Gus was having second thoughts as she paced her living room waiting for John to arrive. Guilt assaulted her about bringing him here under false pretenses, but she was tired of waiting. And horny as hell. Pregnancy was a bear on the emotions as well as the libido. Most days, she couldn’t decide if she’d rather scarf down a twelve-course meal, have sex, or bawl her eyes out.
Being pregnant was a unique experience, to say the least. Being pregnant with another couple’s baby, even more so. Pretty much being an oven for the most deserving couple of dads-to-be she knew? Well, unique didn’t begin to cover it. Add to that, being hot to trot for a fairly traditional guy and trying to work that angle…heck, there wasn’t even a Facebook group she could find for that.
Why did I listen to Stacy? Having John’s sister stay with her for two weeks gave her more insight than she now thought was prudent. For someone who was reluctant to bond, Stacy sure hit it out of the park after her brush with death. Truth be told, it was probably just that which spurred Gus into action more so than Stacy’s advice about how to snag her brother. Gus couldn’t imagine what Stacy must have gone through at the hands of her psycho ex, or what it would have been like to take a life, even to save her own. I will never be that strong. Case in point, she already had the phone in hand, ready to chicken out, as always.
“Why is this so dang hard? I care about him. I think he cares about me. We’re both adults, and if we decided to do the dirty, what’s wrong with that, hmm?” It was a rhetorical question posed to a sleeping, purring Lynyrd on the back of the couch, as she passed him for the hundredth time.
She answered silently anyway.
Why? Because I’m pregnant, and John has barely looked me in the eyes since Andy and Marco made the announcement. Because I didn’t tell him before anyone else found out. Because I called him over to move furniture that doesn’t need moving. Because traditional is an understatement where he is concerned. What kind of man in his right mind would want to sleep with a pregnant woman, one who he didn’t make pregnant, anyway?
She was freaking out…again. She needed someone to pump her up and tell her she was doing the right thing. There was only one person for that job—the person who talked her into this crazy, get-him-over-here-and-get-him-naked scheme. She punched the name on the screen and waited.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“What’s up is that I am a moron who took bad advice from a friend, and now, I’m losing my mind.” When Stacy said nothing, Gus continued, “That friend is you, and the advice is seducing your brother. I—”
Stacy interrupted, “You’re doing that now, right now? That’s what this whole moving furniture thing is all about? Oh, shit.” Stacy’s laughter rocketed through the phone’s speaker. When she finally slowed enough to speak, it wasn’t without comedic interruption. “Oh, my God, Pixie, I hope you’re not planning on answering the door in the buff or anything?” Laughter overtook her ex-BFF again, and Gus regretted ever advising her to live in the moment and all that, because Stacy had taken it to a whole new level.
“As a matter of fact, I am in my silky robe with the only lacy thing I have that still fits. And…what’s so funny, anyway?” There was no way Gus could speak over Stacy’s riotous laughter, so she stopped talking and starting thinking. Something about Stacy’s words was bouncing around in her brain, pinging off the comprehension center, until…
“STACY!” she shouted to garner her attention. “How do you know about moving furniture?”
“Now, Pixie, when has John ever done anything average, especially where you’re concerned? Over the top is his standard. So, if his Gussy Girl needs furniture moved, she’s getting it moved…by everyone. He showed up here not two minutes ago in Francis and Frank’s van with the whole testosterone gang packed inside, to add Dax to his moving crew. I’m watching them back out of the drive now.”
Gus was mortified. At least Stacy’s laughter had died down enough for her to recognize other sounds. The jingle of keys, the closing of a door, the distinct thunk of a car door, and an engine roaring to life, all filtered through the phone. Thank God, my no-longer-ex-BFF is on her way to help me. Through her teeth, Gus responded, “And drop the Gussy Girl, that was one time. He only ever calls me Augusta.” I wish he’d call me Gussy Girl on purpose…sober.
“Word of advice, Pixie, I’d waddle to the bedroom and change, unless you want Walker, Michael, and Dax to see your goodies, because it won’t take them but ten minutes max to get there. I’m right behind ‘em…because I have got to see this.” Laughter reigned again.
“This is all your fault; I should’ve never listened to you.”
“Oh, boohoo, I told you to seduce him, not lie to him. The course of action you took was not under my direct advice. You can stay on the phone and launch your false accusations, or you can use your, oh, eight minutes, to change and decide how you want your house rearranged. Before everyone shows up, and you’re busted. Smooches, Pixie, I’ll see you in a bit.”
Arghhh. Gus fumed.
“Stacy pulled out her lawyer card going all,” Gus adopted a non-flattering voice change, “I didn’t advise this and course of action that.”
Then, she remembered. “That hooker hung up on me,” Gus complained to Lynyrd, who really didn’t give a crap. He had other concerns on his mind, like coughing up a fur ball. “Not on the carpet!”
When it rains, it pours. Gus was down to under five minutes now. She could clean the mess her cat made or try to fix hers. But if she chose hers, the cat puke would stain. Dang it, she had to clean it first. By the time she finished, she could hear car doors in the drive. Gus slid into her bedroom at breakneck speed—breakneck for her, anyway—and grabbed a pair of roomy sweats and a hoodie. Oh no, no one will think anything strange of you in sweats during the dog days of summer. She was still pulling them on over her robe while making her way back to the living room when Stacy, the hussy, let the whole gang in with her flowerpot key.
“Well, hello, Pixie Sue, what’s shakin’? I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, but I figured since you called the guys over to help you move, you wouldn’t mind if I let them in.”
Gus was not a violent person by nature, but she was willing to give it a shot right about now. Stacy’s sugary sweet tone just fueled her homicidal thoughts. I want to wipe that smug, amused look off my definitely-ex-BFF’s face.
“What are you doing, why would you let them in knowing what you know?” Gus barely recognized her own voice as she forced it through her clenched teeth.
“What I’m doing, Pixie,” Stacy whispered matter-of-factly, “is helping you achieve your end goal.”
Assorted greetings interrupted their private, heated discussion, causing both women to focus on the men filing in through the doorway. Stacy skirted around her, tossing her ill-gotten key onto the granite counter, then turned facing the room at large. Gus studied her a moment more before returning her attention to the men in her house.
Smug Stacy, with her perfect ass, leaned against the counter in a perfect pose, looking perfectly…perfect. Jealously wasn’t in Gus’ nature, never had been, but being pregnant turned her a little green, in more ways than one, apparently. She felt like a cow, and she was thinking things about her friend that she shouldn’t be. Yeah, she’s forgiven already. Thanks hormones.
Just as she considered apologizing for her unflattering thoughts, she glanced over her shoulder again. Stacy removed her hands from the counter, crossed them over her flat belly, and raised her perfectly plucked eyebrow. Gus convinced herself she could handle her know-it-all look, it was just Stacy being Stacy, after all.
But when her naturally ruby lips mimicked the Mona Lisa, and she winked, Gus’ thoughts went from unflattering to downright psychopathic in no time.
This is so not me, dang it. None of this is me, Gus thought and let her gaze drift down the front of her body, stalling on the almost-ready-to-pop baby bump that blocked her feet from view. Seducing a man in her condition? What was she thinking? She wasn’t thinking at all, or rather was thinking with her lady bits instead of her brain.
A kiss to her cheek and a smooth as ganache voice ripped her from her thoughts. Wow, pregnancy really does change everything, I’m even thinking in food descriptors now. Gus took a second, trying to remember the word she used to associate with John’s manly voice, but it escaped her.
When she looked up, her gaze clashed with orbs reminiscent of Stacy’s. Not in a creepy way, thank God. They were different enough, a bit of green tempered John’s eyes, toning down the almost startling blue jean color he shared with his sister. Plus, she never felt like she was drowning under her ex-BFF’s gaze. Yes, she is back to ex status.
“Hello, Augusta, how’re you feeling?” She relished the weight of his gaze for two seconds, before John’s lashes hid his aqua pools from her view. It was the longest he’d looked at her in months. Heck, it was the only time actually. Not true, he looks at me, he just doesn’t see me anymore.
Gus allowed her gaze to track the small lines that sprang out from the corner of his eyes. They were lines most would try to erase because they spoke of age, but John’s also spoke of laughter and tears. The gray that was threaded through his dark hair and beard added dimension and character. He was definitely a man who got more distinguished as time passed.
Embarrassment caused Gus to avert her attention from his ever-present disappointment to his hands still gently gripping her biceps. She took a mental inventory of his touch because she knew as soon as he realized where his hands were, he’d remedy it.
John had the hands of a strong, experienced man—one who wasn’t averse to hard work, or proper grooming. Through her sweat shirt, she couldn’t feel the remnants of the rough patches no amount of moisturizer and manicures could fully remove, but she knew they were there. They always were, even when they were fresh from the salon.
The rest of the guys—well, Michael and Walker, anyway—gave him hell about doing spa time with her and Stacy, but he never let it stop him. John genuinely enjoyed spending time with his sister. Their sibling bond was darn near unbreakable. Tori and Walker had that kind of closeness too, not quite what John and Stacy had, but still pretty dang tight.
Gus was loath to admit it to herself, but she was jealous. Again, with that flipping J-word. Not because she was possessive over the man she secretly, or not so secretly according to Stacy, loved. Or even because she was jelly because her bestie had another bestie in her brother, but because she feared she would never have that with January.
Maybe it was a brother-sister thing, one a sister-sister combo could never hope to accomplish. Maybe for Tori and Walker, it was the type of family they were raised in that bonded them. Frank and Francis were awesome and never placed expectations on their children, so there was never any disappointment if they didn’t live up to them. They let their children choose their own path in life and stood by them, even if that path took a not-so-perfect turn.
The Reids had even claimed all of Tori and Walker’s friends as their “kids,” no matter their ages. They had room in their hearts for an ever-growing family. Francis had already established her place in this unborn baby’s life, and Andrew and Marco couldn’t be happier about it.
John and Stacy couldn’t really be used in a sibling-measuring contest either. They lost their parents young, and they co-parented their much younger brother, until tragedy took his life and turned their world upside down. That kind of bond went beyond typical brother and sister, so she couldn’t really compare herself and Jan to them, or they would always come up short.
Gus choked down her lingering guilt concerning her sister and decided to answer John’s question before everyone wondered what her problem was.
“I’m doing good John, thanks.” As predicted, John rescinded his touch, removing his hands from her arms and shoving them in his pockets. Gus wrapped her arms around herself in an act of comfort, but also in an attempt to not draw attention to the condition she was positive cost her a chance at happiness with him.
It seemed as if John had something more to say, but the rest of the Testosterone Gang, as Stacy called them, swooped in with kisses and greetings.
Walker always rubbed her belly when he said hello. Since it was his wife’s egg that made the baby for her gay ex-husband, Andrew, she figured he had the right. When Gus thought about it, it was a unique situation, especially with her being the baby oven, but it made perfect sense to everyone in this “family,” except maybe John.
Erika had always planned to help Andrew have his baby someday, but no one could have foreseen the accident that would hinder her ability to carry it for him. That was where Gus came in; she was just the womb in this equation.
Walker threw her a questioning look when his belly rub bunched the robe she was wearing under his hand. Gus gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Please, dear God, don’t let him ask why I am layered like a parfait. Ohh, parfait.
Gus breathed a sigh of relieve when Walker nodded in understanding of some sort, at least to the point of not calling her out in front of practically everyone.
“How are you? Taking your vitamins? Moderating caffeine? Get—”
“Yes, Mom, geez. You are worse than Marco, and that’s saying something. He’s redefining my definition of helicopter mom.” Walker had the sense to look cowed. Of course, Gus knew he wasn’t; he was just smart enough to fake it.
Walker threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just the messenger, you know Erika will attack me with a million questions when I hit the door. How does she really look? Were her ankles swollen? Does she have bags under her eyes? Is she taking her vitamins? And you know if I don’t have the answers, she’ll have my nuts in a vise.”
The laugh that bubbled up from Gus took her by surprise. It was true. Erika was intense, to say the least. There were lists all over the house to prove the point. She had made Gus a list for everything, practically scheduling her bathroom trips for optimum efficiency during pregnancy.
“Well, you can report back to the List Dictator of the Florida Panhandle that I look marvelous. And make sure you say it just like that, in that Billy Crystal voice, too. My ankles are slightly swollen, but not to the point they indicate any medical issue other than what we are already aware of. Remind her I have always had bags under my eyes. I take my vitamins according to the list she made me, which is still attached to the refrigerator with a pizza magnet, exactly where she left it. Oh, and I have dropped caffeine completely and plan to continue for three months or so post-partum when I can hopefully pump enough milk from my udders to feed this Wellington/Ramirez child for months.”
The humor in her voice cut the tension that had somehow managed to build to an almost suffocating level. That was typical whenever she and John were in the same room. It always created tension; it just shifted from sexual to strained since the pregnancy announcement.
After sending the guys to the den to rearrange her gym equipment that didn’t need to be rearranged, she turned her attention to Stacy. Crossing her arms and resting them on the top of her belly, Gus asked her friend the question she needed answered, “And how, pray tell, is any of this helping me achieve my ultimate goal. Go ahead, Miss Know-It-All, enlighten me with your wisdom.”
Stacy launched herself at Gus, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “Woohoo, way to grow a pair, Pixie. I can see I’m rubbing off on you. You almost said fuck, I can feel it, it’s only a matter of time.”
Rolling her eyes, but smiling too, Gus embraced her friend with equal enthusiasm.
“You rubbing off on me? I beg to differ, counselor; you hugged me; that is huge. No prompting, no obligated return embrace, just you, all you, in the moment. You threw yourself into my arms because you wanted to. Admit it, it’s the other way around.” Stacy disengaged, went to the refrigerator, and grabbed the OJ, then poured them each a glass.
“Okay, fine, there is mutual rubbing. Ooo, Pixie, that sounds deliciously dirty.” When Gus didn’t blush as she would’ve before meeting Stacy, she realized her mistake before she pointed it out.
Raising her glass in a toast, Stacy continued, “See, mutual rubbing, resulting in reciprocal transference. Happy?” Stacy swigged her juice and indicated Gus should do the same. When the glass remained untouched, Stacy looked confused.
“I can’t really stomach OJ much anymore; it gives me heartburn. I just bought it out of habit and hoped that maybe I’ll hit a phase where it won’t raise a fire in my gut. I haven’t yet.” Stacy’s shoulders slumped. Gus reached for her. “What’s wrong, hon?”
“It’s just another way I’m lacking in the whole woman department. I have an amazing man and an awesome teenage daughter that I love more than life itself, but I don’t even know the basics of pregnancy. Of course, orange juice would give you heartburn. Women should know these things. I—”
“Seriously, you are turning in your ovaries over orange juice? What’s this really about, Stace? You’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so why now?”
“You’re right, Pixie. The thing is, I know I’m being ridiculous, but all y’all are so…motherly…for lack of a better term. You’re artificially knocked up, but knocked up all the same—”
“Geez, you make it sound so...beautiful.”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean—you’re knocked up, Walker and Erika have Willow, even Tori and Michael are actively trying to become parents.” At Gus’ questioning look, Stacy elaborated, “Oh yeah, and they have no qualms sharing all the details of their practice runs. I swear, as much as those two claim to be fucking, her uterus should have a quicker turnover rate than a by-the-hour hotel near the airport.”
Gus contained her amusement, hoping Stacy would get to the point quickly, so she could get back to her problem at hand. Apparently, pregnancy not only caused her jealousy to flare, but it made her selfish, too.
“It’s just that…I don’t want Macy to feel like she isn’t enough for us, which I don’t think she will or that being her step-mom isn’t fulfilling or that we want to replace—”
“But you and Dax want to try for a baby?”
“Yes, well, no. I mean, I told Dax no, but the truth is, I want it more than anything, I just, don’t know how.”
“Well, start with lingerie—”
A snort-laugh interrupted Gus. “That’s not what I mean, you smart ass bitch. I mean, I don’t know how to do the whole baby-momma thing. I’ve only ever had to come in and deal with a teenager. And so, I keep putting Dax off. And yes, before you say it, I know Macy would be thrilled at the idea. She is the most well-adjusted kid I know, hell, I know adults that aren’t as stable as she is. Really, I’m afraid I just don’t have that tender mom gene needed to have a baby. So, I guess I am using her as an excuse not to try.”
Augusta Rain Thorne shocked herself at the words that flew from her mouth in anger. “That’s fucking bullshit, Stacy, and we both know it. You have a bigger heart than anyone I know; you just pretend you're a hard-assed bitch. You’ve had to for so long, you’ve finally convinced yourself it’s fucking true. Listen to me, and you listen good. The Stacy I know doesn’t fear anything. She takes every challenge that comes her way and crushes it. If she wants to have a baby, she will, and no one will tell her otherwise. The Stacy I know will always find a way to have her cake and eat it too.”
When Gus took a pause to breathe a second round of hormone-fueled dragon fire at her friend, she let Stacy’s shock register. As it did, her hands flew to her mouth, and she mirrored Stacy’s reaction at the curse-laden rant she just spewed.
Stacy slow-clapped and whistled while Gus let her embarrassment settle over her like a cloak. She was not happy with her potty mouth, and she wasn’t thrilled to have lain into a friend who needed her compassion.
“Way to go, Pixie. No one else could say that to me and get away with it. Plus, no one else has a chance of it sinking in, either. But I hope that helps you realize, when I say we are more alike than you think, we are. And I am not talking about your language. Nice f-bombing by the way—well-spaced, perfect inflection, and precisely delivered.”
Stacy took Gus’ hands and looked her in the eye. “You talk about my heart, my determination, and need to protect myself, yet you don’t see those exact qualities in yourself. We’re the same, you and me. Two sides of the same coin, so to speak, we just don different masks to hide the same damn things.”
As the truth of Stacy’s words washed over Gus, it renewed her determination to go for what she wanted in life.
“Then, oh great and powerful shoe goddess, how do I take the mask off and get John to see me?”
“I’m not sure anymore, Pixie. My brother is as hard-headed as they come, with good reasons, of course, but those are his stories to tell, not mine. He values honesty above all else, so this furniture ploy would never work for him. He would see it as dishonest. You need to get him alone, look him in the eye and tell him how you feel, and then point-blank ask him if he wants you the same way you do him. Or you could write him a do-you-think-I’m-pretty note. Check yes or no.”
They shared a much-needed laugh, and Gus felt a little lighter than before, but the “his stories to tell” weighed on her. Everyone had stories, but it was the way Stacy said it that made her wonder if they were the kind of things that would be insurmountable.