CHAPTER ELEVEN

My twin bed was too small for two people, but it was better than the couch at Rory and Tyler’s, and I liked cuddling up close to Jonathon, our naked bodies still moist and warm. I felt post-orgasm satisfied and I trailed my fingers over the marks and numbers of his tattoo, content. He was a generous guy in bed, focusing on me, and I felt a little guilty for letting him do that, but at the same time, duh, I enjoyed it. There was something so easy about being with him. I didn’t worry that I wasn’t sexy enough, or kinky enough, or that at an important moment in the action, he would suggest how hot it would be if I did another chick in front of him, ruining my orgasm with the self-doubt that raised.

I didn’t think for one minute that Jonathon would want me making out with a girl in front of him. He was definitely a one-on-one guy. He made eye contact the whole time he was inside me and it was so foreign to me sometimes I had to fight the urge to look away, afraid he would see how hard I was falling for him. I didn’t want to scare him off, but I didn’t know how to play the game with someone like him, because I didn’t think that he knew that games existed. He was straightforward, logical.

Yet there was something wonderfully romantic about him. The fact that he had given any thought to a birthday present for me made my heart squeeze. Any other guy would’ve gone for a desperate last-ditch box of chocolates or worse, a helium balloon. But he had given me something that showed that even coffee- and sleep-deprived, he listened. I kissed his shoulder on that thought and in response he squeezed my butt, his hand resting comfortably there.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked him, because he had his thinking face on, the one that said he was calculating.

“You don’t want to know.”

I sat up, not liking the sound of that. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t think I should say. You might misconstrue.”

He didn’t want to see me anymore. He found me boring. He wanted a DNA test done. “I’m going to think up so many horrible things, that whatever you say can’t possibly be as bad. Don’t torment me.”

Glancing over at me, he looked surprised. “Kylie, it’s nothing horrible. No. Sorry. It’s just my creepy science mind at work. I was thinking how bizarre it is that a parasite is growing in you and will eventually explode from your body through an extremely narrow opening, and yet you will both survive.”

My jaw dropped. “Jonathon, oh my God!” The things he said . . . and he actually looked amused at the thought. I was not amused. Exploding anything out of my vagina was just not something I wanted to think about. It was a horrible word choice.

“Told you that you wouldn’t want to know.”

“Our baby is not a parasite!”

“Technically, it is. You’re the host.” He gave me an amused look. “It’s just the way my mind works, I can’t help it. I had to take it there because it’s a curious process if you think about it.”

“I’d rather not.” But he was honest, I had to give him that. “And here I was just thinking how romantic you can be.”

Now he laughed out loud. “Shit. I ruined that, didn’t I?”

“Totally. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to make it up to me.”

“Oh yeah?” He gave me a sexy smile. “Does it involve this?” He kissed me, his tongue slipping into my mouth.

“Mmm.” I loved the way he kissed. It was exploratory, slow, like he had all the time in the world to taste me.

Fingers walked down my ass and between my legs. “Does it involve this?”

He was stroking me from behind and I felt lazy, my arousal less urgent than it had been before. “Mmm,” I repeated, before kissing him again, tracing the muscles of his chest and down his abs.

After a few minutes I buried my mouth on his shoulder and let the pulsating reverberate through my whole body. “Oh, you’re so good at that.” He always knew right where to touch and the perfect pressure.

“I like seeing you enjoying yourself.”

I actually believed him. “You know what else I would enjoy?”

“I would enjoy that, too, trust me, but I need a couple more minutes, babe.”

Oops. Too bad that wasn’t what I was talking about. “I was actually going to say I would like some ice cream.”

“What?” He patted my butt. “And here I thought you were as hot for me as I am for you.”

“I am! But I’m hungry. I can’t help it. Today I actually ate half of a bagel and half a cupcake, and didn’t feel sick. Now for some reason, my stomach is growling and I really, really want ice cream.”

“You’re the birthday girl. Ice cream it is.” Jonathon pulled his phone off the nightstand and squinted at it. “It’s only eight. There should be an ice cream place open still. Unless you want a pickle to go with it. Then we can just go to the grocery store.”

“I don’t want a pickle.” I peeled myself off his chest, shivering a little as the cool air hit my breasts. “Ick.”

“I thought that was de rigueur for pregnant women.”

“I don’t know what de rigueur even means but pickles are like slimy cucumbers. Gross.”

“They are pickled cucumbers.”

“Well, I know that. I just mean . . . never mind. The thought of pickles is icking me out.”

“We definitely don’t want to ick you out.”

Yawning, I found my bra wedged under Jonathon’s hip and I yanked it out. “I think I need new bras.” Stuffing my boobs back in was like forcing cats into a carrier—they just didn’t want to go.

“I would agree. You look like you’re about to sever all your circulation.” Jonathon was on his back pulling his briefs and his jeans up his legs. “Like I said, use the gift card from your mom for that.”

“How exciting. Bra shopping for my birthday. Yay, me. And why are my boobs getting so big anyway? It’s not like I’m lactating yet. It seems unnecessary. And, ew, did I just say lactating? That is a gross word.”

“Lactating is slightly mammalian sounding, I will admit. As to why they are swelling, that I don’t know. But I’m not going to complain.”

“You don’t have to carry them around.” I wiggled into my panties.

“I can if you want me to. I’ll just hold them whenever you’re tired of relying on your bra.”

I laughed. “Weirdo.”

“My secret is out.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and sat up, reaching for his shirt.

The room was dim, like it always was, but I could still see all the lines of his body. His hoodies and plaid shirts hid a lean but muscular body. I liked seeing him naked, butt tight, tattoo sleeve so intricate and black against his light skin. He had slight olive undertones to his skin, but he was fair, and his little beard scruff on his chin grew quickly, a stubbly shock of caramel-colored hair. I didn’t know if he was bullshitting me about the whole sexual-anticipation-causing-his-hair-to-grow thing, but I did know that it was soft and I liked the way it tickled my thighs when he was down there.

When I stood up and went to the bathroom before getting dressed, I felt him watching me, too. A glance back showed his stare was appreciative. I felt sexy again, for him, and I blew him a kiss before retreating into the bathroom.

But in a minute my contentment evaporated when I saw there was blood on the toilet paper. It wasn’t a lot, just some spotting, but it was enough to shock me. Pulling my panties back up I threw open the door and called to him. “Jonathon, I’m spotting. Oh my God.”

My heart was racing, my palms clammy. He looked instantly alarmed but then he stood up and came over to me, his voice reassuring. “Spotting is normal in the first trimester. It’s okay. It’s not heavy, is it? It’s not like a period?”

“No. It was just a pinkish smear.”

“That could be from sex even, from your cervix being bumped.”

I knew he was right. Sometimes I spotted after a pap but it still scared the shit out of me. I let him hug me, burying my head into his shirt he’d put back on. “Are you sure?”

“What, that I might bump your cervix? Well, I don’t mean to brag but . . .”

I smacked his chest. “I’m being serious.”

“I am, too. Look.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started typing one-handed. A few seconds later, he read off his screen. “‘Bleeding during pregnancy is common, especially during the first trimester, and usually it’s no cause for alarm. About 20 percent of women experience some bleeding in the first twelve weeks of pregnancy.’”

My shoulder relaxed slightly. “Where are you reading that?”

“The Mayo Clinic. I think we can trust them.”

I stared up at him, my chin still on his chest. “Everything is okay, right?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s go get some ice cream. Though you probably need to put on some clothes first. It is almost February.” He tilted my chin up with his index finger and gave me a kiss.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Funny how five weeks ago I had been panicked at the thought of being pregnant, now I was panicked at the thought of not being pregnant. Pulling on my clothes, I tried to put it out of my head. It was nothing. Jonathon was right. It was my birthday and we were getting ice cream.

As we stepped outside, it was lightly snowing and Jonathon stuck out his elbow for me to hook my arm through. The air was still, the night quiet. I blinked as the snow softly dropped onto my eyelashes, and the cold filled my lungs and made me feel clean, alive. I was glad to be having my first trimester during winter. The thought of that sour stomach during the heat of July was horrifying. The crisp air always seemed to help calm my icky stomach.

Jonathon let go of me for a minute to slide across the snowy sidewalk, surfer style. I laughed. “You’re going to fall.”

“Nah.” He did it again, his arms flailing as he momentarily lost his balance.

“So how do you get all those muscles?” I asked him. “Are you a secret gym fan? Are you really pumping iron when you say you’re in the lab?”

“Pumping some Fe, you mean?” He gave me a grin as he stopped and waited for me, reaching for my hand.

“Seriously?” I laughed. “Not that I can say anything because I think I started the stupid chemistry jokes.”

“I think you did. But no, I don’t spend hours in the gym. I work for a moving company on Saturdays and Wednesdays. Hauling boxes and furniture keeps me in decent shape. How about you?” He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You have some amazing thigh strength.”

How was it he could make me blush like that? He could be so truly nerdy, yet he made me feel way more shy than Nathan or any other cocky douche bag I’d dated before. “I played volleyball, remember?”

“Oh, right. Bump. I should start calling you that. It really applies now.”

I was sorry I had reminded him. “But now I do zumba and Pilates, though not since before Christmas. No energy.”

“Maybe you should try yoga instead for the next few months.”

It was a good idea. “Will you go with me?” I don’t know why I asked that. It was something I would ask Jessica or Rory, not a guy. Nathan would have told me no, then asked to see my legs over my head, if I had asked him that.

But Jonathon just shrugged. “Sure. If I can fit it in my schedule. I’ve never tried it because it’s a bit of a challenge for me to quiet my mind.”

Pleased that he was willing to go with me, I nudged him with my hip. “You can just think about the parasite quality of our baby while you meditate.”

“Fair enough.” Jonathon held the door of the ice cream shop open for me.

It was one of those places where you pile on your own toppings and they weigh the final creation. Jonathon got chocolate ice cream and then loaded it with gummy worms, sprinkles, cookie crumbles, chocolate sauce, and a cherry on top. It looked like something an eight-year-old boy with a gift card to burn would have gotten. I got cookie dough with whipped cream. Keep it simple.

We sat down in the warm shop across from each other, Jonathon clearly enjoying his massive mess of sugar. He pulled a worm out and sucked some chocolate sauce off and chewed the head aggressively.

“Oh, gross.” For some reason it sparked a memory of the Christmas green bean casserole, which had reminded me of real worms. My cheeks puffed out as my gag reflex started.

Contrite, he popped it all the way into his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Eventually this will go away, right?” I took a teeny bit of my ice cream. The cold did taste good in my mouth. “I do feel a lot better. And, thank you, by the way, for the ice cream. And everything.”

His eyes were warm. “You don’t have to thank me.”

There were so many things I wanted to say to him. To ask him. Feelings I wanted to share, feelings I wanted to earn. But instead, I just said, “Your dad suggested I drop his class.”

Jonathon pulled a face. “Whatever. I know you can pass it if you study.”

I wanted to tell him what Professor Kadisch had said to me, but I knew I couldn’t. It would just hurt him. “That would be satisfying to pass the class, I have to admit. I need to get back to normal.”

“I can study with you if you want. I have it on authority that I’m a really good tutor.”

True that. “Will we really study?” I asked him, suspicious. “Or will you distract me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bump.” He gave me a grin. “If anyone did the distracting, it was you.”

“Me?” I went for indignant, but the truth was, he was probably right. I moved my tongue down my spoon slowly, up and down, enjoying the way his expression changed, his own spoon pausing halfway to his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Reaching over I stole his cherry and sucked on the tip.

“Flirt. You know exactly what you’re talking about.”

I laughed. I hadn’t felt this good, this easy, with someone since long before RAN. He was right—I was flirting with him. And enjoying every second of it. “What’s your favorite Disney movie?” I asked him.

“My favorite Disney movie? And Kylie gets the award for the most random question ever.”

I laughed. “I’m serious. I think it says a lot about who you are. I’m trying to get to know you.”

“Via cartoon?” He licked his spoon. “I’m not sure I’ve seen a whole lot of Disney movies. I was more a Harry Potter kind of kid.”

“Okay. So which house would you be at Hogwarts?”

“Ravenclaw.” There was zero hesitation in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because they value intelligence. You have to answer a riddle to enter the dorms, how freaking cool is that?”

It was a good fit for him. “I agree, you’re totally Ravenclaw. I think I’m Hufflepuff.”

“I don’t know. I see a lot of Gryffindor in you. You’re brave and resourceful.”

I wasn’t sure how true that was. “That’s a stretch. I think I fit more with the Hufflepuff loyalty-and-hard-work kind of attitude.”

“We’ll have to ask the sorting hat.”

Jonathon’s ice cream was almost gone. I wasn’t sure how he had consumed that much in the same time I’d had three small bites. “I guess you like chocolate.”

“I guess I do. And you like whipped cream. That’s the majority of what you’ve eaten.”

“Don’t hate. I like dairy.”

“Honey, the whole thing is dairy.”

“Which is why I like it.”

He laughed. “I have a hard time following your logic.”

“That’s because it’s the world according to Kylie. I just say whatever is in my head, whether it makes sense or not.” I might as well make that clear while he still had time to escape. Not that he could escape entirely, but he didn’t have to be involved with me.

The thought that he might not want to made me more determined than ever that he would. I wanted to laugh and cuddle and spend more and more time with him.

“I find you to be super cute,” he told me. “And as long as your logic makes sense to you, then I see nothing wrong with it. Just be patient with me if I stare blankly at you.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Your ice cream is melting.”

“I think I’m finished.” I actually felt full from a few spoonfuls of whip and ice cream. Geez.

“Can I have it?”

“Go for it.”

His eyes lit up in pleasure. I laughed. “And here I thought I was the ice cream whore.”

“Now who’s hating?”

I pushed it over and watched him pack away the rest of my dessert, looking very satisfied.

I knew the feeling. I was very satisfied.

And falling in love with him.

I was. I could deny it all I wanted. I could tell myself not to hope for something permanent and wonderful with Jonathon, but I couldn’t help myself.

I was falling in love with him.

When we got back to my place he made love to me again, slowly, deliciously, and I didn’t have to ask if he was planning to spend the night. I’d never thought of sex as making love, not once, until Jonathon had referred to it that way. It seemed so retro, and while before I might have thought it was cheesy, now it seemed right. It wasn’t fucking, it wasn’t just sex, something you could do with anyone. It was intimate and warm and emotional.

Jonathon pulled the blankets up over our naked bodies and set his glasses on the nightstand. “Mm. Happy birthday, Kylie.”

“Thank you.” I kissed him and felt my heart swell knowing that my wish had already come true.

I had wished on my cupcake candle to be with Jonathon and here I was. Here we were. A couple. He had said he didn’t want to see other people. Just me.

He+Me= We.

I sighed, feeling goofy and happy and more than a little bit in love.

But then I woke up at three in the morning feeling like the sheet below me was wet, and that perfect night was over in an instant.