Ashton: How’s the hotel?

Andrew: Well, it’s not as nice as your apartment, but it does have a lovely floral bedspread that I’d say has been here since the place opened.

Andrew: In the 60s.

Ashton: You could have stayed here, you know. I wouldn’t have minded.

Andrew: NOW you tell me.

Ashton: Huh? I *did* tell you.

Ashton: Didn’t I?

Ashton: Is this one of those baby-brain things they tell you about, like leaving your car keys in the fridge and wearing two different shoes?

Andrew: No, Kitten. I was kidding. You told me.

Ashton: You asshole. I was genuinely worried.

Andrew: Can I come over?

Ashton: After that? No. You can lie down on your old, probably drenched in bodily fluids bed and think about what you did.

Andrew: You’re going to be a great mother.

Andrew: I know I said it was probably a good idea for me to have this room just in case, but . . .

Andrew: I think I was wrong.

Ashton: Oh?

Andrew: It’s been three days since I got me a girlfriend for the first time since high school and I’ve barely even seen her.

Ashton: You’ve seen me every day.

Ashton: Quit your pouting. I’ve been busy.

Andrew: Still mad about the baby-brain thing?

Ashton: No. Literally, busy.

Ashton: Odie and Aussie had a fight and she quit.

Ashton: So I’ve been working extra while we find a replacement.

Andrew: Odie quit? And is it safe for you to be working so much on your feet?

Ashton: Yes, she quit. Aussie has been stomping around like someone took his favorite toy.

Ashton: And as to the other thing, I’m knocked up, not knocked out. I think I can handle a few longer shifts behind the bar.

Andrew: You know your body better than I do.

Ashton: Damn straight.

Andrew: But not for long *winking emoji*

Ashton: What are you saying, Mr. Duncan?

Ashton: Holy moly, that sounds weird. Mister Duncan. Like I’m a little kid whose mother taught them to always refer to an adult as mister or miss.

Andrew: It’s not weird. It’s my name.

Ashton: Your name that I used as your actual name the majority of the time I’ve known you.

Ashton: VAST majority.

Andrew: Just call me Mr. Llama then.

Ashton: Oh, you’re right. That’s much less weird. Thanks.

Andrew: Anyway, going back to what I was saying . . .

Andrew: When can I see you, because you know your body better than I do and the only way to remedy that is for me to spend hours kissing and licking every bit of it.

Ashton: Hold on, I’m having a hot flash.

Ashton: Now I don’t know if I’m horny or if that’s just a pregnancy thing.

Andrew: I think you’re horny.

Andrew: How ’bout you sneak away and put your hand in your panties and see if you’re wet.

Andrew: And maybe send me pictures? You know, for proof.

Ashton: Not happening.

Andrew: But . . .

Ashton: But nothing.

Ashton: You can find out for yourself tonight.

Andrew: Deal.

“Are you okay over there?” Andrew smiled at his girl, sitting on the faded-floral bedspread in his hotel room, from his spot at the little table in the corner. He’d been on his laptop part of the day, looking at jobs and just generally passing the time until he could see her, when she’d come a-knocking. He’d told her to make herself comfortable while he was finalizing an email to his former employer and she’d taken him at his word, lowering herself onto the bed without hesitation.

She nodded, running one hand over her growing bump, bringing the other to her mouth to lick her fingers. She had a smear of chocolate in the corner of her mouth and a look of total bliss on her face, which was backed up by her moan of pure delight as she’d devoured a chocolate iced donut in less than twenty seconds.

Honestly, he’d never seen anything like it. Or been so turned on by competitive-speed eating before. But damn, the woman could fit a lot in her mouth and that made him—

“Down boy,” he whispered as he looked down at his crotch, his erection thickening as he thought about other things that she might like to put in her mouth.

“Huh, what?” she asked, blinking like she was just coming to after a nap—or perhaps a food coma. “Did you say something?”

“I asked if you were okay, mostly. And I was encouraging my dick to settle down.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m okay. And as for your”—her hands flew to her stomach, a look of surprise on her face—“oh, my God! I think she kicked. Andrew! She kicked!”

It took him no time at all to be at her side, sitting on the edge of the mattress, and staring down at her hands which she was now using to stroke her belly. Soothing words came out of her mouth, praise for the smart baby who was kicking its mother, and he itched to place his hands over top of hers and see if he could feel what she was feeling. Instead, he simply sat there—part of the moment but not, waiting for some kind of sign of what to do next, listening to Ashton’s soft, rambling words and half-wishing he could add his own.

“You could be a gymnast or a ballerina or a soccer player, baby girl. You can be anything you want, okay? I don’t mind if you kick me. You can kick me whenever you want. It’s other people that aren’t allowed to do that, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know what to do if they try, okay? Mommy is going to teach you all the things you need to know about life and boys and girls and stuff like that. But for now, just keep getting bigger, okay? And maybe move slightly over so you’re not so much on my bladder? Think you could do that for me, sweet baby?”

I’d tell her that she wouldn’t need to kick anyone, ’cause I’d be there to do it for her. I’d tell her how beautiful her mommy is and how lucky she is to have her. I’d tell her that—

“Wanna see if you can feel it, too?” Ashton asked, interrupting his thoughts before they got out of control. He’d been wandering down a path that wasn’t really his to take, so the distraction was welcome.

Except for the fact that touching her now—feeling that small movement—would probably only take him further down that same path. And was that really what he wanted?

“Yes,” he said, reaching out before he’d made the decision consciously, “I want to.”

She smiled at him and grabbed one of his hands just before it connected with her stomach, moving it to her left side, just below her rib cage. “Just there, can you feel it?”

He held still, staring alternately at his hand and her face—her eyes bright with wonder, her lips curled into a smile that was nearly blinding—trying to feel it. Wanting to feel that bomp, bomp that meant the little papaya-sized lady was kicking.

But . . . nothing. He shook his head, and she moved his hand again, bringing it a little lower and nodding with encouragement on her face. Like, if he just tried hard enough, the kick would appear.

“Still nothing.”

“It’s stopped. Damn.” She shifted over slightly, making more room beside her before she patted the bed. An invitation for him to lay beside her, which he accepted, taking pains to not lose contact with her as he did. “Maybe it’ll happen again?”

“Maybe,” he replied, not letting his disappointment show.

For a minute or two, they just lay there, side-by-side, his hand still on her stomach, waiting. It was peaceful, especially when she rested her hand on his and began gently drawing circles on it.

“Did I tell you how glad I am you’re here?” she asked, her voice as soft as the imaginary circles she sketched on his skin. “How good it feels to know you’re mine?”

“Same.”

“Wow, way to elaborate,” she joked, turning her head so she was looking at him, waiting for him to do the same before she spoke again. “We gonna lay here, waiting?”

He knew she was referring to the kicking and yeah, he kind of did want to just wait it out. But he also knew that he might not be able to feel anything for weeks—he’d been doing some reading.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to move from the bed, though. He shrugged, the swish of his shoulder moving on the bedspread sounding obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet space. “If not, what do we do?” He leaned in to kiss her, licking gently at the chocolate that still bracketed her lips.

“Oh, I have an idea.”

Pushing down the last of his discontent, he rolled so he was stretched out on top of her, and bit his lower lip. “You do? Tell me more, Kitten.”

Andrew: Have Austin and Odette made up? I swear, this is better than daytime television.

Ashton: We need to find you a job.

Andrew: I have a job.

Ashton: Oh, yeah, what’s that?

Andrew: Umm . . .

Andrew: Would you look at the time? I gotta go.

Ashton: Haha, funny man. How’s the job hunt going?

Andrew: It’s going.

Ashton: Wow, that was such a detailed response. Just give me a minute to make sure I processed all that.

Andrew: Funny.

Ashton: I know. I should take my comedy on the road.

Andrew: I’ll be your manager and, when Ashton Junior comes, the manny.

Ashton: You’d be a hot manny.

Ashton: Especially if you were shirtless.

Andrew: Is that appropriate while caring for an infant?

Ashton: *shrug emoji* Not a clue.

Ashton: But it’s appropriate for when your girlfriend is horny and hungry.

Andrew: Horny and hungry? Say no more.

Andrew: Actually, say more. As in, what you’re hungry for, so I can get it and bring it to you.

Ashton: Salt and Vinegar Pringles and strawberry Greek yogurt. The one with the fruit at the bottom.

Andrew: You’re not eating those together, are you?

Ashton: ???

Andrew: That’s not right, Ash.

Ashton: It’s so right. Dip the Pringle into the yogurt. So good.

Andrew: That’s disgusting.

Ashton: Hey, do you want to have sex?

Andrew: Um, yes? What kind of question is that?

Ashton: Stop ragging on my cravings, or I’ll stop the sex.

Andrew: DO NOT STOP THE SEX, KITTEN

Ashton: DO NOT CALL MY CHIPS AND YOGURT NEEDS DISGUSTING, ANDREW

Ashton: She’s kicking again.

Andrew: Definitely going to be a soccer player.

Ashton: Or something else that kicks.

Ashton: Like a . . .

Andrew: Can-can dancer?

Andrew: Can’t-can’t picture that though.

Ashton: *snort* Dad joke alert.

Andrew: It’s only a dad joke if you’re a dad. And I am not.

Andrew stared at the blinking cursor on his phone, wondering how to follow up that text. Or delete it so it never made it to Ashton.

Where was bad cell service when you needed it?

He didn’t know why he’d sent that text, other than the fact they were playing around about dad jokes—and okay, maybe also because the more time he spent with Ashton, the more he felt a little bit . . . other in her life.

More conscious of the fact that the baby she had growing within hadn’t come from him. And he didn’t care about that—he’d easily come to terms with it, given that they hadn’t exactly been having bi-weekly chat-ups over the past fifteen years—but he was starting to care deeply about something else.

The baby.

That little girl, who’d started stretching and moving and demanding more space and who was keeping her mommy awake at night, which Andrew had noticed was when she was most active. The little girl, who already had about six made-up songs about her, which her mommy sung to her when she thought no-one else was around.

It was a strange sensation to be so much a part of something but also not be. Not that Ashton was excluding him—on the contrary, she seemed to enjoy asking his opinion and using his food-delivery services, and he was more than happy to oblige. But the harder he fell for her, for Ashton, the more he felt a little bit uncertain of his place.

Like he needed to do something to secure it.

Ashton: You’d be a DILF

Ashton: A Duncan I’d Like to Fuck.

Ashton: Get it?

He did. Get it. And he should be laughing—it was reasonably clever, after all, and it was Ashton. The girl he’d been halfway in love with when he was in college and she was strutting around his apartment in a faded old T-shirt, a walking invitation to pet and take and stroke and . . . Ugh, his thoughts were getting out of control.

Mid-life crisis? Could be.

Fear of mortality? Wouldn’t be surprising, after losing Kennedy.

Horny? Constantly, when Ashton was around and when she wasn’t. Maybe that’s what he needed to get all this off his mind. To think about—and experience—the physical instead of all the rest.

That, he hoped, would sort itself out. Eventually.

Andrew sat at the end of the bar, watching his girl work. She was effortless with people, giving them smiles and drinks when they deserved it, dolling out snark and sass when they didn’t. He particularly enjoyed watching her talk to two women who’d come in around quitting time for most businesses in the area, and had immediately engaged Ashton in conversation.

She touched her belly, bigger now than it was at the ultrasound, and laughed with them at whatever it was they were telling her. She seemed more at ease with them than any of the other customers, so when they all three of them looked over at him and smiled knowingly, he assumed she’d told them about him.

It made his chest puff with pride. The women were both beautiful—you’d have to be blind to think otherwise. One blonde, with what appeared to be blue in her hair, the other with hair a similar shade to his own, they were clearly close and clearly enjoying their time together, and he had the feeling that their opinion was important to Ashton.

“Hey, handsome.” Speaking of Ashton, she stood in front of him, rag in hand, a bemused expression on her face. “Whatcha thinking so hard about?”

“Who were those women you were talking to?” They’d just left, giggling as they slipped out the front door with one more wave to Ashton. “Friends?”

“Kind of. I only ever see them when they come in here for Girls’ Night, but I like them. They’re good people.” She nodded, as if in agreement with her own assessment. “They think you’re very, very hot.”

“Clearly.”

“Clearly, you are, or clearly, they thought that?”

“Both,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock disbelief that she didn’t get it. “I know you and your brothers are close, but what about other friends?”

“What made you ask that?” She tilted her head in question before letting her eyes do a sweep of the bar, making sure there wasn’t anyone waiting. It had been busy earlier in the evening, but once the women left, everything else seemed to slow down too.

“I don’t know. Curious, I guess.”

“My best friend, Bianca, is in Africa at the moment. She travels all over for work, so we don’t talk as much as I think we’d both like, and we see each other less. But she’s one of my favorite people in the world.”

“Bianca, as in the girl from college?” he asked, remembering her telling her brother at some point or another that Bianca would be the one to get her from their apartment back to her own college.

“You remember?”

He nodded, not really caring how it looked. He remembered a lot more than he’d realized he had, little snippets of their time together infiltrating his thoughts when she said or did something that reminded him.

“When I went home, she was one of the first people I called. She was going to come get me from your place, but she didn’t hesitate to come to my parents’ house instead. Hours out of her way. If we weren’t already close before that, that would have cemented it for me.”

“What does she do?”

She held up a finger, turning her head when her name was called from somewhere else in the bar, and smiled apologetically when she was drawn away to help one of the staff with an issue.

While he waited for her to come back, he thought about all the questions he was going to ask her when she’d finished her shift and they were heading upstairs to her place.

Although, he thought, remembering her previous promise that he could check to see how wet she was, maybe the questions could wait.

“Hey, man.” Austin slid into the seat beside him, a grim look on his face, killing any thoughts Andrew might have been having about Ashton and getting into her panties.

Talking to your girlfriend’s younger brother tended to have that effect.

“Aussie, hey. What’s up?” The younger man gave him a wane smile and shrug, which prompted Andrew’s follow-up question. “How are things with Odette?”

Ashton hadn’t told him anything other than that they’d had a fight and that had prompted Odie to quit abruptly, and Andrew couldn’t deny he was curious as hell about it.

“Fucked, man. She won’t talk to me. Or let me in her front door.”

“You tried, I assume?”

“Yeah, course I did. She slammed the door on my foot, and it hurt like a motherfucker.” His words were a little slurred, and Andrew assumed that the empty whiskey glass on the bar in front of him wasn’t his first of the evening.

“I bet. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I mean, not really.” Aussie sighed, then continued, “Look, all I said was that the meathead at her gym didn’t deserve her and she was an idiot if she agreed to a date with him.”

Andrew stared at him, half-tempted to whack him on the back of the head. “Dude, you can’t say shit like that to a woman.”

“Odie’s not a woman.”

“She’s not?!” News to him.

“Well, I mean, yeah, she is. Of course. But she’s also one of the boys. And lemme tell you, if you were dating someone as dumb as that gym junkie, I’d have told you the same thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s different . . .”

“How’d you figure that?” He blinked a few times, slowly, like he was struggling to stay awake, causing Andrew to wonder exactly how much he’d had to drink.

Signaling Ashton, he pondered the best way to answer Austin’s question. “I don’t know, man, it just is.”

“That doesn’t help me.”

“Sorry.”

“That doesn’t help me, either.”

“But whiskey does?” Ashton asked, interrupting their conversation by placing a glass of water on the bar in front of her brother.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Austin shot back, pushing the water away from him.

“Bullshit,” Ashton muttered quietly enough that, though Andrew just managed to hear it, Austin seemed completely unaware. “Look, just drink the water. We’re closing soon and I’d like to get out of here before dawn, thanks.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Considering you’re the reason our best bartender is no longer employed here, I’d say a lot, wouldn’t you? And besides, you’re supposed to be helping me once the doors are locked.”

“Oh, yeah. I did say that.” Austin grinned sheepishly and pulled the water back toward him. “Sorry, Little.”

“’S’okay, Tiny,” she replied, clearly enjoying using the nickname that even Andrew knew Austin hated.

As his girl moved away to let the few remaining customers know that The Avenue was at last call, Andrew decided to give Austin one piece of unsolicited advice. “Grovel, man. It’s the only way.”

“You think?”

“I’ve never had a serious relationship before Ashton and so far, I’ve only managed to get through, what? Like, five weeks unscathed, but yeah, I’m pretty sure. It always worked with my sister, when I invariably pissed her off.”

“But Odie won’t even talk to me.”

“Make her talk.”

“But how? She’s small, but she’s strong. She’d probably knock me out cold and then laugh at me. And I’d never know because I’d be out cold.”

The look of distress on Aussie’s face shouldn’t have been as amusing as it was, since being KO’d seemed to be genuinely concerning to him, but Andrew couldn’t help the laugh. “I don’t know how, but if you’ve known her as long as Ashton says you have, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

Austin nodded slowly, sipping his water as he did so, letting a small amount of it dribble down his chin. Somehow, Andrew didn’t think he was going to be any help with closing The Avenue.

Good thing Andrew was there to step in and step up.

“All right, I just have to take the trash out back, and then we’re done.” Ashton smiled over at Andrew, who had been helping her since the doors to The Avenue were locked behind the final patron of the night. Who happened to be her brother, drunk and ranting about being knocked out by Odette.

“I’ll take it, Kitten.” He walked over to her and pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead. It was a move that made her knees go weak, and she wanted nothing more than to just bask in him for hours.

Or forever. That’d work too.

“Thanks,” she whispered, unsure about why she needed to keep her voice low, but appreciating the moment all the same. “For helping, but also for . . .”

She’d been thinking about his one text message since the moment she’d seen it.

It’s only a dad joke if you’re a dad. And I am not.

It bothered her, not that she could really identify why. All she knew was that she liked having him around. Having him help. Having him to laugh with and send pointless text messages to. Having him, she thought, mentally blushing at the implication.

And also at the sudden rush of mental images that had her picturing him, naked, kissing her and—

“For what?” he interrupted, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in closer. Or, as close as he could, now that her bump had started to grow and show more.

“Coming here. Being mine.” The words came out a little husky, given the direction of her thoughts, and a little shy, though louder than her initial thank you. Because she didn’t want him to miss them.

“I’ve been yours, I think, for a long, long time.” He punctuated the words with a brush of his lips against hers. “And I should be thanking you, Kitten. Until I came back here, I didn’t really know how fucking unhappy I’d become.”

“It’s understandable, Andrew. You know that, don’t you? With your sister—” A bumping, crashing noise from outside the building cut off her words, and they both turned to the front window to see what it was.

Nothing was there, but the moment seemed to pass them by.

Before they could break apart, however, Ashton had something she wanted to say, to ask of him. “I know you wanted the hotel room, just in case.” She’d hated saying goodbye to him the morning after they’d become them, but he’d had all this logic about not taking it too fast, living on top of each other, giving her space. It sounded right at the time, but—“I don’t get to see you as much, because this place is busy and you’re looking for a job and you’re not here.”

“What are you saying?” His eyes flashed, like he knew exactly what she was saying, but wanted to hear the words. Or maybe he needed them. Either way, Ashton was getting what she wanted.

“Just imagine you were job hunting in the apartment upstairs during the day. I’m horny, because holy moly, I swear I always am at the moment, and . . .”

“And you come upstairs so I can help.” He smiled the dirtiest smile Ashton had ever seen and she loved it.

“Exactly. So . . .”

“So?”

“I won’t let you upstairs tonight unless you go back to your hotel room, check out—”

“It’s a bit late for check-out, don’t you think?”

She glared at him, partly for interrupting and partly because he wasn’t cowing to her request immediately. “No.”

“Oh, okay. Anyway?” There was laughter in his voice, like he knew where she was going, but wanted to play with her along the way.

Playing with her was exactly what she wanted, just . . . not this type of playing.

“Anyway, check out, get your things, including those books you don’t think I know about, and come back here.”

“What books?”

She smiled at the furtive look on his face when she mentioned the pregnancy titles she’d found haphazardly hidden underneath a pile of papers on the hotel room desk. It had been during one of her visits to see him, and the sight of not just the books themselves, but the dog-eared pages, had caused her to jump him hard and fast.

Not that he’d made love to her hard and fast that day. No, he’d taken his time and she’d loved every second of it.

And she’d even managed to overlook the fact he’d bent the pages of a book. If that didn’t indicate how desperately swoony she felt about him reading up on baby stuff, then nothing would.

Bringing her mind back to the conversation, she gave him a ‘you’re the sweetest’ look and said, “You know what books. I saw them.”

Her knowledge of his secret seemed to fluster him, evidenced by the slight blush forming on his cheeks and the way he stumbled over redirecting the conversation. “Ah, yes, yeah, so, um . . . are you asking me to move in with you?”

Was she? Yes, in a way. She didn’t view it as permanent, only because she didn’t think of her apartment as permanent anymore. In her mind, she’d be moving soon. She didn’t know when the thought had been planted, all she knew was that now, when she thought of the future, she thought of Andrew, her daughter, and a cute house with a yard and a swing set and big front window with a little seat, where she could bask in the sun and read, or people-watch and daydream.

It had been her dream for a long time. To have a husband and a house and a baby. A simple, maybe old-fashioned dream, and one she didn’t have to have to be happy, but it was hers.

She didn’t have a husband, but she had Andrew.

She didn’t have a baby, but she would soon.

She’d didn’t have a house, but every day the desire for one grew.

“Ash?”

“Huh?” She shook her head, trying to clear a path back to the conversation she’d mentally wandered away from. Again. Only this time, she was the one who was left flustered—not by secret stashes of baby books, but at the realization she was asking him to move in and more.

She was asking him to share her future.

“Oh, yeah. Kind of. I mean, yes, because I want you with me, because I like it better when you’re there, and without the hotel room, there’s no excuse for you to leave. Even if it’s just to give me space or to get clean clothes. I don’t want space. I want you. If you need clothes, wash them. I have a washing machine and a dryer and you can use them, but anyway if you moved into my place, you’d have drawers and a closet with clothes and you could diva-change, like, six times a day and none of those changes would require you going somewhere away from me. And I might sound crazy and whatever, but I don’t care. I missed you without realizing it for years and years and I don’t want to miss you anymore, even if it’s just for a few hours or one night.”

“Goddamn, you’re adorable when you rant.” He laughed, swinging her around in his arms to music only he could hear. “I’ll go get my stuff—including the books—and check out, even though the night-desk staff will think I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“I am. I’m an idiot in love with a girl who speaks in run-on sentences and who sings songs to her belly when she thinks no-one is watching.”

Ashton felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You heard me?”

He tilted his head, like he couldn’t understand what she was asking, but answered anyway, “You’re not the only one with a secret habit, Kitten. I might be reading about how Ashton Junior is the size of an apple or, this week, an eggplant, but I also pay attention to you. Even when you think I’m not.”

“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, feeling something, something, steal over her as his words floated back. I’m an idiot in love. “You love me?”

His chuckle was low, more of a vibration in his chest that she felt where their bodies barely touched than an actual sound. “I wondered if you’d pick up on that, Kitten.”

“Sorry.” She cringed, feeling like she’d killed his declaration by focusing on her embarrassment rather than his confession. “I didn’t mea—”

“Ashton.” He cut her off, and lowered his forehead to touch hers right where his lips had only minutes earlier laid a gentle kiss. “I love you.”

Her smile was so big, so wide, it burned her cheeks. In the best way. She was happy to the point of bursting when she told him the same. “I love you.”

Their kiss started slowly, heating up fast as he slid his hands from around her back to her sides and used them to hitch her up onto the bar top. She wrapped her legs around him, her heels coming to rest on his ass, and tried to pull him closer while refusing to relinquish his mouth.

She wanted the kiss to last forever.

But she also wanted him in her apartment, in her bed, and then, in her body.

“Dunk.” She used his nickname to get his attention. She’d pulled her head back, breaking their kiss, but he’d followed, not realizing she had something more to say. “Andrew.”

“Huh, what’s that?” He made a show of being confused, but the haze of desire in the liquid chocolate of his eyes told her it wasn’t just a show.

“Go. Get your stuff. Meet me back here.”

“Then sex?” he asked, hopefully.

“All the sex. So hurry.”