ONE
One year after Cover Me…
KAREN
My eyes almost popped out of my head. “No. Way,” I said, balling up the teeny, tiny pink onesie that said: PRODUCT OF AN UNHOLY UNION on the front and tossing it at Adrian. He’d made a habit of custom designing baby clothes over the past few months through an online store. “How do you know it’s a girl anyway?”
Adrian shot me his shit-eating grin and shook out the onesie. “You doubt my infinite wisdom when it comes to females of the tween and under variety? I’m their king.”
“ You were their king before you went solo and I didn’t realize your influence went as far as in-utero. What if it’s a boy?”
“It’s not a boy.” He shoved the onesie back into my hands and rubbed my giant tummy. “Four more weeks and we’ll see who’s right.”
He kissed me and it still felt new. In my past relationships—if you could call them that—the newness wore off faster than the new car smell in the sensible Lexus SUV Adrian bought me when we found out I was pregnant thirty-six weeks ago.
Yes, it was an accident.
The baby, not the SUV.
It still tingled—his kiss, not the SUV—and made me want more than just a kiss. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones and when I pushed this giant sack of potatoes out and all the baby hormones were gone…what if I didn’t feel it anymore. What if…no tingle.
“Be back by five,” Adrian said, grabbing his new headphones and striding toward the door. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”
My baby shower. It would take us five hours to get to Santa Cruz from L.A. “Around eight in the morning.”
He groaned. Neither of us were morning people. We planned on hiring a nurse for the baby’s first few months, or until he/she slept through the night. When it came to getting my beauty sleep, I didn’t mind taking advantage of Adrian’s wealth.
“Why couldn’t Bess have the shower here?” he asked.
It was times like these when I had to twist my fingers together to make sure I didn’t haul off and smack him. “Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.
He gave me a blank look that melted me. Those blue eyes would be the death of me someday. “Pricilla’s birthday party!? Ring a bell?”
“Oh. Right. Shit.” He dropped his chin and rubbed a hand over his blond hair that had been styled with the boy band floppy bangs when we met. He’d chopped it since then into an adult cut and almost looked like he was old enough to have a kid of his own.
He was. I guess. Twenty-two was still really young in my book. Hell, I was twenty-six and didn’t think I was old enough to be anybody’s mom, but here we were.
“Problem?” I asked.
“No.” He looked up at me like he was in agony. “You know I hate reliving the boy band days, Kay.”
“Even for Cilla?” Adrian’s producer, Derek Bast, had a niece turning fourteen. She was as ferocious as she was precious and had Adrian wrapped around her finger. In a time of weakness, he promised her a reunion with his old boy band, Wrong Direction , for her birthday party.
He couldn’t suppress his smile and sighed. “Only for Cilla.”
“You did call the other guys, right?” I asked. “You can’t be a boy band on your own.”
“I called them. The only one who wasn’t sure he could show was Trent.”
Trent Daniels, Adrian’s brother who couldn’t commit to show up for a beer, let alone anything else.
“You know,” I said, “if we have a girl you’re screwed, right?” I pointed to my protruding belly. “If someone else’s kid can get you to give in so easy, you might as well just hand over the keys to the kingdom when she pops out.”
“I plan to.” He winked and rushed out the door.
The day progressed as usual with the baby kicking the crap out of me. Whenever Adrian wasn’t around I became a punching bag. It was as if his voice lulled the little potato sack. I tried to eat healthy, but the cravings for Big Mac’s and banana splits were taking over my
One year after Cover Me…
KAREN
My eyes almost popped out of my head. “No. Way,” I said, balling up the teeny, tiny pink onesie that said: PRODUCT OF AN UNHOLY UNION on the front and tossing it at Adrian. He’d made a habit of custom designing baby clothes over the past few months through an online store. “How do you know it’s a girl anyway?”
Adrian shot me his shit-eating grin and shook out the onesie. “You doubt my infinite wisdom when it comes to females of the tween and under variety? I’m their king.”
“ You were their king before you went solo and I didn’t realize your influence went as far as in-utero. What if it’s a boy?”
“It’s not a boy.” He shoved the onesie back into my hands and rubbed my giant tummy. “Four more weeks and we’ll see who’s right.”
He kissed me and it still felt new. In my past relationships—if you could call them that—the newness wore off faster than the new car smell in the sensible Lexus SUV Adrian bought me when we found out I was pregnant thirty-six weeks ago.
Yes, it was an accident.
The baby, not the SUV.
It still tingled—his kiss, not the SUV—and made me want more than just a kiss. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones and when I pushed this giant sack of potatoes out and all the baby hormones were gone…what if I didn’t feel it anymore. What if…no tingle.
“Be back by five,” Adrian said, grabbing his new headphones and striding toward the door. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”
My baby shower. It would take us five hours to get to Santa Cruz from L.A. “Around eight in the morning.”
He groaned. Neither of us were morning people. We planned on hiring a nurse for the baby’s first few months, or until he/she slept through the night. When it came to getting my beauty sleep, I didn’t mind taking advantage of Adrian’s wealth.
“Why couldn’t Bess have the shower here?” he asked.
It was times like these when I had to twist my fingers together to make sure I didn’t haul off and smack him. “Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.
He gave me a blank look that melted me. Those blue eyes would be the death of me someday. “Pricilla’s birthday party!? Ring a bell?”
“Oh. Right. Shit.” He dropped his chin and rubbed a hand over his blond hair that had been styled with the boy band floppy bangs when we met. He’d chopped it since then into an adult cut and almost looked like he was old enough to have a kid of his own.
He was. I guess. Twenty-two was still really young in my book. Hell, I was twenty-six and didn’t think I was old enough to be anybody’s mom, but here we were.
“Problem?” I asked.
“No.” He looked up at me like he was in agony. “You know I hate reliving the boy band days, Kay.”
“Even for Cilla?” Adrian’s producer, Derek Bast, had a niece turning fourteen. She was as ferocious as she was precious and had Adrian wrapped around her finger. In a time of weakness, he promised her a reunion with his old boy band, Wrong Direction , for her birthday party.
He couldn’t suppress his smile and sighed. “Only for Cilla.”
“You did call the other guys, right?” I asked. “You can’t be a boy band on your own.”
“I called them. The only one who wasn’t sure he could show was Trent.”
Trent Daniels, Adrian’s brother who couldn’t commit to show up for a beer, let alone anything else.
“You know,” I said, “if we have a girl you’re screwed, right?” I pointed to my protruding belly. “If someone else’s kid can get you to give in so easy, you might as well just hand over the keys to the kingdom when she pops out.”
“I plan to.” He winked and rushed out the door.
The day progressed as usual with the baby kicking the crap out of me. Whenever Adrian wasn’t around I became a punching bag. It was as if his voice lulled the little potato sack. I tried to eat healthy, but the cravings for Big Mac’s and banana splits were taking over my
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