Page 125 of Call You Mine
“And Dad is my dad, but I kind of feel like Anderson is, too. But I still want to call him Anderson.”
“That’s fine,” I tell her, resisting the urge to grab her and pull her to me again; she’d probably tell me I’m being weird and to let go.
“But since you guys aretechnicallymy mom and dad, I think I should be the baby’s big sister.” She smiles, pleased with herself, before reaching to grab the remote from the coffee table in front of us, the conversation done in her teenage mind—no need to dwell or talk it to death.
I nod my head as she turns on the TV.
“Then that’s what you’ll be.”
CHAPTER 45
ANDERSON
When I askedAva how she wanted to tell our friends about the pregnancy, wanting to leave it up to her, I should’ve known she’d want to do it just like our wedding—no muss, no fuss.
We’re all getting together at Lenny’s for a few drinks, so she decided tonight was the night.
Now that we’ve heard the heartbeat, she’s ready to share the news.
We also know the gender.
I knew Ava wouldn’t want it to be a surprise, and I thought we’d have to wait until further along. Turns out, we had the option to do a blood test at our initial appointment.
Georgie had just gotten dropped off by one of the moms in the carpool we joined for soccer practices, and we were waiting for dinner to finish cooking in the oven when we found out it’s a girl.
I had oven mitts on; Georgie was still in her sweaty practice clothes, her cleats still on, and Ava was in a towel, her wet hair dripping on her shoulders when she got the email, hopping out of the shower and screaming, “It’s a girl!” throughout the entire house.
It was perfect.
Imperfectlyperfect.
“You still haven’t told me exactly how you plan on telling everyone the news,” I tell to Ava as I grab her hand, stepping just in front of her to open the door to Lenny’s. Her hair is blown into big waves framing her face, her chest on display in her low-cut sweater, her skin making my mouth water.
I hold the door open for her, slapping my hand lightly against her ass and letting my hand linger before placing it into the back pocket of her jeans.
“I figured I’d use my words, maybe some hand gestures, if needed,” she deadpans, and I squeeze her ass in my palm, her sass going straight to my dick.
“Damn, wish I thought of that,” I reply, pressing a kiss to her temple just as she spots our friends tucked into a booth toward the back of the bar.
It’s pretty packed, even for a Friday night. The Cross My Heart tour is heading to Chicago from Minneapolis, but the band wanted to stop in their hometown during their few days off—at least that’s what we heard from Emerson.
Word must have gotten out that the band was in town, and everyone knows that Lenny’s is always going to be one of their stops since it’s part of their band’s history, since they used to practice next door before it became Hey Honey’s.
Looking around, I spot a few familiar faces—Eddie Ramirez, Cross My Heart’s drummer, and his wife. They’re each holding one of their twin daughters as they talk to the big, tattooed guy who owns Lenny’s. The owners of Hey Honey’s are here, too, talking to a woman with wine-red hair and two toddlers, a boy and a girl, at her feet.
Just a few feet away, Mateo Lane, the lead singer, is talking to the two other band members as he holds a sleeping kid in his arms—a boy a year or two older than Evee.
The crowd at Lenny’s is giving a wide berth to the group, but you can see the slight head nods and smiles in their direction,like people are deciding when it would be appropriate to interrupt to talk to the band.
“Glad you guys got a spot,” Ava says as she slides into the booth next to Emerson, and I sit down next to her, across from Jack.
“How’s it feel to be in your old stomping grounds?” Emerson asks Ava.
“Fine,” she says with a dry chuckle. “It’s not like I worked here for that long.”
“I’m going to go grab a drink,” I chime in, knowing that Ava doesn’t like talking about that part of her past, especially because it’s so closely tied to her jackass of an ex. “Does anyone need anything?”
“Shots!” Emerson exclaims, slapping her hand down on the bar.
