Brinley lets out a little baby sigh, never opening her eyes, and I snuggle her closer, kissing the top of her head.
“We have the pack n’ play in the car. Shaw can grab it,” Bizzy tells me for the second time since the baby fell asleep.
“We’re good. Maybe in a bit.”
“She’s a doll, and she looks comfortable in your arms, Claire. You’re a natural.” Sharon Monroe, Grace’s mom, tells me. I can’t miss the longing in her eyes as she stares at the baby, and I know she’s out of her mind excited about Grace and Nick having their child.
“She’s going to be an incredible mom,” Bizzy pipes in.
Red-alert signals fire in my brain when I catch the hopefulness in her voice. “Back that train up, Biz. Motherhood is way out on my horizon.”
“Of course, you’re getting married first,” she says matter-of-factly as if this is an event happening soon.
I should have expected this. Grace and Bizzy have been dropping innuendos since Mathis and I moved in together. “Give me time to breathe. We just started cohabitating seven weeks ago.”
“I know! That’s more than enough time.”
“Lay off.”
She opens her mouth but Sharon speaks up. “Do you want to get married, Claire?”
Sharon Monroe is a classy lady. She’s the true definition of a matriarch. When Grace’s grandmother passed away, tons of responsibility fell onto Sharon’s shoulders with their southern heritage and traditions. Grace’s dad, Carl, is the mayor of their small town, and Sharon is the perfect mayor’s wife. She’s strong, wise, kind, and full of love. Another awesome trait is she knows how to bust balls when needed. The men in her life rarely test her because underneath all the kindness is a ferocious tenacity. Grace inherited a lot of this, which is one reason I love her like I do. You get an abundance of sweet mixed with sassy, and if you piss her off, stand back because she’ll cut to the core. Hence, leaving Nick and going to Greece for almost a year when he fucked up.
“I do, Sharon. But it’s not on the top of my priority list right now. Mathis and I hit a rough patch and found our way to a good place. I’m happy with the way things are.”
“I can understand that, and I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason. There’s no doubt in my mind you and Mathis will be married when the time is right.”
“Please don’t get married until after the baby comes and football season is over,” Grace begs.
I don’t have time to answer her when the sliding glass doors open and Mathis, Nick, Carl, and Grandpa Roy come inside.
“Where’re Shaw and Brayden?” Bizzy looks beyond them to the patio.
“We’ve done our part to wear the kid out. Now, Shaw’s trying to get him to sleep,” Grandpa Roy answers.
“Ahhh. I love it when both the kids nap at the same time.”
“What are y’all talking about in here?” Nick goes to kiss the top of Grace’s head and stands behind her.
“Mathis and Claire’s wedding,” she answers nonchalantly.
I hold my breath, waiting for the terror to hit Mathis. Instead of going pale, breaking out in a sweat, or freezing in horror, he pops a grape in his mouth, locks eyes with me, and announces, “We’re going to Vegas. No need to plan anything.”
Outside of Bizzy’s gasp, a silence settles over the room, my heart thundering in my chest.
He continues to chew. Calm, casual, and completely unaffected. I can’t tear my eyes from his, letting his announcement filter through my mind. He crooks an eyebrow, waiting for me to respond.
“I can do Vegas.” I decide in that instant that Vegas is exactly where I want to get married.
“Vegas will be spectacular,” Bizzy chirps.
“After the baby is born,” Grace interjects.
“When’s that baby due?” Mathis doesn’t look at her, holding my stare.
“Twenty-five weeks.”
“Can’t make that promise.”
Grace lets out a little cry, and I break our stare, snapping my eyes to her.
“Claire, you have to hold off. I’ll never forgive you if I miss your wedding.”
I glance back at Mathis, whose lip is quirked to the side. A loud slapping sounds and I jerk in my seat, my attention slicing to Grandpa Roy.
“Doesn’t anyone else see the travesty happening here?” His southern, deep voice booms through the room, and I’m surprised Brinley doesn’t wake up.
“I hardly consider this a travesty, Roy,” Sharon replies cheerfully.
“My beautiful Claire is transforming before my eyes. What happened to my snarky, sarcastic spit-fire? She is becoming do-mest-i-cated! Cuddling sleeping babies, talking about weddings, moving in with this bozo.” He jerks his thumb in Mathis’s direction. “I see my talk with your dad didn’t get very far. Should have bought him a shotgun. Hell, even I couldn’t rile him outside. Cool as a cucumber. Pretty boy over there froze like a scared jackrabbit, but Dr. Bonehead didn’t break a sweat.” He finishes on a huff, and I blink a few times trying to process all that he said.
I barely hear Shaw join us but notice him smirking as he goes to Bizzy’s side. Apparently, he heard the rant and clearly enjoyed it.
When I refocus, all eyes are on me. I think quickly, trying to come up with an explanation that will prove I’m not the wretched ‘domesticated’. “Grandpa, I think we should break this down. I’m cuddling a sleeping baby because she’s my goddaughter and I leave next week for Boston. She’s going to miss me tremendously. I moved in with Mathis because it is a logical decision based solely on finances. You wouldn’t believe how much money I’m saving by shacking up with a ‘doctor’.” I use my index finger to air quote the title doctor, which gets a few under-breath chuckles. “If you listened correctly, you heard us talking about getting hitched in Las Vegas… the City of Sin.” This time, I drop my voice to a low, smoky tone, trying to sound sinner-ish.
Grandpa’s eyes light with amusement, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Glad to hear you’re watching out for your future by saving money, even if you do have to live with this lug. And I suspect those Vegas weddings aren’t even valid, so that’s a good thing.”
“Probably not, I’ll be married by a man wearing an Elvis costume in a small, hideously decorated chapel, and strangers will be my witnesses. Not exactly romantic.”
“Yes, I can see how that may be appealing.” Grandpa Roy is now full-out smiling, enjoying our usual wit.
“As for my dad, he did take your advice to heart. He showed up, motioned for Mathis to follow him, and they disappeared for an hour. My mom assured me there were no firearms involved, so I let them hash it out. When they returned, they reeked of whiskey, and Dad hadn’t killed him. Lastly, Mathis is laidback. It’s nearly impossible to rile him.”
“That’s not exactly true. Claire knows how to push his buttons. Last time she made him angry, he handcuffed her to him for three days,” Bizzy adds, and Mathis drops his chin to his chest.
“You did that?” Grandpa sounds impressed.
Mathis tips his head sideways, raises his eyes to Roy, and nods. “I did.”
“Maybe you’re not such a bonehead after all.”
Grace breaks first, her girlie giggle filling the room. Sharon and Bizzy crack next, joining her in hilarity. I shoot Grandpa Roy a loving glance, knowing he’s happy for me and this is his way of showing his approval.
“Now that we’ve established I haven’t gone soft, why don’t one of you lazy-ass men get me the pack n’ play where I can set Brinley down. I need to help Prego pick out furniture and bedding.”
“Give her to me. I’ll put her in Nick and Grace’s room with Brayden.” Mathis comes to me and carefully lifts her out of my arms, cradling her in his own.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from showing emotion at the delicate way he holds his niece. Bizzy catches my eye and winks, indicating that she knows what I’m thinking.
“If you women are going to be hen-pecking over baby furniture and a bunch of useless shit, I’m going back to the patio. Pretty boy, you got any beer out there?” Grandpa directs his question to Nick who is completely unfazed at his reference.
“In the cooler,” he answers, settling in the chair next to Grace.
“One more thing,” Roy looks between Nick, and Grace and I brace because his gruff shell softens, “I’m buying the furniture. You pick it out, whatever you want. When you’re ready to order it, I’m paying.”
“Roy, that’s not necessary—”
“Nick, I know you’re a multi-millionaire and I respect that. We aren’t having a discussion about this and mulling over it until it pisses me off. I’m buying my first great-grandchild their furniture. Grace may be your wife, but she’s always going to be my Peach Princess. My little Kayla is going to get the best, and I’m going to give it to her.” At this, he turns and goes out on the patio.
I know it’s coming… Wait for it…
The first sign is the sniff, then the quiet sob. Grace’s eyes swell fast, and in a second, she’s in Nick’s arms mumbling about how much she loves her grandpa. Sharon’s smiling, her own eyes wet, as are Bizzy’s. Shaw places his hands on her shoulders and massages affectionately.
Everyone knows that if Nick and Grace have a daughter, they’re naming her Kayla after her grandmother. According to Grace, when they shared this fact with him, he immediately declared they were having a girl. She’s convinced he’s doing everything short of a séance to bless them with a daughter.
The sting hits my eyes at the same time my throat begins to clog.
Dammit! Weepy wimpsters strike again.
I quietly excuse myself, motioning to the restroom, and escape the emotional scene. Mathis is coming out of the bedroom, and when he sees me, he freezes.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s that problem I have. That one I can’t seem to stop. Grandpa did something incredibly touching, and now the waterworks are flowing. I think it’s contagious.”
“What can I do to cure this problem?” His lips are twitching again, finding humor in my predicament.
“Make it stop. Give me a pill or a shot. There has to be a medical diagnosis.”
He slides his arms around my waist, clasping them at my lower back and stepping close. “I’ve told you there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, but if you’re looking for a distraction, we can sneak into the guest room.” He thrusts his hips to mine.
“Normally, yes, but Carl and Sharon are staying there.”
“Hmmm, that is a problem. How about this then?” He shifts where I’m pressed close and my chin rests on his chest, my face tilted to his. His blue eyes grow warm, piercing into mine. “Our Vegas wedding is not going to be in a shady, hideously decorated roadside chapel with strangers as witnesses. There will be no Elvis marrying us, and it will be legal, valid, binding, and one-hundred percent legit.”
My knees wobble, and I grip the bottom on his shirt to remain standing. “No Elvis?”
“Not a chance.”
“Vegas?”
“Bizzy got the beach. Grace got the peach orchard. My woman is getting glitz, glamour, and fireworks that light the sky. Something so extravagant, so incredibly bright and wild, so one of kind—exactly like her.”
“Spectacular,” I repeat Bizzy’s words.
“Spectacular,” he agrees.
That damn stinging hits my eyes again, and I squeeze them to push it back.
“You have to stop because if Grandpa sees me in this state, I’ll definitely lose my badass credibility.”
“Roy’s enamored with you. He scared me more than your father. Shaw, Carl, and Nick took great enjoyment in his drilling me about my intentions. There’s no way you’d lose credibility with him.”
I open my eyes and the expression of love on his face is overwhelming. “I love you.”
There’s a flash of surprise before he crashes his mouth to mine. Our tongues tangle together, and I slip my hands under his shirt and slide them up over the muscles of his back until I’m clutching his shoulders for support.
A throat clears behind us, and I break away to find Shaw glaring at us. “What’s your problem?” The question comes out hoarse.
“My babies are in that room, and the way you two were going at it could have gotten out of hand.”
“We weren’t going to sneak in there and have sex on the floor!” I protest.
He crooks an eyebrow and moves his gaze to Mathis who is lightly shaking against me, and I realize my hands are still gripping his shoulder, his shirt bunched up.
“Fine! We’ll behave.” I drop my arms and glare at Shaw.
He spins to leave then calls back over his shoulder, “In case you two need to release some of that sexual tension, the guest bathroom has a very sturdy vanity.”
Mathis’s head falls to my neck, and I burst into giggles. Then I make a note to remember that for next time.
I sit across from Lora, biting my tongue as she stares in horror across the cafeteria. Inside I’m seething, but I can’t do anything about it. She’s fighting back tears as she watches Clint shamelessly flirting with a nurse we know well. The woman is a hospital floater, filling in where necessary, and tonight, she happens to be on our floor. She’s red-headed, busty, and a complete bombshell.
Lora is beautiful, but she’s an understated beauty. Quiet, somewhat shy, super sweet. Her strawberry blond hair is naturally curly and always done meticulously in a bun, braid, or twist. She’s put together, never complains, and the kids love her. The woman Clint is flirting with is a man-eater. She’s openly carried on relationships within the hospital, not hiding her sexual prowess.
Lora just shared with me that she slept with Clint yesterday, repeatedly. The way she told the story, they spent almost all day going at it, him completely into her. Tonight, he hasn’t looked her way.
Fucking dick.
“Lora, let’s head upstairs,” I say softly, taking her uneaten salad and covering it with the lid.
“Yes,” she answers bleakly.
Thankfully, she doesn’t look his way when we pass and doesn’t shudder until we’re waiting for the elevator.
“I’m such an idiot,” she says on a shaky breath.
“Men are assholes, honey. Don’t blame yourself.”
“I’m mortified.”
I get this, more than she can ever understand. Feelings from my graduation resurface, and I picture when I broke down about Mathis.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s a dick. Write it off to a day of great sex and move on.”
She shoots me a small grin that doesn’t convince me she’s okay.
“I don’t sleep around,” she admits when we get into the elevator alone.
“That’s respectable.”
“It’s prudish. I’m a twenty-seven years old woman who doesn’t have regular sex. It’s pathetic.”
“Hey,” I turn to her, making her look at me, “there is nothing wrong with that.”
“You don’t understand. When I say I don’t sleep around, I mean it’s been years. Then Clint pays me the slightest bit of attention and I’m like a dog in heat.”
I debate in my mind whether to get ultra-personal with Lora, but I know from experience she’s trustworthy and likely won’t betray me. “Lora, I fell in love with Mathis Bennett at twenty-one years old. He broke my heart at twenty-two. We were apart for years, and a lot happened during that time, but I never slept with another man. You are not a prude. You made an adult decision and slept with a man you were attracted to. There is nothing wrong with that.”
Her eyes bulge at my confession, and then the sadness creeps back in. “He didn’t even look my way.”
“He’s a dick-douche to the nth degree. They’re everywhere. The best thing for you to do is hold your head high, ignore his ass, and pretend like yesterday was a memory you’d like to forget.”
A new surge of empowerment comes over her, and she squares her shoulders, nodding. “You’re right. Dick-douche, nitwit, asshole, tool… I’m not going to let him get to me. I made a poor decision.”
“Think of it this way, a poor decision that led to multiple orgasms. There are a lot worse things.”
The elevator opens, and our conversation comes to a halt. She reaches over, takes her salad, and gives me a grateful nod. “Thanks, Claire. You’re a sweet friend.”
We go our different ways, her to the break room and me to the desk. I spend the next hours working on auto-pilot, not able to concentrate. The look of Lora’s devastation when she saw Clint walk into the cafeteria last night keeps tumbling through my head.
What a dick. He’s not only a dick; he’s a supreme dick of epic proportions. I’m not going to fault him for having sex; that’s not the problem. But a real man with any decency would take one glimpse at Lora and know she’s not the type of woman who does one-night-stands.
I know this because I am also a woman who learned she can’t do one-night stands. My situation is entirely different with Mathis because our history has played out, but I didn’t know that the morning he left my apartment. I had no idea we’d continue our tryst during his visits. In my head, we’d shared one incredible night, and I fell in love. I was ruined for any more mindless hook-ups.
I told Lora the truth in the elevator; I didn’t have sex with anyone else during those years Mathis and I were apart. One time I tried. The guy was great. Nice, ambitious, handsome. He was totally into me, and after a few dates, I decided to give it a try. The kisses were hot, the foreplay was awesome, and he was excellent with his mouth. But the instant I came, my blood ran cold. I knew there was no deeper connection, and I couldn’t go through with sex. He was understanding, a complete gentleman, but any relationship we had fizzled out when he dropped me off at home.
The whole exchange felt cheap, distant, slutty. It was awful.
I saw those same emotions set in Lora’s expression. She is not made for one-night stands.
I’m not stupid. I know it happens all the time. Men are men. Hell, Shaw is the perfect example. He had a one-night stand weeks before he fell in love with Bizzy, and Brayden is the result. It was hard to do, but some things are forgivable. What Clint did is not. Flaunting his new conquest in front of Lora less than twenty-four hours after he crawled out of her bed is despicable. I am proud of her though, because every time I saw her tonight, she was acting like her old self and not hinting at anything wrong.
A notification pops up on my calendar from Evie, reminding me to restock supplies for the next shift and includes an attached list. I print it out and welcome the distraction away from the Lora and Clint debacle. Our supply room is at the end of the hall, secured with key pass entry that only certain levels of employees have access. I grab the cart from the corner and go about checking off items as I pull them from the shelves. Most of our drugs come directly from the in-house pharmacy, but we keep a few staples on hand. I enter my code into the locked cabinet and hear the recognizable buzz of the key card at the door.
I turn, expecting to see another nurse, but instead, Clint saunters in. A chill floats across my skin when his eyes travel over me, stopping way too long at my breasts. “There a reason you’re staring at my chest?” I clip.
Something blazes across his features. Anger? Annoyance? Whatever it is vanishes quickly, and he raises his eyes to mine. “I was staring at your necklace. The spark of diamonds caught my eye.”
For a split-second, I feel bad about my assumption, but it passes when I remember what a dick he is. “What are you doing in here?”
“Room three is out of non-latex gloves. Chantel and Lora are trying to help a patient who is vomiting and is allergic. Lora said you may be in here and suggested I come ask.”
“You’re working with Lora?” I blurt out before thinking.
“I’m working with everyone.”
I hand him the box of gloves, not saying more.
“Is there a reason I wouldn’t work with Lora?” he presses.
“Nope, I thought you were doing rounds with the ER doctors.” I lie because I have no idea of his schedule.
“I prefer it up here. The atmosphere is much more my style.” His eyes roam over me again.
“I didn’t know internships were so loosely structured that you could pick and choose where you rotate. I’d hardly consider children sick with cancer as a better atmosphere,” I clip out, a sharp edge to my tone.
“I find the personnel more enjoyable.”
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter.
His eyes now land back on mine and darken to almost black. “Something on your mind, Claire? Something you want to say to me?”
“Nope.”
He studies me, my skin prickling uncomfortably under his stare.
“I’m guessing Lora said something to you, which is unfortunate. I’d hoped for more discretion.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to lash back, but I tamper down the urge. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s a big girl, Claire. No expectations were discussed, no promises made.”
“None of my business, Clint.”
“No, it’s not. Unless it’s you in my bed, it’s not your concern who I fuck.”
My body tenses. “Didn’t you say there was a child vomiting in room three?”
He glares at me a second more before turning to leave.
A question pops into my head, and I can’t stop myself from asking, “How’d you get in here? Only authorized personnel have access to supply rooms.”
He stops, twists his head to me, and his lips turn into a wicked grin. What he doesn’t do is answer me before leaving.
When the door closes, I do an exaggerated body shiver. Clint may have been at the top of the dick category, but he’s now made it to creepy dick.