Baby & Bump (The This & That Series) (23 page)

Heat crept through the
collar of my shirt, scorching the skin up the sides of my face to my hairline. Fletcher hadn’t been focusing on Marisol, because he’d been thinking about
me
. And I couldn’t even begin to explain how backwards that felt. But oh Lord, it felt
good.

Candace’s elbow jabbed my arm.

“Ow.” I rubbed my puffy arm. “What was that for?”

Candace mouthed,
Tell her.

Shaking my head, I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t admit to Marisol that the woman Fletcher had been obsessing over was me. I couldn’t admit that we’d kissed. She’d never forgive me. I wasn’t even sure I’d forgiven myself.

“Now, I want everyone to lay back between their partner’s legs.” Maureen grinned at the group. “We’re going to practice feeling each other’s breaths. Bring your bodies in unison to help your child enter the world.”

I looked from friend to friend
. “Who wants the honors?”

“That’s my cue.” Marisol pushed herself to her feet. “Smoke break.”

“Come here, Lex.” Candace watched her go. The rest of the class slid into position and proceeded with unifying their bodies and all that. “She’s smoking again?”

I grunted as I sat between her knees. “She must be stressed out.”

Candace started to drum a silent tune on my back with her hands. “I wish she knew about you and Fletcher.”

My chest clenched. “
Why? He’s already dumping her. And I already feel awful.”

“
She’ll find out eventually, you know.” Candace stopped talking for a moment while Maureen passed by. “I mean, eventually you and Fletcher are going to want to go public with your relationship. She’ll be hurt if she finds out through the grapevine and not from you. You’re in love with her ex boyfriend, Lex. An ex boyfriend she apparently actually cared about.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” I craned my head to look at my cousin. “For the first time in the history of
Marisol
, she starts contemplating domesticity with the one man in the world I can’t imagine my life without?”

“Shhh!” The woman next to us pressed her finger to her lips.

Candace turned my shoulders, forcing me to face forward. “Listen,” she whispered. “I know Mar is hard to take. And I know she’ll probably be over this break up by the end of the week. But I also know she’ll be devastated when she finds out that you didn’t have the decency to tell her that you’re with him yourself.”

“
She may never have to know,” I hissed.

“Come on, Lex. Don’t be
dumb.” Candace rested her hands on my shoulders. “You aren’t going to spend the duration of your relationship in your teensy apartment.”

“Of course not,” I mumbled. “Fletcher’s buying a house.”

She sighed. “You’re better than this, Lex. Lying by omission is as bad as lying, and you know that.”

Candace’s words sat in my ears, prickling and burning me from the inside out. I knew
she was right. I wasn’t stupid.

“Husbands and life partners, rub circles on mom’s back.” Maureen
announced, demonstrating the motion. “Remind her how much you adore her. Remind her of your passion and devotion.”

Candace went back to patting out a tune on my shoulder blades. “My passion and devotion to you doesn’t change the fact that you nee
d to come clean. I won’t keep a secret like this from her forever.”

I looked around at all of couples. All of the women had their eyes closed, and their mouths were all pulled into O’s while they huffed and puffed. My life was so grossly different from all of these other moms. What I wouldn’t have given to be sitting there with a loving, devoted husband, instead of my know-it-all cousin—who was completely, annoyingly
right
.

“I can’t do it,” I finally told her, letting my face drop into my hands. “I can’t bring myself to tell Marisol.”

A pair of platform pumps appeared in front of me.

“Tell me what?”

Chapter Twenty-two

             
Sure enough, at ten o’clock that night—long after I’d gotten home from my Lamaze class and slid into my favorite flannel nightgown that provided plenty of room for me, the baby, and possibly an Oldsmobile—the call from Marisol came.

             
“He actually had the audacity to use
the line
on me, Lex. The line all guys use when they’re dumping a woman. It’s not you, it’s me, he says.”

She hadn’t even given me a chance to say
hello
yet. She’d just launched into her tirade as soon as I picked up the phone.

             
“I’m so sorry,” I said. And I was.

I didn’t know when I would hear from Fletcher. The only thing I allowed myself to focus on was that my friend was upset. “I’m sure it really
is
him, and not you.”

             
Marisol had no idea how right I was. At least she didn’t know I’d made out with Fletcher. At least, I didn’t think so.

             
“No kidding it’s him.” She sniffled. “I’ve never been dumped in my life. Freaking loser.”

             
My mouth dropped open. “Marisol, are you crying?”

I hadn’t witnessed her crying since 2007, when she found out Valentino had stopped designing clothes.

              “No.” I heard the sound of a tissue being yanked from a box. “I’m just… I’m… checking to see how you were. You looked pretty tired after your what’s-it-called tonight.”

             
“Lamaze class.” Rolling my eyes, I settled down on my couch and pulled a blanket over my legs. “So what else did he say?”

             
“Oh, well, apparently he bought a house from Corbin. Did you know that?” Marisol’s voice was letting lower by the second. She didn’t get squeaky and high pitched like typical chicks do when they cry. She grew progressively more pissed off and dangerous. Like a hand grenade, just waiting to go off.

             
I winced. “Um, yeah. I just assumed you knew.”

             
“Well, you would think!” She yelled. “I was dating him, for hell’s sake. But, nooooo. Why would he tell me? Or invite me over to see it? Or ask my opinion on wall color?”

             
“You’re mad about wall color?”

             
“I’m mad because he dumped me!” Marisol shrieked. “I mean, he’s moving next week, and hasn’t even asked me to help or to even
see
the place, and that speaks volumes about what he thinks of me. Not to mention, despite my efforts tonight, the guy won’t sleep with me. I’m insulted!”

             
“Oh.” My heart did a happy dance. I took a sip of a nearby glass of juice to celebrate.
I’d like to propose a toast…

             
“He’s gay. He’s
clearly
gay. I mean the writing is on the wall.”

             
Choking on the juice, I slapped a hand on my chest. “So, um, did Fletcher say anything about, you know, anyone?”

             
I was pretty sure I was safe. Marisol hadn’t started cussing me out in Spanish yet.

             
“Of course not,” she said, sighing. “He’s acting all noble, like he’s doing the right thing. But I’m not new to this rodeo. I know he’s seeing someone else. Or at least thinking about it.”

             
My stomach clenched. “You do?”

             
“Yes, and when I find out who it is, guy or girl, I’m going to drive to that cow’s house, and—”

             
My doorbell rang and I jumped so high I dropped the phone. “Marisol? You still there?”

             
“Was that your doorbell?”

Scrambling to put the phone back up to my ear, I peered through the crack in my curtains and gaspe
d.
Loudly
. There, on my doorstep, was Fletcher. “Um, I gotta go.”

“You’re hanging up on me?” She demanded. “I’m in
need
, here.”

I looked down at my nightgown
and grimaced. I looked like Ma on Little House on the Prairie, minus the night bonnet. “I’ll call you right back.”

             
“What!? You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re—”

             
I didn’t hear any of the Spanish words she’d started to yell, because my thumb slipped and I hung up.

“
Be right there!” I called, looking down at my reflection in the mirror. I looked horrible.

The doorbell rang again. Moving quickly was definitely out, as I’d fallen asleep sometime between the seventh and eighth month, then woken up a slovenly animal with two left hooves. Once I was on my feet, I shuffled towards the bedroom. There was a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt on my bed, and at least if I were wearing those, I wouldn’t look eighty-three years old.

              The doorbell rang a third time, and I skidded to a stop.

“Lexie?”
A muffled voice called. “I’m sorry it’s so late. It’s me, Fletcher.” He cleared his throat. “Fletcher Haybee.”

             
Stifling a giggle, I yanked a cardigan off of the back of a chair and tugged it on over my nightgown. I unlocked the chain and swung open the door. “I know who it is.”

             
A smile slowly spread across his face. “Lexie.”

             
“Fletcher.” I leaned against the doorjamb and pulled my sweater around my body tightly. It was clear he’d had had a rough evening. His face was covered from even more whiskers than usual, and there were circles under his eyes. “I was on the phone with Marisol.”

             
His mouth pulled into a line. “She left my place a while ago.”

             
I drew in a breath, then released it slowly. “She’s upset.”

             
“Yeah.” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “I screwed up. Hurt two women who didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

             
I raised an eyebrow at them. “Two?”

             
He shuffled on the welcome mat. “Can I come in?”

             
Stepping aside, I took inventory of my tiny apartment. The deep red walls were covered with silver frames filled with black and white food photography, and my charcoal grey couch was covered in a discarded red fleece blanket. Fortunately there were only a couple of lamps on, so the empty ice cream cartons and several discarded dirty socks lying around were hardly noticeable.

             
“I didn’t know you were coming.” I brushed some cookie crumbs off of the front of my nightgown. “I look terrible.”

             
Fletcher shook his head. “You’re beautiful.”

             
My heart raced. Hell, it didn’t just race. It performed the Indianapolis 500 inside of my chest. “Thank you.”

             
He turned in a circle, taking everything in. Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I had a bookshelf filled with vintage cookbooks and collectible Elvis figurines. And next to that, there were my AC/DC figurines and autographed Steven Tyler picture. I was a geek, and there was no denying it. If he went into my bedroom and saw my extensive tee shirt collection, the veil would drop completely.

             
“This place is so you.” He leaned close to a framed photograph of Julia Child on the wall. “Eclectic. Like you.”

             
I fanned my face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

              He faced me. “I owe you an apology.”

             
“No, Fletcher, you—”

“You were right.” Fletcher
put his hands in his pockets and started pacing. There wasn’t much room in my living room to do it effectively, so he looked like he was turning in circles. “I didn’t break things off with Marisol sooner because she worked on paper.”

I must have looked like I was ready to throw a lamp at him, because he stopped and held his hands out. “
Just hear me out. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant Marisol wears expensive clothes and drives a BMW. She gets her nails done, and gets a spray tan once a week, even though she’s Hispanic. She acts every other doctor’s wife I’ve ever met since medical school.”

I frowned. “Candace doesn’t do that.”

He shook his head. “But most of them do. Marisol looked the part. She was single, available, and walked the walk.”

A lump started growing in my throat. “You
’re not scoring any points with me.”

“I mean s
he fit the bill.” Fletcher exclaimed. “And, more importantly, she wasn’t my patient.”

“Oh
.”

“The woman I’m crazy about is about to have a baby. A baby I
was responsible for delivering.” His shoulders sagged, and he looked down. “Do you understand how unethical my dating you would be? I would have lost the respect of my staff, not to mention Brian and Candace. They told me you’d been through so much. That you deserved to finally have some happiness in your life after being hurt so badly. Once they told me that, I…”

He raked a hand through his blonde hair, setting it on end. “I promised myself I would forget about all of the feelings I had
for you. I would pretend I wasn’t having a heart attack whenever you walked into the room. If I just gave it some time, and tried harder with Marisol, or, hell,
anyone els
e, eventually my feelings would go away.”

“I felt the same,
” I confessed. “I thought it was hormones. I thought it was some pregnancy-induced crush. I kept thinking that if I just stayed away from you, my feelings would disappear, and everything would go back to normal.”

“Wh
at the hell is normal, anyway?” His green eyes bored into mine.

“L
ook at you.” I gestured to his faded jeans and open leather coat. “You’re gorgeous and smart. You’re a doctor, for Pete’s sake, and don’t even get me started on how amazing Martha is. You’re supposed to have the hot wife on your arm. Marisol is exactly that. I’m just
me
.”

             
Fletcher took a step closer to me. “But I like just you.”

             
I looked down at my nightgown. “I look terrible. I—”

             
“You look beautiful to me. You always do.”

             
I gestured over my shoulder at my open closet just beyond the bedroom door. “I wear jeans and tee shirts, unless I’m meeting a client. And even then, I carry casual clothes in my car, so I can change as soon as the meeting’s over.”

             
Fletcher’s eyes locked on mine. “I graduated from medical school wearing a Beastie Boys tee shirt. My ex was furious.”

             
I didn’t look away. “I don’t like to cook. When I get home after work, all I want to do is put my feet up and watch the DVR, so I eat frozen dinners and ice cream.”

             
He didn’t look away, either. “I like to cook. Martha bought me a pink apron that says
Kiss the Cook
for Christmas last year, and I wear it. Often.”

             
“I wear my hair short because when it grows past my chin I look like Carrot Top.”

             
“I use more hair products than most women because I have so many cowlicks on my head. When I first get out of the shower, I look like Buckwheat.”

             
I stifled a giggle. “I drink coffee with a straw because I don’t want to stain my teeth.”

             
“I used to be anti-gun before I had a daughter.” A smile tickled the corners of his mouth.

             
“I can’t tan. I’ve tried, and all that happens is I burn, then I peel, then I’m as white as I was when I started. Marisol and Candace tease me because I’m so white, I’m practically translucent.”

             
He smiled widely and pointed to a row of three perfectly straight, white teeth on the upper right side of his mouth. “You see these teeth here? They’re a bridge. I knocked the originals out trying to learn how to skateboard in college. I fell and cracked myself in the face with the board. I never tried skating again after that, but I still have the board hanging in my office because it looks cool.”

             
A flurry of butterflies cropped up in my stomach. I think I loved him even more. “My mother’s certifiably insane. Her house is filled with dolls that watch your every move, and I’m pretty sure she has full on conversations with them when nobody else is there.”

             
“My mother owns the DVD of every Denzel Washington movie ever made, and says if she dies, she wants to come back for one day as Denzel’s wife.”