Chapter 9 – Chelcie
Monday morning came way too quickly. I’ve been in a pissed-off, somewhat depressed fog since my run-in with Asher. I spent the weekend in bed vegging on every single thing I could find that could fall into the junk food category. Ice cream, candy, peanuts, pickles… Okay, maybe pickles aren’t junk food, but you tell that to my little bean.
I’ve been lucky so far. I’m just about to hit the halfway mark of my pregnancy and my bump is finally starting to look more like I have a baby in there and not ten courses of Chinese takeout. Every time I look in the mirror and see the evidence of the life growing within my body, I’m overcome with a love I’ve never known was possible. That is of course quickly followed by a crying hormonal fit for a good hour.
Between the crying and the weird depression jags, odd food cravings, and unbelievable sex drive—minus the sex—I feel like my body has a mind of its own. I go from elation to fear in two-point-five seconds. And at the heels of all of that is guilt. Guilt because I still haven’t talked to Asher.
At first, I didn’t want to tell him because I didn’t know him. Then, after I got to know him and realized my attraction to him, I was more scared to tell him than anything. What if he thinks I was just another one of Coop’s whores? Or what if he thinks I did this on purpose? Irrational—that’s all it was. Because when you strip all the bullshit away, he deserves to know and I am a huge bitch for not telling him.
So that’s why I woke up this morning I made a promise to myself. I have exactly three weeks to tell him. In three weeks, I finally get to find out if I’m having a boy or girl, and I feel like Asher needs to be a part of that. He needs to know so that he has time to decide if he even wants to be part of that.
God, I hope he does.
Of course, today isn’t going to be that day. I promised Dee that I would try one more date before I gave up on it for a while. The last idiot I attempted to go out on a date with showed up with a car so full of trash that I couldn’t even make out where he was sitting. I wasn’t even sure how he was able to drive that damn thing. There was trash for days—clothes, bedding… Hell, I think he had food stuck to his windshield. Of course, that should have been the first clue that I needed to run. He got out, walked around the car, and gave me a huge hug. The only thing I noticed was the overwhelming stench.
So… I proceeded to vomit all over his feet. His socks—with holes—and-sandals-wearing feet.
And the worst part was that he didn’t even seem to mind. He smiled, half of his teeth missing, and tried to kiss me!
Needless to say, I all but ran back to my car and hauled ass out of the parking lot. I had to pull over twice to strip the clothes from my body and frantically brush ants off of me.
And then I shamelessly ran back through the lobby of my apartment, past a blushing Joe, and straight to my place—where I took the hottest shower I could safely have while trying to talk myself out of a bleach scrub.
So this afternoon is it. If this date is another date from hell, I’m done.
I wisely told Dee that this date was going to be a lunch date; that way, if it turned out to be another disaster, I wouldn’t have to have my whole night ruined. I talked to date number three, Phillip, on the phone last night. He seemed pleasant enough. Very polite and soft-spoken. He didn’t refer to himself with any weird nicknames, and most importantly, he knew that I was pregnant and didn’t seem to have a single issue with it.
Famous last words, it seems.
Pulling up outside the local burger hot spot, I immediately see him standing against the wall next to the front entrance, our designated meeting spot. He has the tall, sleek build of a runner. Slim hips, flat stomach, and strong shoulders. His hair is clipped short—just enough length for me to run my fingers through his blond locks. I can’t see his eyes from here, but if I remember from the terribly grainy picture he sent me, they’re a warm hazel.
I take in his straight-laced clothes—typical country-club-type polo and dress slacks, all the way down to his loafers.
Okay, that might be a point in the negative column. I’m so used to looking at the guys in their tough-guy boots that loafers throw me off for a second.
Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I climb out of the car and make sure that my clothes are in order. It’s harder these days to find things that don’t show off my stomach. I decided to go with a nice pair of black slacks and a loose-fitting blouse. Nothing that draws attention to my growing stomach.
“Chelcie?” he questions when I get closer. His friendly, open face lights up when he spots me.
“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Phillip.” I go to offer my hand, but he pulls me into a friendly hug. Errr…okay, maybe another negative. I don’t hug.
I awkwardly pat his back a few times and pray that he isn’t going to keep me in this hug crap for too long.
“Not a hugger, huh?” he laughs, pulling away with his warm smile still in place.
Well, thank God I didn’t offend him. So far, so good.
“Yeah, sorry. Must be weird being on the other end of an anti-hug person.”
We both laugh and make our way into the restaurant.
It doesn’t take long to get a table, and for once, there isn’t any awkward silence or overly flirtatious behavior with the staff. He seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.
“So, Phillip, tell me a little about yourself. You mentioned that you own a construction company?” I grab my water and take a sip, waiting for him to answer. I’m shocked that I’m actually enjoying myself.
“Please call me Phil. My father is Phillip, and I feel like I need to have a sweater vest on when people call me by my full name.” He flashes his bright, white teeth when he smiles at me. Damn, he might be as close to perfect as I’m going to find. “Or then again, it could be my mother yelling at me.” He laughs at his own joke, and I smile, waiting for him to continue. “I opened up my company about ten years ago. I worked through college building houses, and it just seemed like the right thing for me. I knew what I was doing and had years of connections to get the jobs done cheap. We do everything from small home repairs to complete demo and remodels. It’s fun, and I love working with my hands. Just kind of fit.”
“It must be impossible to work in the Georgia heat during the summers. I couldn’t imagine working outdoors. But then again, I pretty much sprint from air-conditioned building to air-conditioned car when it goes over eighty.”
“It’s definitely not a walk in the park, that’s for sure. I’ve been lucky, and my company does well, so the majority of the heavy work I contract out. I spend most of my working hours in the office, telling others how to do their job.”
We’re interrupted for a second when our food arrives, and a comfortable silence settles around us. The noise of the other diners around us fills in the blank in conversation. We make eye contact a few times, his eyes heating with blatant desire.
“Do you mind me asking about the baby’s father? I don’t mean to overstep. I just want to know what I’m dealing with.” He actually blushes at that, and I can’t help but smirk at his obvious discomfort in asking.
“I don’t mind. He…uh, he passed away earlier this year. It wasn’t a planned pregnancy, and unfortunately, I never had a chance to tell him.” I can feel the familiar tears burning my nose and threatening to fall from my eyes, but I quickly blink them back and push off the nagging guilt that my child’s father isn’t ever going to be here.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” His eyes flash with embarrassment and sympathy, and I reach out to grab his hand—reassuring him that he hasn’t offended me.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. I’ve had time to come to terms with it, and I’m excited for he or she to come.”
“I can imagine. I’ve got to say, if you hadn’t told me about the baby, I never would have guessed you were expecting.”
“Oh trust me, you can definitely tell. I swear, if my feet swell any more, I’ll end up barefoot before I even hit the halfway mark,” I laugh and go to take another bite of my burger when I notice that Phil’s gone oddly silent.
His eyes, which had a spark of heat behind them, are now full-out blaring.
“Are you okay?” I question.
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. His jaw ticks a few times and his eyes just burn into mine. It isn’t until he reaches under the table with one tan forearm to obviously adjust himself that the alarm bells start going off.
And to think, it was going so well.
“Phil?”
“What? Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry. Look, I’m going to be honest with you because I feel like we should start our relationship with complete honesty.” He pauses, looks me dead in the eyes, and waits a beat. I’m still stuck back at relationship, so it takes me a second to realize that he’s still talking. “…I don’t even know when it started.”
“When what started? I’m sorry. I spaced out there for a second,” I apologize.
“I can imagine. It’s pretty hot, isn’t it?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I notice for the first time how perfectly shaped they are.
“What is pretty hot?”
“Tell me please. What color are they?” he practically pants.
“Phil, stick with me, okay? What is hot and what color are you talking about?”
Frustration is getting the best of me, and I can feel my crazy pregnancy hormones kicking in because I’m two seconds away from throwing my burger in his face. Which would be a shame because it really is delicious.
“Your toes. God, just the thought of them swollen and ripe has my mouth watering. I bet they’re red hot and juicy, aren’t they?” He hisses out a breath, and I can see his forearm flex.
I have to fight back a gag when I picture what his hand is clearly doing under the table…at the thought of my toes?!
“I can’t wait to get those little piggies in my mouth,” he moans. “Get them all wet and let you take over from there.”
“Excuse me?” I shriek, drawing the attention of the nearby tables.
He doesn’t even seem fazed when his eyes darken even more. “Babe, let’s get the check. My ass is clenching just imagining you sticking those feet near my body.”
Holy. Shit.
There is no freaking way he is serious right now.
“It’s got you hot, doesn’t it? Thinking about me sucking on your feet until your toes, your swollen toes, are nice and wet? It has me so turned on right now that I bet I won’t even need to use lube this time.”
“Phil, I think you have definitely got the wrong impression here. These piggies aren’t going anywhere near any hole you have in your body.”
Looking around frantically, I catch the eye of our waitress and signal that we need the check. I look over at Phil—disgusting, perverted, foot-fetish Phil—and pray that she hurries the hell up.