Page 40 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“Yes. And then next time, you can pick the something fun.”
“Something to torture you with, you mean.”
He winced. “Just not opera. It hurts my ears.”
“Too bad—if I decide opera, that’s what we do.”
He pulled on his gloves. “Fair enough. I’ll call you.”
“I might answer. I might not.”
He grinned. “You’ll answer.” He was out the door before I could even say good night.
I locked the door, set the alarm, and turned off all the lights before going up to bed. Curled up in my cozy white flannel sheets that had been washed so many times they’d basically taken on the texture of fleece, I held my overfed stomach and hoped the roads were OK. I didn’t want Charlie to get into an accident.
God, he was irritating. One minute he was pouring himself into all my nooks and crannies like melted butter on an English muffin, the next minute he was all aloof. Rude, even. What the hell was his problem?
Thank God I had my head on straight where he was concerned. I liked him—mostly—and I liked sex with him, but he just had way too many wrongs to be right for me.
I grabbed my body pillow and held it close, tucking it between my knees and under my head, one arm looped around it. I’m glad he didn’t stay. He’d probably be a crappy cuddler anyway.
For heaven’s sake, the guy didn’t even know how to give someone a hug. He really had to get over that.
Maybe I could teach him.
#
The next morning, Nick and his friend in the construction business helped me take all the trash out to the dumpster, and Coco swept up. Lucas and Mia showed up around noon, full of apologies for being late, but explaining that Mia hadn’t been feeling well this morning.
Coco and I immediately turned our hawk eyes on Mia and then exchanged glances with each other. This was the second morning in the last week that Mia hadn’t been feeling well. She looked OK now, maybe a little pale, but she seemed in good spirits. Without speaking at all, Coco and I communicated that we had Suspicions that needed to be Discussed and we would sit Mia down later for a thorough Q & A.
While the guys and I laid the plywood sub floor, Coco and Mia ran out for sandwiches to bring back for lunch. We took a break when they got back, then worked through the afternoon and got the job done by the time Lucas and Nick had to leave to get ready for work. Mia, Coco, and I agreed to meet up at eight for a drink at The Green Hour, and Coco and I exchanged one last meaningful look that said If She Doesn’t Order Wine, She’s So Pregnant.
It was a relief to have something besides Charlie to think about. He was taking up far too much space in my brain.
She didn’t order wine.
“You’re pregnant.” Coco’s tone was adamant.
“What? No.” Mia flapped a hand toward us, shooing away the idea like a mosquito.
“Then why aren’t you drinking? Nothing short of human gestation would cause the Mia I know to turn down a glass of wine.” I’d offered to treat them since they’d helped me out today.
“I told you earlier. I didn’t feel right this morning, so I’m avoiding alcohol.” She crossed her legs and clasped her hands primly on her knee as if the matter was settled.
Coco and I exchanged a look. “We don’t believe you,” she said. “Have you taken a test?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I don’t need to. I’m not pregnant.” Her eyes slid over to the bar, where Lucas was chatting with customers who looked like they might be trying absinthe for the first time. We were sitting opposite the bar on an antique curvy-backed ivory sofa against the exposed brick wall. Lounge remixes of scratchy old jazz played softly in the background.
Coco gasped. “You think you might be pregnant but you don’t want Lucas to know!”
“Shhhhhhhh!” Mia flapped both hands at Coco, practically jumping off the couch.
“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth with my hands. “Is that it?”
