Shaw waits for me at his door, and I get a sense of déjà vu from the last time I showed up here. Unlike that time, he’s wearing a shit eating grin and leads me to the bar.
“How bad was it?”
“Depends. On one hand, I should thank you and offer to buy you the place on the ocean you’ve promised Claire. On the other hand, I need to fucking beat your ass and bill you for the therapy once this is done.”
I wince, knowing how these conversations can go. I decide to start safely.
“Tell me about my condo.”
“It’s almost all done. Bizzy got Gail involved, and it was as good as completed. Grace, Doni, Nick, and a few of the players got most of it rearranged and followed Bizzy’s instructions.”
Gail is Shaw’s assistant, Doni is Grace’s mentor from Greece that came here and floats between countries, and who knows who helped Nick rearrange my furniture.
“Did they tell Claire?”
“Not to my knowledge. The subject came up once, but it was brief. I was concerned, with Bizzy’s level of excitement, that she’d slip up. I misjudged, seeing as how they have pecked at every other detail of your escapade.”
“I guess I owe Nick.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” Shaw’s lips curve into a smug grin as he hands me a drink.
“What does that mean?”
“You were probably solid until he showed here tonight with the hen party. He sat for less than five minutes then growled, went to his truck, returned with his noise-canceling earphones and iPad, settled Grace between his legs, and watched replays of last year’s games as the girls carried on.”
“Why didn’t he come inside with you and Brinley?”
“He didn’t get here until after she was asleep and the good stuff started.”
“Good stuff?”
“I didn’t camp out in here. I joined the party with my phone in hand. Thank God for expedited shipping, I have a dozen handcuffs being delivered.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, swallowing almost the whole drink.
“And that’s not it.”
“I don’t need to know more. I can imagine.”
“If my ears are bleeding, so are yours. This is where the buying you a condo comes into play. Apparently, I have a month of uninhibited, multi-position sex that includes lots of biting, nail scraping, body pulsing orgasms headed my way. Not to mention the extensive practice with perfecting the art of deep-throating.”
I gulp the last of my whiskey, hoping to hide my smile. No reserves, no embarrassment, Claire doesn’t hold back. “How much have they had to drink?”
“They walked in, speaking in hushed voices. Bizzy gave me the head’s up, so I knew what to expect. They coddled Brinley for a while, wore her out, and I put her down after her bottle. Then the fun commenced. The non-pregnant women requested martinis. I’ve gone through most of the vodka.”
“And the pregnant woman?”
“Grace has gone head to head, sharing stories, wanting more information and not backing down.”
“And you sat through that?”
“Two heavy pours of whiskey, my wife sending me suggestive looks, and did I mention the extensive practice with perfecting the art of deep throating?” His eyebrows draw together.
“Okay, I get it,” I lie because my ears are ringing with this whole situation. Claire has always been open about sex, but this is a new level. “Dare I ask where the therapy comes in?”
“Nick and Grace got into a throw down when she took off his headphones and wanted his opinion on, and I quote, ‘ball-sucking while sixty-nining’. He turned green, looked at everyone with horror, and carried her to our guest room. The girls went on like nothing happened while I thought of having the room scoured.”
“Fuckity, fucking, fuck.”
“Now, I’m traumatized from thinking about my baby brother and his pregnant wife sixty-nining in the same bed where Mom sleeps.”
My stomach rolls at the thought.
“If things went the right way, you may not actually owe Nick,” Shaw surmises, sipping his drink and refilling mine.
“But I will say, the topless incident, I’d be in prison.”
“You have no idea.”
The patio door opens, and Nick stalks in, looking sick again. “You have less than a minute to shut this down. I’m done. I’ve spent countless hours in the locker room and showers with men. I’ve traveled around the world with guys who have their eye on pussy twenty-four seven, and I’ve never cringed. They are no match to these women.”
“What happened now?”
“They’ve moved the discussion to Tumblr porn and have now confiscated my iPad.”
Shaw and I move together, out the door in an instant to find the girls cackling uncontrollably at something on the screen. I reach to grab the device until Claire turns it to me, and I spot a baby boy doing some kind of dance.
“The opportunity to screw with you guys was too much.” She hiccups.
“We’re going home,” I announce and actually sense my brothers’ relief at my back.
“Right, your place we go.” She hauls up, giving the iPad to Grace and kissing them both on the cheek before coming to me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “They know almost everything now. We should be good for a few days.”
“Sounds like they know more than almost everything. Think it will hold them until Monthly Dinner Night?”
She looks over her shoulder. “You good ‘til MDN?”
Bizzy and Grace nod, smiling widely, and Shaw and Nick shoot me an appreciative glance.
“Time to go, baby.” I turn to the door, carrying most of her weight. She sways twice, plants her feet, and turns back to my family before falling into my chest.
“I’m going to say this, and then we will never speak of it again because it’s the mushy shit you guys do. But I love Mathis, I love you all, and I’m glad we don’t have to go through the awkwardness of us breaking up because it would suck to lose this.”
At this, I’m done, lifting her and carrying her away to the sound of Bizzy and Grace giggling.
I stand in the doorway of what is now our bedroom and watch Claire sleep, taking in the changes. They’re not perfect, but they’ll do until she has time to arrange the way she wants. Bizzy and the rest of the crew did well with what I asked in the short period of time.
Claire flips to her back, exhales loudly, then face plants back into the mattress with a groan. That’s my queue. I slide to her side, gently curl her into my lap, and sweep her hair from her face.
“Hey, sleeping beauty.”
“My mouth tastes like death.”
“What does death taste like?” I joke.
“My head feels like ass.”
“Baby, I think you got that mixed up.”
She squints one eye and scowls. “Why are you talking?”
“Why wouldn’t I talk?”
“Because it hurts me when your chest moves.”
“I’ll try to contain that.”
“Gah! Now, you’re yelling! My head’s going to explode.”
I try to hold back my laugh, but it’s useless when she begins to smack her lips. “Maybe that last martini wasn’t such a smart idea.”
“Or possibly the seven you drank beforehand?”
“Damn Bizzy and Shaw.”
“Bizzy and Shaw didn’t pour the drinks down your throat.”
“No, but they encouraged it.”
“Hate to point it out, but you and Bizzy are unstoppable forces when you want to be. You’ve even converted Sweet Grace.”
“Sweet Grace my ass. She’s got you snowed. She’s the devil incarnated.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
I move to place her feet on the floor, and she curves her knees at the last minute, going all the way to the floor. I try to help her up, but she bats my hands away, positioning on all fours.
Her right hand slides forward, followed by her knee, and she repeats with the left side. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Crawling,” she grumbles.
After thirty seconds, she’s only gotten about ten feet away, her elbows shaking and knees wobbling. “Let me carry you to the bathroom,” I offer.
“You can’t touch me. If you do, I may hurl all over your hardwood floors, and then I’ll hurl again thinking about cleaning up vomit. It will be an awful situation.”
“More awful than watching a grown woman attempting to crawl worse than my six-month-old niece?”
“You can leave now.”
“No way in hell. I’ve seen you do a lot of things hungover, but this is a first. You naked on all fours, your sweet ass in the air, crawling across my floor. I’m not missing this.”
“You. Are. A. Pig,” she sputters.
She grunts again, moving a little steadier, and finally hits the entry to the bathroom. “Victory!” she cries out.
I go to the kitchen to get what she’s going to need and hear a text notification.
Shaw— Therapy bills are racking up. Bizzy’s been puking since dawn.
Me— Probably not a good time to try deep throating.
Shaw— You’re an asshole.
Me— Why are you texting me? Take care of your wife and daughter.
Shaw— I’m trying, but she insisted I find out Claire’s reaction.
Me— No reaction yet. She’s currently nursing her own hangover.
Shaw— Give me something to tell her.
Me— Claire just crawled on her hands and knees to the bathroom and looked worse than a baby goat taking its first steps.
Shaw— Perfect
I drop the phone and go back to the bedroom. Claire calls my name faintly, and I find her sitting on the edge of the tub. Her eyes light up with gratitude when I hand her the pills and bottle of water. She gulps them down, swallowing half the bottle in the process.
“I used the bathroom, attempted to brush my teeth, and pulled my hair back. It took all my energy.”
I pick her up and take her back to bed, cradling her against me and waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. After a while, she lifts her head to mine. Her eyes are now clear and her cheeks flushed.
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
“And remind me to thank your housekeeper. The floors are impeccably polished, and the sheets are softer than ever before.”
“I’ll be sure to compliment her on the crawl-worthy floors. As for the sheets, they are new.”
“Did you need new sheets?”
“For you I did, they’re identical to your favorites but in a larger size to fit my bed.”
Her eyes fall to the bed then slowly roam to the side, her head turning to scan the room. “Is that the painting Grace gave me for Christmas?”
“It is.”
“Are those my Parisian candlesticks?”
“They are, and if you keep looking, you’ll see a lot of your stuff in here.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice is laced with confusion.
“I could tell you, but I’d prefer to show you. Think you can get out of bed?”
“Yes.”
I slip out from under her, go to the dresser, and pull out a silk nightgown.
“How did that get here?”
“These four drawers are yours.”
She slips the nightgown on and grips my hand as I take her through the bathroom and to the closet. Bizzy and Gail did an excellent job hiring the contractor to renovate the space. There is now an abundance of cubicles filled with her shoes, dual columns of custom drawers with our clothes, and three tiers of hanging shelving. My clothes have been re-hung to the side, and most of the space is organized with her things. She doesn’t say anything; her only reaction is a small gasp. We go back into the bathroom where almost all of her toiletries are placed around. Her grip tightens, and I lead her to the middle of the living room.
She twists and turns, her eyes growing wider as she takes it in. Her colorful pillows and blankets are placed and draped on my furniture. The built-in shelves that were sparse are now loaded with her favorite books and knick-knacks.
There’s also a lot of blank space. Nick rearranged the furniture to open up the room and allow for more seating.
“Did they do all this?”
“It was a group effort, including Gail and Doni.”
“What about my apartment?”
“Shaw worked out a deal to get you out of your lease. The movers are coming next weekend. Packing boxes are already there. We’ll go over on our days off, and you can decide what comes here and what goes to storage. Anything of mine you don’t like can go to charity or storage as well. I left the kitchen, office, and guest room for you to decide. You want to decorate that bedroom and bathroom with your furniture and belongings, go for it. We’ll move mine.”
“You did all this without talking to me. What if things didn’t work out?”
“Not working out wasn’t an option.”
She goes quiet again, leaving my side and walking to the shelves filled with pictures. I already had a few frames around the room of family, but now there are more—mostly of the two of us.
“Where did these come from?” She picks one up, running her finger over the glass.
“Everyone. Grace was in charge of that project. She collected, framed, and displayed.”
“I didn’t know some of these existed,” she says quietly.
“I didn’t either until last night when I got you into bed and had a chance to admire her work.”
“They really went all out.” She places the frame back on the shelf and picks up another.
“More are coming,”
“Are you building a shrine?”
“There’s a lot of space.”
“I can’t look at myself that much.”
“I’ll take some to my office.”
“Let me amend; even you can’t look at me that much.”
“I disagree. I can’t get enough of you.”
Her lips twitch, and she replaces the picture, scanning the room again. I remain quiet, bracing for her reaction. I didn’t fuck around, moving her in without her knowledge.
“I’m freaking out,” she admits.
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”
“No, you don’t understand. Something has happened to me. I’m standing here trying my best not to cry.” Her eyes begin to glisten, and I step into her space, circling her waist.
“Why do you want to cry?”
“I don’t know! Ever since those two weeping wimpsters came over and made me purge my soul, I’ve been different.”
“There’s nothing wrong with showing your feelings.”
“Why aren’t you freaking?”
“I kinda like seeing this softer side.”
Her eyes flame, and the blood drains from her face. “Soft? I’m not soft!” she shouts. “I’m independent, mouthy, and the tell-it-like-it-is girl. People rely on me to keep things real. I’m reserved with my emotions. There’s nothing wrong with crying. I cried when my best friend slammed into a barricade because a raging bitch tried to kill her. I cry when we lose patients because I’m not heartless, and it hurts like hell. I cry when my boyfriend breaks my heart into a billion pieces. None of those things are happening right now. This urge to burst into tears means something is wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.” I fight my grin.
“Of course, you’d think that. You love this girly shit. You let me get sentimental last night with our friends.” She scrunches her nose, crinkles her brows, and shivers in disgust. “I was sappy, and not any sappy, the gross kind of sappy. It was shameful!”
“I didn’t let you do anything. You swung around with an agenda and let it fly. It was sweet.”
She sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide with horror. “The old Claire would never do that. The old me would be livid with you for doing all this behind my back. You snuck into my home—”
“Bizzy and I have keys. There was no sneaking.”
“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “you made life-changing decisions, moving most of my essentials into your place when I’ve had no more than a toothbrush here forever. You built me a custom closet and hung my clothes in it, arranged movers for next week, and had our friends decorate your living room with a montage of our relationship through pictures. It’s overwhelming. And, instead of screaming my head off, I’m fighting the emotional outburst clawing its way up my throat.”
I cradle her face in my hand, tilting her chin so she can’t look away. “There’s a lot to break down here, but let’s start with the toothbrush. When I lost you and realized you only had a toothbrush here, it became a huge fucking problem with me. I expected some resistance; that’s why I compromised by bringing the essentials now and working on the other stuff together. Luckily, we’re not having a knock-down drag-out over my life-changing decisions since you already agreed. I sped up the process, knowing I wasn’t taking no for an answer. The closet was a present, from me to you, to show how much I want your things in there. The pictures may be a montage of our relationship, but they represent many incredible memories. Every one of those images is seared in my brain, but I wanted them on display to remember them every time I walk into this house.”
Her eyes begin to shine again.
“And, for the record, the old Claire may have pitched a fit, screamed her head off, and made this a lot more difficult, but I’m happy with the new side of you.”
“You don’t like the old me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I fell in love standing across from you at a college party the first weekend we met. I’ve been falling harder every day since. This is an added bonus to an already perfect woman who has given me the gift of being mine.”
That does it. Her lips quiver and tears spill down her cheeks as she sucks in a shaky breath. Her hands go to my head, and she pulls me down to meet her mouth, crying openly as she kisses me. I welcome the saltiness of her tears, feeling her tremble in my arms.
“It has to be the hangover,” she says into my mouth.
“Yeah, babe, we’ll blame it on the hangover.”