I stare at the small ultrasound photo from the edge of our bed, my eyes glued to the tiny peanut-looking creature in the middle. Six weeks. That’s how far along I am, which is farther than I thought. Far enough I saw the tiny flicker in the middle they said was the heartbeat. It’s old enough to have a beating heart. To have large eye sockets that remind me of an alien. To have a body even though it looks more like a fish with a tail than a person.
We created a human—Kross and I. We have a baby floating around inside of me. It’s hard to wrap my mind around.
It’s not yet big enough to make itself known, but it’s there, living in me, its mother. Take care of it, the doctor said. It’s depending on me. It can’t survive without my help. And as crazy as it seems, I love it already. Our baby. Boy or girl? Will it look like Kross or me? Will it be healthy? What will it be like to have a baby? Will I be a good mom? Will he help me?
All questions are swarming around in my mind, none of which I have an answer to. All I can do is stare. Stare at the one thing I didn’t mean to happen. The thing that I never thought I’d have. The thing I’ve always been the most careful to avoid. The thing I also want desperately. The one thing I will sacrifice everything else to keep . . . even Kross.
“Delta!” he calls out, close to the door. I quickly shove the photo under the mattress, not ready to tell him. I’m not sure how. And until I do—know how that is—I’ll keep it to myself.
The door swings open. My mouth parts at what exists on the other side. I close it before drool has a chance to exit. Athletic shorts hung low on his hips, sneakers, and no shirt with a straight bill hat tipped to the side of his forehead. Sweat is glistening, making his tattoos stand out even more. Why the fuck is he not wearing a shirt?
His abs contract with every breath. How is it fair for any man to look that yummy? Furthermore, how the hell did I end up having sex with that? I can’t remember a time I’ve been with a man that physically attractive. “You’re back?” he asks.
The paranoia hits. “Yes. You’re sweaty. Where have you been?”
“Gym.”
“Is that where you were when you left before we went to Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Do you go often?”
“Almost daily.”
It feels stupid asking these questions, considering we live together and are with each other more times than not. But I always try not to question him too much. “When?”
“While you sleep.”
“Oh.”
“What are you looking at?”
“Seriously? Do you not know how hot you are?”
He raises a brow. “Can’t say that I do.”
I fall back against the mattress, arms splaying to my sides. “Of course you don’t. You’re the one asshole who’s an asshole for totally different reasons than the rest.”
The next thing I know he’s leaning over me, staring down into my eyes. Deodorant, manly musk of sweat and soap, and hints of faded cologne are all scents attacking me in ways they never have. I close my eyes. “Fuck, even your sweat smells good,” I whine.
A gush of wetness fills my panties as his lips touch down on my neck, his tongue swiping out halfway through his descent to my breast. He stops at the neckline of my V-neck shirt, not far from my nipple with a small tug of the fabric. My eyes open when I can no longer feel him, one peek at a time. “Why are you stopping?”
He laughs; to the point that it’s contagious. “I’m guessing you missed me.”
“Maybe . . .”
“Want to go downstairs and practice?”
It’s become my favorite thing to do with him, and since the day he showed me the studio downstairs, he’s kept his promise. We usually practice three to four times a week, but with the news so fresh there is no way I can concentrate on that right now. “Are you in the giving mood?”
“Maybe,” he copies from earlier.
“Then I have a better idea.”
“And what’s that?”
I take a deep breath, preparing for the response I intend to get, but watching Kaston and Lux prepare for the holidays has rubbed off on me. “Can we put up a Christmas tree? I have one in storage. It’s only tabletop height, so it’s not much, but it’s something. I usually have it up by the first of December.”
“I’ve never had a Christmas tree.”
I frown. “That makes me sad.”
He shrugs. “No big deal. Can’t miss what you’ve never had.”
“It’s a big deal to me. Please.”
“If you’ll pick out all the shit, then yes. I just need to get a shower and we’ll go.”
“I didn’t mean you had to buy one. We can use mine.”
He kisses me, a smirk slowly growing. “No offense, but if we’re going to ‘put up’ a Christmas tree, then it might as well be a normal sized tree that you actually have to ‘put up’ or ‘put together’. You can put your Charlie Brown tree on the side table in the lobby at the shop. Cassie would probably love it.”
I smile, growing more excited with the thought of us shopping together for our very own tree. “What happened to that whole phrase, ‘size isn’t everything’?”
“Every man knows that was made up bullshit by a woman trying to justify being stuck with a little dick for whatever reason. No one ever chooses little anything when given the choice.”
“I guess it’s good for me that size was on your side then, because there is nothing little about you.”
He snatches the waistband of my yoga pants and rips them down my legs, before taking stance on the bed with his hands on the insides of my thighs. “I thought we were getting ready to leave.”
“I’ve got to take care of something first.”
His mouth then touches down on my lips, legs wide. His tongue spreads me open, my bottom already jerking forward. “Shit. You’re so good at that.”
He grunts against me, leaving no time for words before everything blurs except the feeling of his tongue wading through my folds, the tip striking against my clit in a repetitive, quick motion. And I’ll be damned if this doesn’t feel better than any time before.
