Sweet Spot for Victoria (Men of Baseball Book 4) (5 page)

I need it to be real before I tell him
.

I sit in the waiting room of the OBGYN’s office, my eyes scanning the heavily pregnant women around me, and I shudder. I don’t want to be fat again and I can already tell my ass is going to swell up at least five times its size, if the past two weeks are anything to go by. It doesn’t bother Carlos as much as it bothers me. He likes it when I’m thicker—he’s not afraid to inform me, either.

The nurse calls my name and I inhale deeply before I exhale and make my way into the back room. I am weighed,
unfortunately
, then I have to do the pee in a cup thing — something I will never get used to, no matter how many times I am forced to endure it.

Once I am in the room, the nurse asks me to undress and I know what’s coming.
Uncomfortable times are ahead.
I smile brightly when my doctor comes through the door. I’m grateful that after my first baby was a cesarean, my doctor now visits me at every single appointment instead of a nurse. I love my doctor. He makes me feel comfortable and he makes me laugh.

“Good morning, beautiful. How are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m knocked up,” I deadpan. He just smirks.

“Figured that, Victoria. Were you regular with your pills?” he asks. I want to roll my eyes.

“Completely regular—to the freaking minute,” I say. He responds with a shrug.

“Sometimes these things just happen. Now, lie back,” he suggests.

I want to glare at him but I don’t. Instead, I do as he asks. It isn’t his fault my husband is too stubborn to get snipped.

He takes a moment to feel around my belly before he pulls the gown back down over me.

“Oh, seems you are pregnant, my dear, but not too far along. Let’s get a transvaginal ultrasound to get proper gestation.”

I follow behind him into the ultrasound room; I know the routine all too well. I am dreading this part. I have a love-hate relationship with this part of the exam. I adore seeing the little blip on the screen, but I hate how they do it.

I lie back with my feet in the stirrups and cringe when I watch him roll a condom over the ultrasound wand. I guess I should feel glad that he’s protecting me with a condom, lord knows my own husband won’t do it.

Once he’s shoved the skinny wand up inside of me, he directs my attention to the screen.

“Victoria, do you see that?” he asks pointing to the blobs on the screen.

This is my third time looking at one of these and I should definitely be an old hat at it. I should know what every little thing on the screen means, but I have no fucking clue.

“Honestly, it looks like blobs doctor. I have no clue,” I confess. He chuckles.

“Those are your babies, Victoria,” he murmurs.

My eyes water for a moment before my head whips over to him.

“Babies?” I ask in surprise.

“Twins,” he clarifies with a nod.

“You’re fucking with me?” I ask, unable to look back at the screen.

“Nope—twins.
Congratulations
!” he cries.

I sit up, that damn wand still in my pussy, and grab onto his coat, pulling him in between my spread thighs. I don’t give a single fuck how awkward this is.

“Do not fucking fuck with me,” I growl. His face pales before he shakes his head.

“Calm down, Victoria,” he says, placing his shaking hands on my shoulders.

“
Calm down?
” I scream, unable to understand why
he
is so fucking calm in this moment. “How can I fucking calm
the fuck
down when I have not one but
two
babies inside of me and two at home?”

“Victoria, do you need me to call Carlos?” he asks, his voice calm but his eyes darting around in fear—
he should feel fear
.

“
No
,” I scream, trying to get my shit together. I lie back without another word and let him finish his exam.

Fuck.

Fucking Fuck Fuck.

Fuckity Fucking Fuck Fuck.

That asshole.

My husband, the asshole with his super, fucking sperm.

I’m going to kill him.

I plot his demise after the doctor leaves me alone to get dressed.

When I reach for my purse, a new idea comes to mind. Instead of killing him, I call the urologist and make him a vasectomy appointment for the Monday we get back from our romantic getaway.

His sperm is getting cut the fuck off.

This shit is not happening to me again.

M
Y EYES SLICE OVER TO
the sleeping form of my wife next to me. We have been in the car all of fifteen minutes and she’s already snoring softly against the window. I smile and turn back to the road ahead of me. I have four more hours of driving and, apparently, they will be four silent hours as Vic sleeps beside me.

I let out a breath and check my rearview mirror to see that Jarrod and Amalie are following behind me in her sporty SUV. They are smiling and Amalie looks as if she is laughing. I wish Victoria were awake to entertain me like Amalie is with Jarrod. But she needs her sleep. I’m just as content talking to her as I am glancing over to her gorgeous face, relaxed and peaceful.

Once we arrive at the Inn Victoria has booked, I smile.
My girl — my wife
. I remember this place now; we spent a weekend here when we were first married
. A great fuckin’ weekend, too
. I wonder if this is how she is going to break the news of whatever is wrong with her to me? Replacing a great memory with a fucked up one?

My palms sweat just thinking about what is coming next.

What will she tell me?

How will it change our lives?

“Victoria, we’re here.” I gently shake her shoulder and watch her head pop up and her eyes widen, obviously startled from her sleep.

“Already?” she asks as her eyes dart around the grounds in front of us.

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “You snored for four hours straight. We’re here,” I bitch and watch her eyes narrow.

“I do
not
snore,” she huffs, grabbing her purse from the floorboard.

I don’t respond with anything but a laugh. The bitch has snored since the day I met her. It doesn’t bother me though. She’s cute as fuck no matter what she’s doing. Snoring is no exception.

We all check in and promise to meet up in a few hours for our first event, planned by my lovely wife—my lovely wife who wants to break the fucking bank.

The check-in girl snaps her gum and hands me a folder, a fucking folder of shit, and then explains that the yoga class will promptly begin in two hours.

Fuckin’ couples yoga bullshit.

I turn to look at Victoria, who is smiling widely at me, knowing I detest shit like this. She doesn’t give a damn; sometimes I think she gets off on pissing me off.

“Okay, see you assholes in a couple hours for fuckin’ yoga,” I grumble. Jackson laughs at me. He loves this kind of shit.
Kinky fucker
.

I wheel Victoria’s obnoxiously large luggage into our designated room and let out a sigh of relief that at least our room isn’t complete bullshit. The room is a light, baby puke green color with a king sized bed that has some bullshit flowers on it.

It could be worse
.

Last time we were here, the whole room was covered in floral wallpaper and it made me dizzy just being in there. It also made me think of my
abuela — grandmother —
and my erections were few and far between. I kept imagining her seconds away from bursting through the bedroom door, screaming at me that touching myself would cause blindness.

“We have two hours,” I murmur, grabbing a cookie off of the plate in our room.

“We do,” Victoria yawns. Watching her mouth so open and wide causes my cock to twitch.

“Wanna fuck?” I ask after taking a bite of the good as shit chocolate chip cookie.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, but thanks for the offer.”

“You’re going to shower before you work out?” I ask in confusion.

“I’m all gross from the car ride,” she explains as if she’s making perfect sense, which she is not.

“Vic, you were in the car for four fuckin’ hours,” I explain.

She just shrugs, ignoring me as she shuffles through her luggage, gathering her bathroom items. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, burying my face in her hair, inhaling her delicious, familiar scent.

“Tell me what’s up with you,
hermosa
,” I urge. She shivers in my arms but doesn’t say anything.

I need to fuckin’ know what is wrong with my wife but she won’t tell me. She won’t let me in and its killing me.

“Nothing,” she mutters. I know with just one word that she’s not going to tell me shit; at least not right now.

I release my hold on her and walk outside with the paperwork for this weekend’s activities. I’ll let her stew, do whatever she does, while I stay away. She’ll come to me when she’s ready. I just hope it’s not too late for whatever her issue is.

I start scanning the paperwork and then my eyes bug out of my head, my heart racing as I read over the numbers three times. Ninety-five fucking dollars,
per room
, for a plate of fuckin’ cookies.

That’s three hundred and eighty dollars in goddamned motherfucking cookies.

I walk back into the room, seeing red. Four hundred bucks in fucking cookies. What a goddamned joke. This woman is going to give me a fucking heart attack pulling shit like this.

I wait until she walks out of the bathroom. She’s dressed in a pair of tight as fuck yoga pants and a loose fitting v-neck shirt. She looks spectacular, but I can’t think about my dick right now, I’m too busy thinking about my wallet and cookies.
Fucking cookies.

“
Vic
,” I yell. She looks up at me, obviously startled as her mouth drops open into a perfect O shape.

“Los,” she counters with a smirk. I take a step forward and shove the cookie bill into her chest. She grasps the paper, confused, and looks at it —
still confused
.

“See anything that looks off there,
hermosa
?” Her brows pinch together at my question and instead of saying anything, she just shrugs one of her shoulders.

“Cookies, Vic, fucking four hundred dollars in
goddamned fucking cookies
,” I scream as she takes a step back, obviously surprised by my reaction—though, I’m not sure why.