I wasn’t going to waste the moment, so I inch closer to Haden. Grabbing his hand, I place it on top of my stomach, and within seconds the baby kicks again.
I hear him gasp, followed by a heartwarming, on-top-of-the-world type of smile. His hands still on my stomach, we watch the rest of the movie until the credits start to roll. When the lights turn back on, he removes his hands and I feel an instant loss.
Don’t get attached, Presley.
We all call it a night, especially because Haden is waking up early the next day to go out with Dad.
In my room, dressed in my tank and boxers, I toss and turn, unable to sleep with the face of that fucking clown taunting me. Stupid Gemma. Even as a child she would do this to me, and the worst part was, she never got scared.
I try to busy myself with my cell, reading some articles and re-tweeting funny tweets, until I look at the clock and see that it’s past midnight. Everything in my room is freaking me out, from the shadow of my curtains to the swaying tree outside. I need to pee but dare not get up for the bathroom. When I am sure my bladder is on the verge of exploding, I run to use it but refuse to look inside the drain, paranoid about a certain clown murdering me. I am no closer to falling asleep, so I decide to do the unthinkable and send him a text.
Are you awake? #FuckingPennywise
That little bubble appears on my screen.
Yes #LOL
I jump out of bed and, without thinking, walk down the hall and tap on his door. He says to come in and when I enter the room, I’m surprised to see him shirtless and reading a book; I’m not surprised it’s a Stephen King novel.
Don’t look at his abs, even though they deserve to be looked at.
“I can’t sleep.”
“I figured since you were on Twitter for the last hour.”
“You follow me?”
He nods and pats the bed beside him. I move closer to the edge of the bed, trying to create some much-needed distance between us.
“I hate that movie. Who writes a book about clowns killing children?”
“A very talented author.” He chuckles.
“Our kid is never watching that movie,” I tell him.
He keeps still and I turn to look at him, wondering why he remains silent. Okay, avoid the fucking six-pack because you know it’s only the hormones that made Kitty just spurt Niagara Falls down below.
“Is the baby moving now?” he asks.
“Uh, no…why?”
“You’re squirming.”
“Oh…just uncomfortable.” Great lie.
His eyebrows raise in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“My back is stiff, just from the extra weight.” Fantastic lie!
“Here,” he says, then shuffles behind me.
I feel his hands press against my upper back, rubbing the spot that needs the most attention.
Shit lie! Shit lie! But oh so very good.
I let out an involuntary moan and regret it almost immediately. The warmth of his breath is only inches from my ear and I feel the goose bumps settle across my skin.
“Are you cold?”
“No…” I almost choke.
Allowing my body to relax, I close my eyes and enjoy his gentle caress until the baby moves again. Quickly, I grab his hand and move it towards the spot where the baby kicked. He moves in closer behind me, until his chest is pressed up against my back. The echoes of our heavy breathing are the only sounds heard. He doesn’t move closer and his soft breaths are inching along my skin, taunting me, teasing me, until I am feeling things I know I shouldn’t.
Barely above a whisper and under his touch, I warn him that we shouldn’t be doing this.
“We’re not doing anything…” he murmurs back.
“Are you sure about that?”
I know I’m not sure about anything, except for how right he feels at this very moment. How right he always feels when he touches me. How my body does this thing that I cannot explain. Almost like it’s possessed with feelings and desire for a man that’s unattainable. A man I loathe because he is a downright jerk.
“All I’m doing is letting the baby know who I am.”
With my eyes closed, I respond quietly, “The baby knows. Why do you think it moves every time I’m near you?”
His hands move around my stomach, tracing my skin like a fragile piece of broken glass until he has his arm around my torso, pulling me in closer to him. I close my eyes again, and this time I swear it’s his lips against the base of my neck. Brushing along, warm, teasing me with a slight flick of the tongue. Maybe I’m just imagining things. I open my eyes the second his cell vibrates on the bed. The cool air grazes my skin instantly, and I know he has pulled away.
“Hey baby,” he answers.
Baby? He has the nerve to call her baby while he is licking my skin? The room suddenly feels warm as my skin begins to crawl. I shuffle away from him until I am off the bed and standing near the door. He doesn’t look my way, and instead, stares amused at the floor. There is a loud noise coming off the cell speaker and his laughter, along with his complete disregard for what just happened between us, angers me and forces me to take whatever dignity I have left and exit the room.
Instead of heading back to my room, I open the door to Gemma and Melissa’s room, climbing into bed beside them. Gemma wraps her arm around me and mumbles, half asleep.
“You’re falling in love with him, Pres.”
She has no idea what she’s talking about. Pfft…love. Haden isn’t capable of loving anyone but himself. Though Gemma said I was falling in love with him. But there is zero truth to that. I know what love is; after all, I had it with Jason and this in no way could be compared to my relationship with him.
Love is feeling secure, knowing you can count on that person no matter what. There is comfort, happiness, and a feeling of being content.
Haden expressed none of that, and what do I expect anyway? A 26-year-old jerk who loves himself is going to be my kid’s dad.
But not the man I am spending the rest of my life with.
There is a huge difference.
Or maybe, absolutely no difference at all.
Dad and Haden left early to go hunting, leaving us girls for the day. Mom thought it would be swell to take us shopping.
Jumping from store to store, the three of them “ooh” and “aah” over anything baby related, while I just sit in the corner of the store allowing my tired feet to rest. Shopping and pregnancy do not mix. I am ready to say yes to everything that they shove at my face just so we can get out of here.
“So, Pres, have you made a list of all the things you need?” Gemma asks, holding up two sailor outfits.
I cringe at the outfits. “No.”
“Stop the press! You’re so anal with your lists and your need to be organized,” Melissa points out, this time holding up two lamb onesies which, I have to admit, are adorable.
“Just busy and stuff.”
“Presley Malone. Since when are you ever this blasé?” Mom takes the sailor outfit from Gemma and places it in her basket.
Great. My kid is going to look like one of the Village People.
“Mom, I’m busy with work. I don’t have time to plan these things. I’m sure there’s some website that with a click of a button will deliver everything to my door.”