Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3) (14 page)

“La puttana—whore,” Jake translated.  His eyes were bright, watching her with captivation.

Pointing her pinky and index finger, she passed them over the bowl in what I thought was the sign of the cross.  “Padre, Figlieo, Spirito Santo.”  She placed her hand on Coop’s head.  “Padre, Figlieo, Spirito Santo.”  And then Coop’s stomach.  “Padre, Figlieo, Spirito Santo.”  Satisfied, she nodded and smiled.  “Merda, is she in for a world of trouble.  I wish I’d thought of it sooner.”

“That’s it?” Jake asked.  “Kinda anticlimactic.  I was waiting for your eyes to roll back, the chandelier to shake or the lights to go out.”

Lifting the bowl, Em dumped it out in the sink.  “Stai zitto, Jake,” she said over her shoulder.  “I could think of a few spells to use on you.”

“Me?” he exclaimed in surprise.  “What did I do?”

Grabbing the newspaper, she placed it on the counter in front of him, and jabbed at it with her lacquered fingernail.  “What happened to bros before hos, Jake?  If you weren’t worried about getting a little pezzo di figa, perhaps Tate’s face wouldn’t be all over the papers.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You should’ve been looking out for him.  He has a wife, and a family on the way.”

“That’s why we have bodyguards, Em.”

“They were busy with the other people that didn’t belong backstage.”

“What about Carter?”

“We all know Carter’s unreliable.”

Sitting back in his chair, Jake smirked and folded his arms across his chest.  “Fuck you, Em.”

“Just saying,” Em laughed, leaving the sentence hanging.

Confused, I looked back and forth between them.  Whatever private joke they were sharing, I wasn’t getting it.  “Em was on the phone with Shane when he and Tate walked into the dressing room and found Amanda inside,” Coop explained.  “She never got close to Tate.  Shane pushed him out the door no sooner than they went in.  It’s just ironic.  Shane was always the one to cause trouble, not prevent it.”

Well that explained where Shane was.  The band’s lawyers were probably questioning him as we spoke, preparing for their inquisition against Amanda Keller.

“Obviously,” Em stated, “Jake had other things on his mind.”

Like hot blondes.

Biting into my biscotto, I drown out my annoyance with the sound of my crunching.  Fucking.  Crunch.  Bastard.  Crunch.  Whalen.  Crunch.  Stupid.  Crunch.  Musician.

I felt yet another pang of rejection.  What the fuck?  When was the disappointment and humiliation going to end?  We’d made a mutual decision.  So why the grim emotions?  Because it
hadn't
been mutual.  The second we’d stepped off that elevator, the affair was over.  For almost two weeks, he hadn’t called.  He made it clear he wasn’t interested.  He only showed up at my door at the behest of Tate Watkins.  He’d made that clear too.

Essentially, what I’d thought was the best sex I’ve had in my life was his worst nightmare.  I was a fucking cling on, the chick he slept with, but couldn’t shake off.  I was the only one obsessing over the other.  My infatuation was completely one sided, which was the lowest of the lows.  I was the creepy stalker that stole his discarded tee shirt or gym socks so that I could seal them in a plastic bag and smell them on occasion.  Well, not yet, but give it time.

“I could make you an omelet?” Em suggested.  I looked up from staring into outer space to find everyone staring at me.  My furious chewing slowed to a self-conscious crawl.

“Sorry.  I’m good.”

“You sure?  I could throw some kibble in there, or maybe some gravel from the driveway?  Might be quieter.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t taste nearly as good.”  Standing, I wiped my face with a napkin and tossed it in the trash.  “You staying much longer?”  She normally stopped by in the morning and went to the restaurant in the afternoons.  Coop seemed to be handling everything well, but I needed someone to stay with her while I burned off some pent up frustration.

“Another hour or so.”

“I’m going to put a few miles on the treadmill before you go.”  Like a shot of Jack, I downed my espresso and headed for my room to change my clothes.  I was going to sweat Jake Whalen from my system.

Chapter 12
 

“
W
hat the fudge is that?” Carter asked, staring with wry fascination.  As I strode past him, his entire body turned, following me.

“A swim cap,” I answered, stating the obvious.  I’d managed to avoid the pool for over week, but my luck had run out.  Levy had put his foot down, and then the other.  Literally.  He’d thrown a tantrum when Coop told him no, but he wasn’t having it.

“I know.  I’ve just never seen anyone wear one before.”  Grinning, he cocked his head to the side.  “Your head kinda looks like a d-i-c-k.”

“Jesus, Carter,” Jake sighed, shaking his head.

I, however, smiled and laughed.  I could take a joke.  “Better look like a d-i-c-k for an hour than a clown for a week.  The chlorine will turn my hair a lovely shade of green.  I don’t dig green.  It only works on comic book villains.”

“Will it turn that fast?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking the chance.”

“We should try it.”

“Let’s not and say we did.”

“Mattie used to have these dolls,” Jake reminisced, “when you stuck their hair under cold water it turned one color, and under warm water it went back to normal.”

“
I used to have something like that
,” Coop replied.  The droning tone of her tablet obliterated any nostalgia in the sentiment.  “
I think mine were ponies
.”

“I go swimming,” Levy voiced impatiently.  He was wearing only his swim trunks, raring to go.  Me, I was wearing my swimsuit with a short terry robe.  While it was a mild sixty-five degrees, and the pool was heated, it wasn't exactly swimsuit weather.

“
Let's see the suit before you go
,” Coop petitioned.

“It looks just like the suit I already showed you, but with boobs in it.”

“World of difference there, Violet,” Carter argued.  “Wooooorrrrlllld of difference.”

“
I want to see what it looks like on
,” Coop added.  “
It might be my ‘after’ bathing suit
.”

“Well that was complimentary.  My ‘before’ pregnancy bathing suit is your ‘after’ pregnancy bathing suit.”  It was a retro bikini with a high waist, and halter top in red with purple polka dots.  Some might think the cut was prudish and concealing, but I liked the style.  Very Marilyn Monroe.

“
I don't want to hear it
,” Coop scoffed.  “
You're never going to have an ‘after.’  You'll always be a skinny ho with flat abs.
”

Wow.  So my stance on childbearing had been discussed.  By the look on Jake’s face and the way he quickly diverted his gaze, it wasn’t hard to figure out who’d been involved in that discussion.  Just how much he told her was another thing entirely.  And how did that subject come up in the first place?  Probably one of the million reasons why he wouldn’t date me, or maybe he was relieved that he hadn’t knocked me up with some ill begotten love child.

Things had actually calmed the past week.  The tension between us had dissipated to a level of tolerability.  Maybe it was just me.  I'd come to accept what couldn't be.  I was better off, I told myself.  I’d returned to my original mantra: personal matters and work should never mix.

So when we found ourselves alone together, we talked about frivolous things like the weather, Coop’s health and…well, usually the weather.  Conversation was kept to mere pleasantries, and when words failed me, I excused myself from the room altogether.  It was easier when we had company to mediate.  Today was the exception, I suppose.

“I’m sorry.”  Coop forwent the use of her tablet in order to reveal her sincerity, which was nil.  “I just meant that I couldn’t wear it right now.  I wasn’t insinuating that you were fat, or a ho, or that you’d be a lonely old cat lady who hated kids when you got old.”

“A lonely old cat lady,” I repeated in shock.  Did she really just say that?

Coop laughed silently, her eyes glittering with humor.

“Eff you, Coop.  I’ll have you know; I don’t have an ounce of body fat.  Sleeping once with Jake does
not
make me a ho; it makes me
smart
for learning from my mistakes.  I don’t even
like
cats.  I have no problem with children.  I just don’t want to have any.  And when you pop those Tater Tots out, I’m going to kick your butt, dough girl, ‘cause you won’t have anything to hide behind.”

As usual Carter hooted in laughter, and then urged me on.  “I would donate my left nut to science if that meant seeing the two of you cat fight.”

“I’d win,” I told Carter.  “There’s no competition.”

“Overconfident much?” Coop scoffed, sizing me up.

“When you grow up with ten brothers, you learn a thing or two.”  It was a total lie.  Complete bullshit.  I couldn’t fight to save my life.  I was all girl.

“My God, this is so hot.”  Carter stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, rapt as if he were watching an MMA match.

I made a noise of contempt and deigned to look at him.  “You do know we’re joking, right?”

“No need to ruin the fantasy.”

“You’re fantasizing about your best friend’s pregnant wife cat-fighting with her nurse?”

Carter pondered that.  “Yeah.”

“It’ll never happen.”

“It’s my fantasy.”

“I swim,” Levy reminded me.

“Sure.  Let’s go.”  I held out my hand, and Levy jumped to take it, agog over the chance to test out his new floaties.  They had sharks on them.  Very masculine.

“Don’t forget your towel,” Coop reminded him.  “Where did you leave it?”  Letting go of my hand, Levy panned the room and then bolted through the door to find it.

“You’re really not going to show me your suit?” Coop pressed.  “They saw you in your thong last week and now you’re going to claim modesty.”

She had a point.  “Fine.”  Striding to the other side of the room, I turned, let my robe slip down my shoulders, and strode back, giving my best catwalk tiddy-bounce.  Brain cells died off by the dozens, leaving the men with dumb smiles on their faces.  Well, the majority of them.  “Get a good look, Coop?  Should I go again?”

A flurry of yeses sounded, with a few select noes from Coop, Em and He Whose Name Will Not Be Mentioned.  He didn’t get a vote.  He’d relinquished his right of opinion on all things Paisley Shaw.

“Jake, if you don’t step up, I’m going to marry her,” Carter warned.  “For real.  Your loss, man.”

With that, Levy came running back into the room with his towel in tow, dragging it behind him on the floor.  “I go swimming.”

“Absolutely.”  Fixing my robe, I held out my hand.  Levy grabbed it and began tugging me toward the door.  “I didn’t want your hand, silly.  I want your towel.  I’ll carry it for you so it doesn’t get dirty.”

Taking his towel from his hand, I made a quick escape, evading any responses to Carter’s statement.  Everything had been going well.  I didn’t know why he had to rock the boat.  Fucker.  I didn’t want any reasons to regret my decision to stay on indefinitely.  I liked Coop and wanted to see her pregnancy through.  I felt responsible for her.  Especially now.

Amanda Keller’s court date had been postponed after she waylaid Tate in his dressing room.  Her lawyers claimed she’d had a mental breakdown over Tate’s rejection, and wasn’t fit to stand trial.  More like they were scrambling for a legal defense over her actions.

Shane was a competent witness, but the damage had been done.  The photograph was all over the media.  Tate’s public image had been damaged further than it already was.  Finding—and keeping—a jury unbiased by the photo of Amanda wiping that smear of lipstick from her face was testing.  She’d reduced him to a cheating, womanizing, manipulative, man-whore.

While Tate had a restraining order against Amanda, there was speculation that he had invited her to the concert for one last fling.  Others said that he was framing her by inviting her there.  They accused Coop of being the ‘other’ woman, and Tate was trying to get Amanda out of the way by having her arrested.  Some saw it for what it was; a last ditch effort of a desperate and delusional woman.  She had shanked Coop before a crowd of Tate’s fans, after all.

In any event, the hearing had to be rescheduled.  Tate had yet to find out the date, so he pressed me to remain under his employment until the hearing, or Coop had given birth.

Drawing closer to the pool, Levy began bouncing in place, his eyes bright with excitement.  He bee lined it right for the stairs.  “Levy, you wait right there!” I called.  “I need to blow up your floaties before you go in the water.”

“Ok, puh-pul.”  Obediently, he sat down on the first step so that he was waist deep, and began to splash the water.

Peeling back the cardboard, I pulled the first floaty from the packaging and began to straighten it out.  My senses were immediately pervaded with the smell of plastic, which took me back to my childhood.  We didn’t have a pool, but we had sprinklers and beach balls, and the scent reminded me of hot summer days and slipping over the waterlogged lawn.

“You’re liable to pass out from that.”  Ambling down the path, Jake gestured to the floaty I had pressed to my nose.

Flushing, I dropped my hands.  Real smooth.  “It reminds me of being a kid.  Summer…beach balls and citronella.”

“Fresh cut grass and honeysuckle does it for me.”  Lifting his arm, he extended his hand.  It took me back to that night at the club.  He’d done the same thing when he invited me upstairs.  “I’ll blow up the other one,” he offered.  “The kid’s getting fearless.”

I glanced at Levy.  He’d made his way to the second step, but was holding tight to the hand rail.  “Levy, that’s far enough!” I warned, letting a little impatience sneak into my voice.  “I told you to wait there!”

“I no, Pul-pul.”

“You no,” I murmured, watching him crouch lower.  The water inched up his chest.  A smile spread across his face.  Plucky little shit.

“N-o, not k-n-o-w,” Jake translated.  “As in, no, I won’t.”

“I
k-n-o-w
what he means.  I’ve been chasing him around the house for the better part of two weeks.  I talk Levy reasonably well.”

Because Levy was making me nervous, I sat beside him along the edge of the pool and dipped my legs into the water.  The water was warm, almost matching the temperature of my own skin.  Suddenly I understood his fascination.  It must’ve been a novelty to him.

Pinching the rubber valve, I went to work filling the floaty with air, watching Levy as he dipped in and out of the water.  In a few short breaths, the first was inflated.  “Come here, little man.  Let’s put this on.”

Whirling around, Levy climbed to the next step.  Goosebumps rose across his skin.  “Is cold.”

“That’s because it’s April, and we live in Seattle.”  Grasping his hand, I wet his arm and tugged the sleeve over his hand and up to his bicep.  “There you go.  One down.  One to go.”

“I hab to pee-pee.”

Jake laughed quietly, garnering my attention.  He had the second float in his hand.  “Cold air will do it every time.”

“It’s called cold diuresis.”  God.  Did I just say that?  Yes.  Yes.  His smile widened, confirming I indeed did.

“There’s a technical term?”

“There’s a technical explanation too.”

“I hab to pee-pee,” Levy pressed.  Looking up, I glanced around.  The main house was twice as far as the boathouse.

“We’ll walk down to grandpa's house.  You can use the bathroom there.”

“Might not want to do that,” Jake voiced.

“Why?”

“Nora’s over.  Her car’s in the driveway.”

I was just about to dispute his reasoning when I grasped it fully.  “Oh.”  Tate’s parents separated when he was a teen, and had only recently rekindled their relationship.  The boat house was known as their Love Shack, where they went when they were actively rekindling.

“That row of bushes there,” he pointed to a set of yews lining the left side of the pool, “is some prime real estate if you don’t feel like hiking back up to the house.”

“Right.”  I was thinking like a woman.  Men did things like pee behind bushes.

“I can take him,” Jake offered.

“I’m a nurse.  I can handle it.”

“I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t.  I was just being nice.  I…haven’t been lately.”  He had the decency to appear contrite.

“Fine.  Ok.”  I quickly looked away, avoiding any notion that he might care.  He was no better than Tate, toying with girls’ emotions.  He was a playboy.  I was mistaken to think I was clever enough to step onto the field with him, let alone beat him at his own game.

“Come on, kid.”  Jake held out his hand, wiggled his fingers.  “Let’s go water the bushes.”

Levy looked at the water and then at Jake.  “I pee-pee.”

“You have to pee-pee?  That’s where I’m taking you.  Let’s go.”  Understanding dawned across Levy’s features.  He grinned and grabbed Jake’s hand, eager for a new adventure.

“Has he gone outdoors before?”

“I don’t think so.  He was in diapers while we were on tour.  Tate’s made it his mission to teach him the finer points of being a man.”  Jake couched down, disappearing behind the bushes.  A second later, he stood again.  “Aim right there, kid.  Alright?”