Baby & Bump (The This & That Series) (22 page)

I swallowed back the lum
p in my throat. “I’m trying to give you and Marisol space. But then I run into you two together, and all of my feelings come back. I move backwards about ten spaces.”

“Me, too,” His hand came up to touch me
, but dropped. “I thought if I moved your case to Dr. Javornik, it would help. But now I just miss you more.”

             
“I thought my feelings would dissipate, but they’re just getting worse.” I pushed my hair back from my forehead, and fanned my face. “I hoped it was some sort of hormone surge, and that I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for a guy who isn’t even available. But every time I’m around you… whammo. I can’t look at anyone else or form coherent sentences. I’m losing it.”

             
This time Fletcher’s hand did capture mine, and his thumb started to stroke a path from one side of my knuckles to the other. “I thought the same thing. I thought if I avoided you, I would get over whatever it is I’m feeling.”  He pulled my hand, bringing me an inch or two closer.

             
I should have pulled my hand back. A responsible woman would have pulled her hand back. But did I? No. No I did not.

             
“Lexie, what I feel for you is strong.” Fletcher’s eyes bored into mine, and I was pretty sure I was going to burst into flame soon. “It crosses every line that I, as a doctor, have. It’s completely unprofessional and inappropriate. I have no right to want you, not only because I’m dating Marisol, but because I am, or was, your
doctor
. But when I’m with you, all I want is to be touching you. And when I’m not with you, all I can do is think about where you are, who you’re with, and whether or not you’re happy or sad or smiling or crying. And when I see you with my daughter…”

Fletcher stopped speaking
. We were now close enough to each other that I could have stood on my toes and pressed a kiss to his neck. After a beat, he cleared his throat. “Let’s just say, Lex, my feelings for you scare me.”

             
“I’m scared, too,” I whispered. “I’ve got so much baggage. My mother’s sleeping with her pastor, and I’m pregnant, and—”

             
“I don’t care about baggage,” he whispered. “None of that matters.”

             
It didn’t make sense. I was eight months pregnant, red-faced, sweaty, and puffier than someone with a peanut allergy who ate a Snickers bar. My hair was a complete mess, and if you stared at my stomach through my tee shirt for long enough, you would see it shift and move like a scene from the movie
Aliens
.

             
But the way he was looking at me filled me right up to the brim with joy. Fletcher was beaming down at me like I was the most gorgeous, traffic-stopping supermodel he’d ever laid eyes on. He looked at me like I’d just told him he’d won a billion dollars. I’d been waiting my whole life to have a man look at me like that. Nate never had. Neither had anyone else, for that matter. Fletcher’s eyes on me felt like the warmest sunshine on the most perfect spring day, and I literally never wanted him to look away.

             
“What do I do?” His voice was soft, and the crowd around us was thick, but I could still understand him. I would have been able to recognize his voice from ten miles away.

             
The lump in my throat won over, and my eyes filled up with hot tears. He was dating Marisol. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you anymore
.” He took hold of both of my shoulders. “I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

             
He’s dating Marisol.

Heat started to creep up the back of my neck. “And yet you’re still dating my friend.” Fletcher’s mouth pulled into a guilty line, and I went on. “If you feel so much for me, and nothing for her, then why are you still stringing Marisol along?
”

Fletcher’s head hung, his forehead
touching mine. “I don’t know. I thought that…” His voice petered out.

I waited and
took a shaky breath. “You thought she was too hot to just give up on.”

“No.” He raised his head and looked me in the eye. “Falling for one of my patients, especially one about to become a single mother, is unethical. You’re emotionally fragile. If I tried to pursue you
now, it would be taking advantage of you at your most vulnerable point.”

“Wait.” I pushed Fletcher’s chest and moved him back a few inches. “You’re sti
ll dating Marisol because I’m
emotionally fragile
?”
              Fletcher grasped my hands. “No, wait, I—”

“
There you are.” Candace called. Her eyes widened at the sight of Fletcher’s fingers enveloping mine. “I, um, are we interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Fletcher said at the same time I said, “No.”

“Daddy, what are you doing?” Martha asked, putting her hands on her hips.

I turned back to Fletcher
. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care what he’d done with Marisol—or anyone else, for that matter. But I wasn’t an idiot. At least not all the time, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Fletcher.” I pulled my hands away, and shoved them into my pockets. “But that’s the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

His mouth dropped open. I stomped past Candace, pulling on the sleeve of her blouse as I went. I heard Fletcher say my name, but ignored it. I had too.

“Intermission is over.” My voice shook. “Brian’s probably wondering where we are by now.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” She scooped Ellie up, and followed me. Once we were a good fifty yards away, she grabbed my arm. “What the heck was that about?”

I didn
’t stop walking until I got to our section. I was afraid if I could still see Fletcher and Martha, I was going to dissolve into a sobbing mess, and Candace was going to have to scrape me off of the floor with a shovel.

“We kissed,” I
blurted.

Candace gasped. “Just now?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I covered my eyes. “A long time ago. At the house he’s buying from Corbin. But it started before that.” When I opened my eyes, tears slid down my face. “I’m in love with him, Candace.”

Chapter Twenty-one

              “I think Fletcher is going to break up with me.” Marisol’s voice was flat and defeated.

             
I nearly swallowed my tongue.

             
It’d been twenty-four hours since I called Fletcher out at the
My Little Pony LIVE!
concert. And I’d come to my Lamaze class—where my friends were acting as dual coaches—prepared for a punch in the face from Marisol. But instead, she’d walked in with slumped shoulders, and plopped down on the floor with a thump.

             
“What makes you say that?” Candace asked nervously. Her blonde eyebrows were so high on her forehead they practically blended into her hairline. She knew the whole story now and was begging me to come clean to Marisol. But I refused. It was up to Fletcher to make this right now.

Why? Because I was pregnant and moody and “emotionally fragile,” that’s why. Oh, and also
because I was a total chicken.

             
“He called and asked me to come by his place tonight after,” she gestured to the rest of a class, “this thingy. Whatever it’s called.”

             
Our teacher, a tall woman with a long silver braid running down her back, walked by and touched Marisol’s shoulder. “This class is called Prepared Labor and Natural Birthing. Welcome, friend.”

             
Marisol made a face. “Whatever. When do they start serving alcohol?”

             
Candace swatted at her. “It’s not a cocktail party.”

             
“It should be.” She scanned the room. “Look at this place. It could use an upper, if you know what I mean.”

There were women—all round and ready to drop a baby at any minute, just like me—sitting in varying stages of relaxation. Some were between their husbands
’ or boyfriends’ knees, breathing peacefully while they rubbed circles on their backs. Others were lying on their sides on a beanbag or pillow, while their men kneaded their feet lovingly. The mood in the room at the learning annex was as relaxed and calm as a bathtub filled with warm water and bubbles.

In my corner of the room,
Candace was on my left, texting Brian, who was unable to get the
Sesame Street
DVD to work. And Marisol was on my right, checking her eye makeup in a compact mirror. I was the only single mom in the group.

Awesome.

“This environment is conducive to the environment you’ll want to bring your baby into,” the silver haired lady said as she sauntered around the room. Her fingers touched Marisol’s shoulder as she passed. “Speak softly. You don’t want your baby coming into a world full of noise and confusion.”

Marisol glanced up at her. “Me? Oh, no, it’s not
my
baby. It’s hers.” She jabbed her thumb at me and shuddered. “I’m just here to help with the old heave-ho and all that.”

I closed my eyes. This was my support system? “Marisol, please.”

She laughed at her own joke. “Come on, loosen up, Lex. You’ll be so drugged out, you won’t care what I call it.”

“I delivered all of my kids naturally,” Candace announced.

“Yeah, well you’re a freak of nature.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry. She knows not what she says.” I held out my hand to the teacher. “I’m Lexie Baump. This is my first child, and I haven’t decided on natural or medicated childbirth yet.”

Marisol elbowed me. “Oh, be serious.”

The teacher shook my hand. “I’m Maureen. And I hope to convince you that you’re capable of bringing your child into the world without medication. We’re going to teach you primitive methods that have been used by natural mothers for centuries.”

“Primitive is right.” Marisol snorted. “I’m definitely going to need a cocktail.”

Candace put her arm around me. “You can do it, Lex.”

Maureen beamed down at us. “It’s so nice to see modern families like yours having children. I do hope you’ll enjoy the class.”

She walked away, and I slapped a hand on my forehead. “That’s what we look like? A coup
le?”

Candace
giggled. “It is
very
modern.”

“Then who’s Marisol?” I gestured at our friend, who was
lying back on the provided pillows with her eyes closed.

“She’s our girlfriend.” Candace said, matter-of-factly. “We’re polyamorous.”

“Sweet.” I ignored the aghast stares from the other moms.

We watched Marisol for a beat, her ample bosom rising and swelling. Most of the men in the room were staring at her, but that was because she’d come to Lamaze in a short skirt, and was now curled up like a kitten on the floor. “This isn’t exactly the place for a nap, you know.”

“Oh, take it easy on her.” Candace dropped her voice low, so that only I could hear it over the sound of the instrumental music Maureen had turned on. “She’s gonna get dumped in a few hours. Let her rest up.”

I bit my lip, hope and shame coiling together like smoke in my chest, making everything feel tight and uncomfortable. “Do you think so?”

“Well, it’s not like you don’t want it to happen.” Candace raised an eyebrow at me.

“I
don’t. I just. I don’t know what I want to have happen,” I hissed. I was so torn. When I walked away from Fletcher at that concert, I’d secretly hoped he would show up at my apartment later that night, single and completely unattached, with an engagement ring in his pocket. And possibly wearing nothing but his Elvis tee shirt and a smile.

But I also wanted Marisol to be happy. And there were times—amongst her gripes and whining—when it seemed as though dating Fletcher made her happy. Who was I to take that away from her?

“Well, you’d better figure it out pretty quick,” Candace whispered, as Maureen took her place at the head of the classroom. “Because when Marisol meets up with him tonight, I can almost guarantee you that things are gonna get sticky really fast.”

“What? Who’s sticky?” Marisol pushed herself up next to me and rubbed her eyes. “Ugh. I’m so tired. I’m bored, too. How long does this class last?”

“In a hurry to get to Fletcher’s?” Candace fished. I shot her a dirty look, but she just shrugged innocently.

Marisol ran her hand down her hair, frowning. “No. Not especially. Just in a hurry to get it over with.”

I picked at a loose thread on my jeans, not wanting to sound to obvious. “Well, how do feel about breaking up with him?”

She waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, our
food rep asked me out last week, so I’ll probably set something up with him. I’ve been kind of keeping him in my back pocket.”

“Larry asked you out?” I gaped at her. She was
the only person who would line up backup boyfriends, just in case her current one didn’t pan out.

“I didn’t really want to go, but he’ll be a nice distraction.” Marisol sighed. “I just don’t like getting dumped. I really thought that Fletcher and I had chemistry, but—”

“Welcome to Prepared Labor and Natural Birthing, everyone.” Maureen held her arms wide and scanned the crowd. “It’s my goal to make you all feel at home, at peace, and enveloped in a hug from Mother Nature—”

“Oh, wow. This really is pretty granola,” Candace whispered.

“But what?” I asked Marisol, ignoring as Maureen described the breathing techniques we would be practicing in class.

She dropped her voice low. “Oh, you know what I mean. When I met Fletcher, our physical connection was hot. I mean,
hot
. I really thought we were going to make sparks together.”

I felt like I was going to be sick.

“But after a month or so, it was clear that his mind was somewhere else,” Marisol explained. “The only reason I stuck it out was because he’s a freaking doctor. A hot one, at that. I mean, have you seen his ass in a pair of jeans, Lex? Good Lord, it makes me want to go to confession!”

Had I seen Fletchers’ butt? Um, yeah. I’d seen his butt.
In my head, I’d made movies about his butt.

I cleared my throat. “Um, well, I guess it’
s nice.”

“Nice?” Marisol widened her eyes at me. “Give me a break. He’s got the kind of body that could turn a nun into a whore.”

The woman next to us shushed us.

             
Marisol turned to her. “I
know
you didn’t just shush me.”

“Ladies, focus.” Maureen scolded us. “Repeat after me…
hee, hee, hooo… hee, hee, hooo.”

“The first time we messed around, I couldn’t get enough of him,
you know?” Marisol went on. I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from screaming. “I couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough. And the pants? Forget about it.”

“I thought
you hadn’t slept together,” I said through grit teeth.

Candace nudged me. “N
ot the time.”

“We haven’t. And now we won’
t. Probably.” I winced, but Marisol didn’t take notice. “We made out, I guess. But every time we got close, his daughter would need something. Or his phone would ring and it was the hospital. Or he…”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “He what?”

Her brows knit close together. “He would pull away. Say he needed to be somewhere. Find some excuse to avoid sex.”

“Ye
s!” When Marisol wrinkled her nose, I added, “I mean,
yes
. I understand. That would be really tough.”

“Exactly!” She threw her hands up. “I mean, how long am I expected to go without getting laid?”

The woman sitting next to Marisol scowled at us. “For heaven’s sake, would you talk about this later?”

C
andace mouthed the words,
shut up
at us.

Maureen
stared down at us with a double-chinned frown. “You’ll never bring your baby into this world naturally if you don’t know how to choose your focal point.”

Marisol and I breathed like obedient students.

Once Maureen moved to the opposite end of the room, she leaned close to me again. “But it wasn’t just the ass, you know? When Fletcher and I were together, there was hope. Does that make sense?”

I shook my head.
“What do you mean?”

“Fletcher made me feel like settling down might not be so bad,” she
said. “I would watch him with his kid and it got me thinking. Maybe the whole monogamy, husband and kids, white picket fence thing really
is
all it’s cracked up to be.”

I gaped at her. This was
not
the Marisol I’d been friends with since college.

She raised
her eyebrows. “What? I can’t want domesticity?”

“No, no. You can.” My voice cracked. “I just nev
er thought I’d see the day. I didn’t realize Fletcher brought that out in you.”

This complicated things. It wasn’t like I was surprised by the way he made Marisol feel. Hell, seeing Fletcher
in faded Levi’s would’ve made a
tree
ovulate. But the thought that Fletcher’s familial appeal was now making
Marisol
ovulate? She deserved to have a life with someone. She deserved to have kids, and dogs, and the American dream. But why did it have to be Fletcher she wanted it with?

“I didn’t realize it, either.” Marisol picked at her nail polish. “I just hoped that if I stuck it out long enough,
we’d finally gel, you know? Maybe I’d finally figure out how to connect with his kid—”

“Martha.” I looked down.  “Her name’s Martha.”

“Whatever.” She shook her head. “Then maybe he and I could find some common ground, because Fletcher really is great. And we’d be even more great if he’d finally let me get him into bed—because we all know once he’s in bed with me, all bets are off.”

The woman next to her sneered, while her husband nodded
enthusiastically.

Marisol turned
her body so that she was facing me. “I could never get through to him. I had to initiate all of our dates. I had to call him. I had to remind him to take me places, and to invite me to things. It’s like I was the guy in the relationship. Can you even imagine?”

“All right, everyone. Cleansing breath.” Maureen pressed a hand to her stomach and demonstrated her deep breathing. “In and hold, and out and relax. Good job. Everyone join in.”

The group all sucked up air in unison, except Candace, Marisol, and me.

“Wait a minute,” Candace
leaned forward so she could see Marisol. “You mean to tell us that you’ve never planned a date, or pursued a guy before?”

Marisol offered
a nonchalant shrug. “No. Have you?”

Candace pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, good
Lord.”

“The worst part is, I think Fletcher is seeing someone else.” Marisol pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “He’s always distracted, his mind always seems to be somewhere else, and he just can’t focus on
me
.”