Shot of Sultry (19 page)

The cloak and dagger act brought a nervous snicker to her lips. She was more paranoid than Bong after a blunt run, but it only took one nosy neighbor to tattle to her brother. When she returned to California, she intended to leave Luke and Trey’s friendship intact.

She stretched up to check her reflection in the mirror, smoothing an errant lock of hair she must’ve missed with the flatiron. Half an inch of blond roots had grown along her part, contrasting with the artificial red, but with any luck, Trey would be too distracted by the plunging neckline of her skintight blouse to notice. Heart racing, she wiped her clammy palms on a discarded McDonald’s napkin from lunch. She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first date at age fifteen. It’d been like this all day too. Her fingers had trembled so badly, she’d barely been able to zip her skirt.

It wasn’t only eagerness to see Trey that had her in knots. Bobbi was 99 percent sure she was pregnant.

Before she could obsess for the thousandth time about how to break the news to Trey—or more importantly, what the hell they were going to do—he stepped into the garage and stole her breath.

Electric-blue eyes shone at her above a wide smile and dimpled cheeks. He must’ve just stepped out of the shower, because his damp, sandy hair had dripped onto the broad shoulders of his white T-shirt, rendering the fabric nearly transparent and revealing the tanned skin underneath. In his faded jeans and bare feet, he was infinitely sexier than the polished metrosexuals she’d once admired in LA. Now she wondered what she’d ever seen in those men. Trey waved her inside, probably wondering why she was still lingering inside her car.

If they’d made a baby, she hoped the little guy was the spitting image of his father.

Wait, no. She mentally slapped herself.

She shouldn’t be thinking like that—assigning the fetus a gender or imagining its pudgy, dimpled face. Having a child right now would mean disaster. What about her career, and Trey’s impending deployment? What would Luke say? And Trey’s mother? She’d probably claim Bobbi had gotten knocked up on purpose. This cloud didn’t have a silver lining.

Taking a fortifying gulp of air, she stepped out of the car and clicked across the cement floor on her high-heeled sandals, grappling for the right words to break the news. Trey met her halfway and scooped her into his muscled arms, twirling her in place as if they’d just reunited after a decade apart. He was warm and solid and smelled of sweet apples and spicy marinara sauce. He smelled like home. Wrapping herself around him, she buried her nose at the base of his throat and pulled in his scent.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Been a hell of a day.” After lowering her feet to the floor, he took her face between his palms and kissed her, a light brush of lips that flushed her skin and had her raising onto her toes for more. He smiled against her mouth, then pulled away. Linking their fingers, he towed her through the doorway and into the kitchen, where the rich scents of tomatoes and garlic hung heavily in the air.

“Mmm,” she said. “Smells like heaven in here.” The tiny, two-seater kitchen table was already set with salad, bowls of steaming pasta, and a bottle of Merlot. Oh, no. Could she have wine?

“I hope you’re hungry.” Trey brought their linked fingers to his mouth and kissed her hand. “I figured spaghetti was safe. Is that okay?”

“Safe?”

“With all your allergies,” he explained.

Bobbi’s heart puffed inside her chest like a toasted soufflé. She’d only mentioned her food aversions once, over a month ago. He’d listened and remembered. He’d put real thought and extra care behind this simple meal. Just when she didn’t think she could adore Trey any more, he outdid himself.

“I love spaghetti,” she said. But instead of following him to the table, she freed her hand, then proceeded to scratch her nose. She had to tell him about the baby before she went insane or lost her nerve. Or both. “But let’s talk first.”

His perpetual grin faltered, likely because nothing good ever followed those words. “Sure.” He leaned one hip against the counter and folded his arms protectively. “What’s up?”

Bobbi swallowed hard. “I’m late.”

His eyes darted to the stove’s digital clock. “No, you’re not. You’re right on ti—” His breath caught, the blood drained from his face like water through a sieve, until his typically tanned cheeks turned to wax. Returning his gaze to hers, he asked, “
Late
, late?”

She nodded.

“How late?”

“About a week.” Which might not worry the average woman, but Bobbi’s meticulous, twenty-six-day cycle had never faltered. She’d never, ever been late before. “And my boobs are sore.” She cupped them gently, glancing at the cleavage spilling from her scoop-neck top. “And bigger, don’t you think?”

Though his eyes had gone glassy, Trey gave her breasts a thorough appraisal. He held both hands out as if fondling her from a distance. “I guess so. Did you take a test?”

“No.” But she’d wanted to. “Everyone knows my face. I was afraid it’d get back to Luke if someone saw me buying a pregnancy test.”

“You’re probably right. It’s a small town, and folks love to gossip.” He inhaled deeply, his wide chest stretching the seams of his T-shirt. After considering a moment, he gave a decided nod. “I’ll do it.”

“Buy the test?”

“If there’s gonna be talk, I’d rather it be about me than you.”

Bobbi brought a hand over her heart. To hell with opening doors and pulling out chairs—this was the most chivalrous thing any man had ever done for her. “Thank you.”

His gaze danced back and forth between Bobbi and the supper beginning to cool on the table. Eventually, he decided, “I’d better go now. Before we worry ourselves sick.”

“Good idea.” Maybe she should drink some water while he was gone. How much urine would she need for one of those tests? She had no clue.

His eyes searched her face as he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You feel all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Ignoring her reply, he ushered her into the living room, where he insisted she take a seat on the leather sofa. “Here,” he said, grabbing a couple of throw pillows, “put your feet up.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

At her protest, he took matters into his own hands, grabbing her ankles and swiveling her into a reclining position with her heels resting on the pillows. Then he began unfastening her sandals.

“You need anything before I go?” he asked. “Crackers, or…uh…ice cream, or Alka Seltzer, or something?” After tossing her shoes to the carpeted floor, he knelt by her side and pressed one palm against her forehead as if checking for fever.

She couldn’t help giggling at his reaction. “I’m fine.”

“Right, right.” He rubbed his hands together, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “I’m gonna go.” Hitching a thumb toward the door, he assured her, “It’s only five minutes to the Sack-n-Pay, but I’ve got my cell phone if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“You sure you don’t need any—”

“
Trey!
”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Without further ado, he scurried out of the house to his truck. Bobbi heard the Chevy start, then the garage door opening and closing, followed by the squeal of tires as he peeled down the street.

Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, he came tearing back inside, plastic bag in hand. “I got the digital kind,” he announced, reaching inside and producing said item. “Says it’s just as accurate as a doctor’s test.” He tapped the box with his index finger. “No lines, or plusses, or minuses. It’ll tell you ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant.’” Then he felt the need to clarify, “I mean, it won’t actually
tell
you out loud, but the words—”

“I know. I’ve seen the commercials.” The poor guy was even more frantic than she was. Wrenching the box from his grip, she stood from the sofa and walked on wobbly knees to the hall bathroom. But just before she closed the door, Trey stopped her.

“Wait.” He followed her inside. “Before you take the test, I need you to know something.”

Bobbi’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t handle any more emotional turmoil today. She hoped Trey wasn’t about to confess a secret girlfriend, or a few secret kids, or worse—a secret wife.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Using one finger, he tipped her chin until their eyes met. “No matter what happens,” he said firmly, “no matter what that test says, we’re gonna be okay.” He bent at the knees, lowering to her height. “I’m gonna take good care of you, Bobbi, and I want you to know that.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “Do you believe me?”

Bobbi’s throat closed. She could only nod. When would she trust him and stop expecting the worst? She wanted to tell Trey he’d make a phenomenal father, but words still wouldn’t pass through her thickened airway. Instead, she kissed the tip of his nose and gently pushed against his chest until he backed out into the hall. Then she closed the door and tore open the package.

The process was easier than she’d expected. Before long, she’d gingerly placed the used test stick atop a tissue on the counter. She never took her eyes off the results window while washing her hands. As the seconds ticked by far too slowly, her heart pounded so hard she feared she’d break a rib. It was pure torture waiting for this miniature Magic 8 Ball to determine her future. From beyond the door, the wood floor creaked beneath Trey’s pacing footsteps. He had to be dying too.

Oh god! Something was happening in the test window! Words were forming, beginning to darken! Bobbi held her breath, bit her lip, and leaned closer, gripping the countertop for support so she didn’t pass out.

Not
pregnant
.

Not pregnant? She straightened, furrowing her brow. That couldn’t be right. The glare from the old fluorescent lights above the mirror had probably played tricks on her eyes. Bobbi placed a cap over the absorbent tip and held the test at an angle, away from the flickering glow.

Not
pregnant
.

Her heart sank. Maybe she’d done something wrong—used too much urine or not enough. Wasn’t she supposed to replace the cap before setting the test on a flat surface? Perhaps that had skewed the results. She shook the stick like a thermometer for a few seconds, then checked the reading again.

Not
pregnant
. There it was, in black and white, refusing to change.

She slumped down onto the toilet lid, still staring at the test in disbelief. The backs of her eyes stung. Her lungs compressed and felt heavy, bowing her over with their leaden weight. A wet sob worked its way up from her throat, and as the first plump tear spilled onto her cheek, Bobbi realized with shock that these weren’t tears of relief. They were of disappointment.

She’d wanted that baby. Trey’s sweet, dimpled, blue-eyed baby. She’d never planned to have children, much less now, at age twenty-three, with her career in shambles, neck-deep in debt, swept up in an affair with her brother’s best friend. She should be bouncing with joy, not crying.

Oh god, what was wrong with her?

***

Trey pressed an ear to the bathroom door and listened as Bobbi sniffled on the other side. Crying could only mean one thing: she was pregnant.

Holy shit, he was going to be a daddy.

His head spun, and he clutched the wall to keep from falling. But a surprise grin lifted the corners of his mouth. He was going to be a daddy!

Okay, so the timing sucked, but when he thought about it, there was no reason why things couldn’t work. He was crazy about Bobbi, and she seemed to like him too. The thought of marrying her and starting a family made his chest light and tingly, like he’d spilled warm champagne down the front of his shirt. Bobbi would be all his. He’d get to come home to her at the end of a long day and spend the night in the haven of her arms. And though Luke would be furious at first, he’d come around. Hell, they’d be brothers!

As for Trey’s defense contract, he’d break it. He’d have to repay the signing bonus, and his military record would remain unclear, but who cared? Right now, an other-than-honorable discharge seemed trivial compared to bringing a child into the world.

He could already picture the three of them—the Lewis family—cuddled beneath an evergreen tree for their first Christmas. How old would the baby be next December? Trey took a moment to crunch some numbers. About eight months old. He glanced into the living room where he typically assembled his artificial tree. He could almost see his tiny, towheaded son crawling toward a shiny ornament hung too low on the branches. Trey’s fingers twitched to hold his baby boy. They could really do this—be happy together.

Just as he drew a hopeful breath, Bobbi opened the bathroom door. He spun around to find her red-eyed, but smiling.

“It’s negative,” she said, holding up the pee stick as evidence.

“What?” He must not have heard her right.

She pointed to a small oval window. “Not pregnant.” Squinting, he brought the words into focus.

When Trey was a freshman in high school, one of the seniors had played a prank on him in the lunchroom, pulling his chair out from under him just before he’d sat down. He’d hit the tile floor so hard it’d knocked the wind out of his lungs. He felt that way now.

“Oh.” He blinked away moisture welling in his eyes. “I heard you crying, and I assumed—”

“I was just so relieved,” she explained, shrugging. She leaned into the bathroom and tossed the test into the wastebasket. “Good news, huh?”

“Of course.” And it
was
good news, logically. So why did he feel sucker-punched? Why did it seem like he’d lost a family that had never even existed?

“Now we can eat.” She pressed a hand against her tummy—her now vacant tummy. “I’m starved.”

“Sure. Me too.”

Trey collected himself long enough to fake a smile and reheat dinner, but something shifted inside him. For the first time, he realized he wanted something more from his life. More from Bobbi.

When he took her to bed that night, it wasn’t for down-and-dirty sex. He made love to her slowly. Softly. Sharing the same shuddering breaths and gazing into her warm, green eyes as if to brand her. He made her come half a dozen times, but he denied his own release for hours, because he needed the closeness. Needed to recoup what he’d lost. But when he drove himself inside her wet heat and finally climaxed, he could’ve sworn he’d lost half his soul to her in the process.