MY CHEEK RESTS ON HIS firm chest. The rapid beat of his heart matches my own as I slowly relax and catch my breath. My fingers can’t help but trace the outside edges of his new tattoo. Centered on his left forearm, it’s all I see. My name. They say you shouldn’t tattoo a lover’s name on your skin because of all that can go wrong. Relationships fall apart all the time, but I love that we did it anyway. That we believe in us enough to permanently mark our skin. As often as I have to talk Tate out of a spontaneous elopement, it’s in moments like these that I’m glad he doesn’t ask, because if he did my answer wouldn’t take into account anything other than wanting to make this man my husband.
Twenty-two more days. Three weeks. That’s nothing considering we only met a little over eleven months ago, when I was hired to investigate his viability as boyfriend material for a client. At the time, I didn’t realize I’d meet the love of my life and start an amazing business in private investigation work with my best friend, Jon. So much has happened in one year’s time. It seems only right we wait until next month to tie the knot on the anniversary of our first date.
The buzz of my cell as it vibrates next to the bed pulls me from my thoughts, and when it continues with its incessant vibration I groan, begrudgingly pulling away from Tate. The text string is constant and all reads the same.
Kate: 911! Jon’s apartment! Now!
“It’s Kate. She needs me.” I sigh and fall back onto the comfort of Tate’s outstretched arm. His fingers play with my hair.
“When does she not?” His chest rumbles with silent laughter.
“I know. Seriously, this pregnancy has her taking our emergency code to the extreme. I get that it’s scary and all, but come on! Not everything requires immediate attention.” I shudder as I remember last month when she texted. I rushed to meet her at her office, and as soon as I walked in the doors she ushered me into the small restroom, locked the door, dropped her pants, and bent over. We’ve been best friends since middle school, but that stretched the limits of our besties boundaries. I can never unsee that.
And I officially never want to be pregnant. Apparently, hemorrhoids are a common side effect. After I encouraged her to pull her pants back on, we called her OB on speaker phone, and he confirmed that’s what that was. I shudder again.
“You cold?” Tate rubs my shoulder and I shake my head.
“No. Just remembering the last time Kate 911’ed me. I really hope she keeps her pants on this time.”
Tate laughs and kisses my lips with a peck. “Women are so weird. If Jon or Derek did that I’d assume they’re gay.” I roll my eyes and he quickly amends, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He rises from the bed and walks over to the dresser. He has an unusual schedule, so even though it’s past two on Friday afternoon, he’s only now going in to work. All part of the personal trainer gig, but with my odd schedule at the PI firm, we make it work.
I sit on the side of the bed and gather my discarded clothing, re-dressing in my underwear, tee shirt, and jeans. “So, I’m going to meet Kate at the apartment. What time will you be home tonight?”
“My last client is booked for eight, so sometime after nine. Text me if you end up staying late and I’ll squeeze in a quick workout before I head home.” I nod as he pulls his workout clothes on. The club logo tee fits like a second skin over every inch of tatted muscle. I grin when I see his angry, ointment coated skin bearing my scripted name shimmer in the light. He grabs his wallet and keys off the dresser and catches my stare.
“See something you like?” He grins and those dimples pop, one at each side of his mouth.
“Always.” I lick my lips. “I like my name on your skin.” We just made love but I could go again. I can always go again with Tate. One look from him and my entire being pulses with need.
He stalks toward me and I stand from the edge of the bed. My skin tingles in excitement and his eyes have that glint about them.
“And I fucking love my name on your skin. Can I see it once more?” He lifts the hem of my shirt and exposes the new tattoo on my right side. He drops to his knees and kisses my skin. His lips travel gently and steady around the edges of the lettering.
Then his fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts.
My phone chimes. Again.
And again, and again.
I blow out a frustrated breath. Tate kisses the skin just over my belly button and stands.
“Your friend’s a real cock block.”
I nod my head. “She really is. I’ll be sure to tell her.”
“It’s okay. I have to get to the club anyway.” He brushes his lips over mine one last time and murmurs, “Love you, Evie.”
“Love you, Tate.” He turns to leave and I sigh. Better get to my girl. No matter what, we are best friends and if she needs me, I’m there.
Driving from Tate’s house to Jon and Kate’s apartment takes less than twenty minutes and I crank my music to sing along at the top of my lungs. It’s a gorgeous Arizona spring day and little hairs escape my ponytail when I roll down the windows. I have to take advantage of the perfect weather before it turns to the scorching fires of hell in only a few short months.
Walking up the path to my old apartment—the one I shared with Jon until I moved in with Tate, and the one we still work from—I brace myself for whatever hormone-induced drama lies beyond the front door.
Before I can even slide my key into the lock, the door is thrown open. My gaze darts behind Jon’s alarmed face, but my brain can hardly process what I find. Empty cartons of Ben & Jerry’s are strewn across the surface of the coffee table, and both Kate and my older sister Melissa pace, their protruding bellies forcing a waddle-like stride as they negotiate a cautious pattern over the worn carpet.
“What the hell?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. But they’ve been like this since I got home ten minutes ago. I’m scared. Help.” Jon’s eyes widen as Kate’s expletives increase in volume and my sister begins to cry. Her wails fill the air.
“Is this the hormones? Because I’m gonna say, I’ll never want babies if these two keep this up.” I’m frightened to cross the threshold. Maybe if I turn and run now they won’t notice.
Their preggo sixth sense kicks in and both faces snap to the open doorway.
“Evie!” Melissa cries. Her face crumples and her shoulders drop, and I immediately rush to wrap her in a hug. I don’t know what has her so distraught but, whatever it is, I want to make it better. It’s alarming to see my normally cool and together sibling so unraveled.
“Thank God! Finally! I’ve been texting you all afternoon!” Kate says.
Jon steps—albeit in a timid fashion—into the circle of crazy that is now their living room and sits on the edge of the couch.
“I came as soon as I could.” I glance around. “Where’s Claire?”
“I dropped her off at Mom’s. I didn’t know what else to do.” Melissa’s chin quivers and tears stream down her face. I push strands of her wayward auburn curls back from where they cling to her damp face. I’m glad my niece isn’t here to witness her mom so distraught. At almost eighteen months, I’m sure she’d only be upset.
“What’s going on, Mel?”
She winces and exhales sharply, her hand going to her almost eight months along growing belly.
“She needs to sit.” Kate grabs her by the arm and pushes her into the oversized recliner. “You need to relax. Stay calm. For the baby.” Kate rubs my sister’s belly and Melissa eases back into the chair. I’m always amazed at how nurturing my friend can be. She’ll be a great mom. Even though she and my sister have due dates weeks apart, Kate’s take charge attitude can’t help but gain control.
I squat next to my sister and take her hand in my own. “Mel, what’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
“No, baby’s fine. It’s—” she glances around the room, meeting each of our gazes while she inhales and exhales a deep breath. “It’s Drew. I think—No, I know—” Another breath. “He’s cheating on me.”
“That fucking piece of shit!” Kate shouts and I glare to silence the rant she’s sure to begin.
“Why do you think that?” I ask in a calm and steady tone. Melissa and Drew have been together since college. He loves her and Claire with everything he is. They have the perfect marriage. He would never screw that up.
I take the seat next to Mel and glance over her shoulder to meet Jon’s gaze. He studies my sister with calculating suspicion. Good. We’ll need his help getting to the bottom of whatever this is.
“Every Tuesday night for the past six weeks he’s had to work late.”
“Okay . . .” Her answer puts my heart at rest.
“But last week I called the office receptionist. You know, because he wasn’t picking up his cell.” Tears—big, fat ones—trail down her face. Kate grabs a box of tissues to hand her. “She said he left at five. Like always. Made it like I was stupid for even calling.”
“Hey, hey. Now, that’s not so bad. Maybe he had a dinner meeting? Or got called away unexpectedly?”
Melissa glares at me through glassy eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Evie. I’ve been married to the man for almost six years. I know his freaking schedule. He’s reliable and predictable.”
“And loyal and committed. Maybe he was only meeting up with friends?”
“Then why not tell me?” She shakes her head and wipes away the fresh set of tears, her eyeliner streaking beneath her eyes and across her cheek. “It’s not like I wouldn’t understand if he needs a night out sometimes. I’m a rational p-p-person!”
Jon’s eyes widen with her wails that follow, clenching his jaw as if he wants to laugh. I shoot him a warning glare and scoot closer to Melissa to rub her back. If Kate turns around and sees his face, he’ll be in the doghouse for a week.
“Of course you are. I’m sure we’ll all have a big laugh when we find out what he’s been up to on Tuesday nights,” I croon. She stops crying enough to look up at both me and Kate.
“You think there could be another explanation?”
“Sure. Maybe he developed a gambling addiction? Or he’s always wanted to explore the BDSM world and is taking lessons to perfect his kinky fuckery? Or hell, maybe he’s a closet quilter? I’ve seen that man with Claire. He colors way too well for a man. Guys don’t always want to admit their love of crafting old T-shirts into a comfy, warm keepsake blankie.”
What? I can’t help but gawk at Kate.
Melissa’s eyes widen as she wipes at her tears. “Do you really think he’s learning to quilt? Maybe I should check his T-shirt drawer.”
“Oh, my God!” I throw up my hands. “Really, Kate? Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I have a vivid imagination. Don’t I, Jon?”
He blinks twice before nodding.
Melissa’s shoulders begin to shake again and I hug her tighter, laying my cheek against her shoulder. I know without checking that she’s crying again.
“Stop jumping to conclusions. Drew is a good guy. You guys have been together for years and you have a beautiful daughter and a baby due next month. He’s not stupid enough to fuck that up.” I glance at Jon and continue to rub my sister’s back in slow circles. Her sobs slow to a few intermittent hiccups.
“You really think that? Maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I can’t. I just . . . The night I called his receptionist, I stayed awake because I couldn’t sleep. When he came home it was after eleven and I could tell he was surprised I was still up. I asked how his meeting went, and he said it went great.”
“That doesn’t mean he was cheating on you.”
“My money’s on closet crafter,” Kate interrupts with all the seriousness in the world, and it’s enough to bring a smile to my sister’s lips. But it falters a second later when she opens them to speak again.
“Last week I followed him.”
“What?”
“I followed him to these condos near the downtown ASU campus. I would have gone inside too, but I had Claire in the backseat. It was dinnertime and she started crying. I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t face him with our daughter in my arms.” She sniffles.
“Aw, Mel.” Kate grabs my sister’s hand. “Don’t cry, okay. I’m sure he’s just hiding his love for patterned fabrics. Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”
I nod. “Jon and I will get to the bottom of this so don’t you worry. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.”
And if there’s not and he is cheating on my sister? Well, he’s going to regret the day he was born. I’ll kill him with my bare hands . . . if someone else doesn’t get to him first.