to Sin again and he pauses, awkwardly. “There’s just a minor inconvenience, and it may not last the entire pregnancy. I’ll check you again at your next exam in four weeks.”
“What’s the inconvenience?” I ask, though I don’t much care. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.
Rafe answers for him. “We can’t have sex.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
The poor doctor, clearly not happy to have to deliver this news, rushes again to assure me, “It could be a short-term situation. I’ll be sure to examine you again at your next appointment. But until then…”
Amusement bubbles up within me, but I smother it down. I shouldn’t laugh. This is not funny. If my uterus is weak, that pisses me off—not because of the sex thing, but because I don’t want there to be any risk to the baby, no matter how small.
It’s just that not being able to have sex with Rafe for at least a month being the only way to protect the baby? Kinda funny.
14
Rafe
It has been three days since the baby doctor appointment, three nights of sexless sleeping. I’m not excited about it. After two nights of warming Laurel up, I expected her happiness at the doctor’s office to have a very different result. As she squeezed my hand and squealed over the wiggling little thing on the screen, I was pretty sure I was going to have a very good night.
Instead I got “no sex for at least four weeks.”
Fantastic.
At least Laurel is happy. She’s been softer and dreamier since the appointment. Every day, at least twice, she watches the DVD. Any doubt or hesitation has evaporated completely.
After four nights in, though, I’m itching to go out. While I’m out today, I decide to pick up a new dress for Laurel. A surprise might lure her out. She seems perfectly content to spend each and every night at the house, but I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we could spend part of those days in bed, but it’s a little more challenging living like a monk. I would have thought we could at least fuck around, but the goddamned doctor told me—in front of Laurel—that even oral would have to be gentle and infrequent, as she really needed to rest as much as possible.
Neither of us can find much to get excited about in a “gentle and infrequent” potential blow job, and Laurel is in protective mama bear mode, so my libido is not high on her priority list.
Long story short, no sex is happening. Not any kind of sex. We can kiss and touch, but knowing I have no outlet for it, I don’t take the touching too far.
I’ve also kept her away from Sin, though I’m thinking less about that with her in baby mode. Her love life seemed to be a bigger priority before the first wiggle. After that, she was a goner. Sin might have been able to compete with me, but he can’t compete with that.
She’s probably less appealing to him now too, knowing she can’t fuck. Not to be an asshole, but it’s not an unimportant part of a relationship, and it’s off the table indefinitely right now. I’m hoping she gets cleared at the next appointment, but there’s no guarantee. When I asked the doctor about the chances, he hemmed and hauled and couldn’t say anything concrete.
Putting my car in park and killing the engine, I look up at the apartment building in front of me. I remind myself I’m not doing anything wrong, but I don’t know why I need the reminder. Probably the fact that I haven’t had sex in five million fucking years.
It’s a derelict building with absolutely no security. No buzz required to get in, no bumbling security camera fixed above the door to see who comes and goes. Doesn’t appear to matter in this building. I open the door and let myself in like any of the tenants, then I head up two flights of stairs. Stopping in front of room 307, I rap on the door.
A minute later it swings open. Marlena stands on the other side, frowning at me. “What are you doing here?”
I smile faintly. “Nice to see you, too.”
Leaning against the doorframe, she looks up at me. “You want me to lie? It’s not that nice to see you. I’m kind of busy right now.”
My gaze flickers past her to the interior of her apartment. “Boyfriend over?”
“I expected more subtlety from an accomplished player like yourself,” she states, clearly unimpressed.
I offer her a slow smile, the kind I’ve used to melt a cubic fuck-ton of women before this one. “Honey, I don’t need subtlety.”
Losing a little of her cocky demeanor, she shifts and looks away. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I say otherwise. I’m gonna come in,” I tell her, pushing on the door.
She huffs, but takes a step back and lets me waltz into her apartment anyway. I frown when I see boxes all over the place. The whole apartment seems to be packed up—all but a couch and the ugliest fucking yellow chair I have ever seen in my life. It looks like someone plucked it straight out of the 70’s and dropped it into her apartment.
“Moving apartments?”
“Moving, period,” she states. “I don’t have a job, and my landlord has this weird insistence on being paid to house me.”
“What an asshole,” I say lightly.
“Right?” She glances around, crossing her arms awkwardly. She’s slightly uncomfortable with me being in her apartment, but it’s because she’s attracted to me.
“Where are you moving?”
Her gaze drops along with her tone, alerting me to a drop in mood. “Arizona.”
Surprised, I look back at her. “Arizona? I thought you were in school.”
“Can’t pay for that without a job, either. I have enough to pay for gas money back home, but not enough to pay another month’s rent while I try to find a job. Failing a miracle, I don’t see that changing. I’ve applied everywhere with unbecoming desperation, and no bites.”
“You don’t need a miracle, you need money.” Reaching into my back pocket and drawing out my wallet, I ask, “How much is your rent here?”
Frowning at my wallet, she says, “I don’t want your money.”
I pinch a stack of 20’s, looks like a little over $2,000. Holding it out, I tell her, “Here.”
“I’m not taking your money,” she states again.
“Why not? You need money. I have money. What’s the problem?”
Her blue-green eyes widen in disbelief. “The problem is I don’t want to be in debt to the mob. Are you kidding me?”
“The mob isn’t loaning you money. I am.”
Eyeing me warily, she says, “Well, I have a feeling I don’t want to be indebted to you either.”
“You’re not indebted to me,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Think of it as an advance. I’m going to give you a job.”
Warily stepping closer, she eyes the money, but her distrustful gaze returns to my face and she still doesn’t take it. “Doing what?”
“Waiting tables. You’re a waitress, right? I have a restaurant. Nicer than the shitty place you worked at anyway, better customers, be
tter tips. Better management,” I add with a wink.
That makes her smile, but she’s looking down again. She does that a lot. “I’m not sure your girlfriend would like that.”
“Well, she doesn’t know. And… she’s not exactly my girlfriend.” I don’t know why I add that last part. Or maybe I do, because my gaze is less of a liar and it drops to those pretty plump lips. The waters are too murky to do anything about it right now, but I can’t honestly say I haven’t pictured catching that plump bottom lip with my thumb, seeing vulnerability in those blue-green eyes as she looks up at me.
Regarding me with perfectly reasonable suspicion, she asks, “Why?”
“Why isn’t she my girlfriend?”
Marlena shakes her head, nodding at the money. “Why do this? Why give me money? Why give me a job?”
“I got you fired, didn’t I?”
Rolling her eyes, Marlena says, “Yes.”
“So I only have to ruin a set amount of lives each month, and I’ve already met my quota for this one. I can afford to do a nice thing just this once.”
Fighting a smile, she meets my gaze. “Oh, can you?”
I nod, giving her a playfully hooded look. “Just don’t tell anyone. Gotta protect that reputation.”
Her plump pink lips stretch into a nice smile. Her guard is down and she moves closer. I think to take the money, but she just touches my shoulder, then walks past. “I’m going to grab a drink out of the fridge. You want anything?”
Instead of answering, I follow her. She opens the refrigerator door and leans down. My gaze drops to the curve of her ass for a split second, then I move up behind her to peer inside. “Sure, grab me a bottle of water.”
She does, but she straightens more slowly than she bent over, clearly cognizant of me behind her. I let a hand rest on her hip and I hear her hastily inhale. Pulling her back against me, I push the refrigerator door open and murmur, “Don’t want to leave that open.”
Turning around, she neatly moves my hand off her and holds out the water, swallowing. “Here. I appreciate the job offer, but I can’t take it.”
I frown at her. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I am very much attracted to you, and I think you’re attracted to me. I won’t believe you if you tell me you’re not, and if you think that’s arrogant, fine, but I have my principles.”
“Your principles?” I echo.
“I don’t know what that girl is to you, but I know she was upset that you bought me a dress, so I don’t think she would be any happier that you’re giving me a job at your restaurant. Arizona isn’t the end of the world. I won’t sell my soul to stay in Vegas.”
I can’t help smiling. “Sell your soul? That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
Pulling herself upright, she tells me, “No, it isn’t. She’s having your baby, isn’t she?”
That knocks the smile off my face. I hesitate, knowing this will be a dealbreaker, but I won’t lie to her, either. “Yes.”
Nodding once, eyes dimming, she says, “So, that’s a mess I’m not going to get involved with. I’m sure you can find plenty of side dishes around town, but I won’t be one of them.”
“Side dishes? That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” she demands.
Eyebrows rising, I tell her, “All I offered you was a job, Marlena.”
Unconvinced, she says, “And you had to do that yourself? You couldn’t have sent someone in your stead? Or, hell, had the manager of your restaurant call me with an offer? Does your not-girlfriend know you’re here? Is she okay with this?”
Maybe it shouldn’t agitate me that she suggests I should run everything by Laurel before doing it, but it does. “I didn’t ask permission. I’m not—” I stop short, realizing anything I say here will only make her scowl harder at me.
Shaking her head, she tells me, “I’m sorry. I’m not that kind of girl. I’m not interested in your job or your money. Thank you for the offer, truly. Especially because you already know I’m not a very good waitress, it was nice of you to offer, but the answer is no.”
“I am not cheating on her. There’s nothing untoward going on here. I’m offering a job, no strings. I’ll rarely even see you. If I do ever see you, it will probably be when I’m there eating with her. Does that make you feel better?”
“I can’t,” she insists, shaking her head. “I’m not blaming you, I just… I can feel that this is a bad idea, and I’m going to listen to my instincts on this one.”
“No, you’re not,” I state. “This is stupid. I’ll take the money to your landlord myself. Trust me, you won’t be evicted.” Then, reconsidering, I look around her apartment. It’s clean enough so she clearly takes care of the place, but damn, is it small. In fact, looking into her living room, I notice the bedroom isn’t even completely closed off—merely hidden behind a bookcase that acts as a wall. She doesn’t even have a bedroom.
I’m also realizing I haven’t had sex in an eternity and I’m this close to a woman I find attractive and her bed. Damn, I do need to leave this apartment. Not until she stops being a pain in the ass, though.
“Actually, you’re already packed up. How about this? I own an apartment community in town. It’s a nice one—a hell of a lot nicer than here. I know for a fact there are some vacancies. Let me see what they’ve got, we’ll move you into one of those instead.”
Eyes widening, she demands, “How did you get to ‘move into an apartment I own’ from my refusal to take your job offer?”
“I’m a presumptive bastard,” I tell her. “And you’re moving. I’ve decided. You can get on board or not, but I’m having men move your stuff this evening.”
“Like hell you are,” she says, eyes blazing.
“You think you can stop me?” I ask, eyes dancing with amusement. “This apartment is closer to the restaurant where you work now anyway.”
“I do not work at your restaurant.”
Placing the bottled water down on her counter, I reach for my pocket to put the money away. I like this plan much better anyway.
Glaring at me, she asks, “Is it also closer to wherever you live, by any chance? Late night driving distance if you get bored at home?”
I can’t help smiling. It’s starting to amuse me how angry she’s getting at my perceived bad behavior. “You can believe me or not believe me, doesn’t matter. You’re not going back to Arizona and you’re not staying in this closet.” Pointing to the ugly-ass yellow chair, I tell her, “You can leave that, though. It’s older than I am.”
Now she looks offended on behalf of the chair. “You be nice. That’s my favorite studying chair. I’ve had it since junior high and it goes where I go.”
“It’s ugly,” I state.
“It’s mine and I love it,” she says, planting a hand on her hip and mean-mugging me.
Damn, she has a cute mad face. Good thing, since she’s been mad at me half the time I’ve known her. I wanna bury her little angry ass in the mattress, though, so I really do need to leave. Grabbing the bottle of water, I make my way for the door.
“My men will be by this evening. Don’t leave, or I’ll follow your ass to Arizona. And then I’ll be annoyed, and you have a hard enough time dealing with me nice.”
“You are an overbearing jerk, has anyone ever told you that?” she says, following me.
“I’ve heard much worse,” I assure her.
“You can’t just make me move. You can’t make me work for you. You can’t just take over my life like this.”
I pause with my hand on her doorknob and glance back at her. “You wanna bet?”
She must know better than to challenge me on that. She still scowls at me like I’m the biggest pain in the ass she has ever encountered, but she doesn’t argue. “I don’t even know where this apartment is.”
I won’t gloat too loudly, but I can’t help smiling. “Don’t worry, the guys will escort you.” Holding up the cheap bottle of water, I tell her, “Thanks for the
drink.”
15
Sin
Fury burns through my veins as I pound on the front door, then remember there’s a doorbell. I envision Rafe answering the door. I hope Rafe answers the door, because I’m going to lay the motherfucker out. My hand flexes into a fist, then releases, flexes, then releases. Open the goddamn door, asshole.
Juanita answers the door, her brown eyes wide with mild alarm at the ferocity of my knocking. Her alarm ratchets up another notch when she sees how fucking angry I am.
“Where is Rafe?”
She points toward the living room.
I storm right past her without another word.
I get just a glance at the scene before I disrupt it. Laurel and Rafe are sitting on the couch watching television, a bowl of popcorn between them. His arm is stretched across the back, draped over her shoulder. She’s laughing at something on the television, but he doesn’t look as impressed.
Her smile dies as I storm into the room. Rafe’s arm abandons her shoulders and he eases forward, regarding me warily.
Struggling to keep a lid on my fury, I clench my fists again and take a breath. Unlocking my jaw, I tell him, “I need to talk to you alone.”
Easing up off the couch, he glances back at Laurel. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He shows me to the foyer, but that’s not far enough. I walk back outside and wait for him to follow. Still eyeing me as he shuts the door behind him, he asks sarcastically, “Is this far enough away, or should we walk down the street?”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
Like the smug son of a bitch he is, he lifts his eyebrows and says, “I think I’m having yet another quiet night in with Laurel. Why?”
Jabbing a hand angrily out at nothing, I ask, “You wanna tell me why your men are moving that fucking waitress into one of your apartments right now?”
Rafe rolls his eyes and falls back a step. “Oh, good. The morality police dispatched another fucking officer.”
“This is not a fucking joke,” I tell him.