White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) by Samantha Christy Page A

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    She takes a cleansing breath and looks me in the eye. “You are positively glowing in this dress. And your boobs look completely drool-worthy. You should wear this Monday.”
    “Don’t you think it’s still a little big for me right now?”
    “Nobody will even notice the extra material at your waist. They’ll all be too focused on your boobs.” She reaches out to pull the dress even lower than it already dips between my more prominent breasts.
    “Would you quit it,” I whine. “They’re spilling out enough as it is.”
    “I just want you to feel pretty. Desirable,” she says. “Because you are. Any man would be lucky to have you. Don’t ever forget that.” She sighs. “So, Monday, okay?”
    “Okay, okay, I’ll wear the damn dress on Monday. Geez.” Far be it for me to argue with a non-pregnant woman who seems more hormonal than I am. “Can I go try on the other stuff now?”
    It takes a while to get through the piles of clothing she picked out for me. In the end we settle on the boob-enhancing dress along with six or seven other uber-stylish outfits.
    Erin removes her wallet to pay, dropping it on the floor. She goes to pick it up and drops it again. And again. And another time after that. I finally reach down and pick it up for her.
    “Sorry,” she huffs in frustration. “I seem to have butterfingers today.” She shrugs, getting her credit card out awkwardly with her non-dominant left hand as she fists and releases her right one over and over.
    “You okay?” I ask.
    “I’m fine, Skylar. My hand just fell asleep.” She gives the clerk her card. “I can’t wait to see you in these again. You are going to be the hottest pregnant lady in the city.”
    I decide not to argue the fact that me looking hot is so not the point of this whole surrogacy exercise. But if she wants to live vicariously through me, who am I to stop her?
     

chapter six
     
     
     
     
    Sunday afternoon, my doorbell rings and I look through the peephole to see a man holding a basket. Another care package from Erin, I imagine.
    I thank the young guy who doesn’t stop grinning at me as he hands over the basket covered with dark-blue cellophane, completely hiding the contents.
    I sit down on my couch and carefully remove the covering. My eyes bug out when I see what’s inside. It’s filled with sex toys. Vibrators of various sizes, a pocket-rocket, some egg-shaped thing, tubes of lubricant, and a few unknowns with names like ‘Rampant Rabbit’ and ‘Vibrating Bullet,’ that I’ll have to read about to figure out exactly what they are. God, just looking at the stuff makes me horny.
    I laugh when I remember the comment I made to Erin about breaking my vibrator. She really does like taking care of me.
    Guilt washes over me. If she only knew who I’ll most likely fantasize about when using these products, she not only wouldn’t have sent them, she would probably cut me out of her life, only sticking around to get the bean.
    Maybe I could think about the bike delivery guy. Or the guy who delivered this—he was hot, too. Oh, duh , no wonder he had a grin plastered on his face. I’ll bet he knew exactly what was in the package.
    We have a new waiter at work, Jarod. He’s only nineteen. Brown hair, strong dark eyes, a body built for sex. I should dream about him . Hell, even Trent, one of my bartenders, could provoke a pretty decent sex fantasy.
    As I try to make a list of all the men who should replace Griffin in my fantasies, my phone rings, causing me to startle and drop the G-spot wand I was holding.
    “Did you get it?” Erin squeals into the phone.
    My lips twitch in amusement. “If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you and hide the body.”
    She laughs. “Oh, good. You got it, then. I didn’t want you to be so . . . frustrated.”
    “I don’t even know what half this stuff is,” I say. Oh my God, does she? “Do you?”
    “Let’s just say yours is not the first basket I’ve ordered from that