"No," I said, laughing. "I'm not risking it. I'd twitch and you'd be dripping wet, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. And bad things happen with me and fancy champagne."
"Great things happen with you and champagne." Sam leaned into me, laughing. "I love your misplaced anxiety. You're not clumsy, but put you in a spiffy dress and an upmarket house, and you make it seem like you routinely cause catastrophes."
I spared him a glance, one that I hoped saidI cause plenty of catastrophes, thank you, but he was staring at my cleavage. He was looking hard, his eyes moving as if he was working through something complicated in his head, and his tongue darted out, painting his upper lip.
I knew that look. It was the one that usually led to shredded panties and reddened, tender bums, and often involved a request to come on my tits. It wasn't completely unwelcome. I loved knowing that my husband was addicted to me, and anyone who complained their husband's sexual appetites were bothersome was either lying or working with a man who didn't know how to use the tools.
Mine was real good with the tools.
But we had at least another hour at this shindig, and we weren't sneaking off to a dark corner of this house. Not with more than one hundred people here and a swarm of media.
Glancing around the room for a diversion, I spotted Shannon and her new husband, Will. He was smirking at her while she spoke, and that took a special edition set of brass balls. But that wasn't the most fascinating thing I noticed.
"Your sister," I murmured, nudging Sam with my elbow. "She has pregnant boobs."
Sam's head was still bowed toward my breasts as if exercising his right to public worship, and he grimaced before leaning into my ear. "First, I don't want to talk about that. Second, she's devout when it comes to the pill, and I only know that because she used to set an alarm to take it during morning meetings. But that meant she was running downstairs to get her bag, or snoozing the alarm only for it to go off every five fucking minutes until the meeting ended. We put it to a vote last year, and made her reschedule the thing. And finally, what constitutespregnant boobs?"
I shrugged. "I can't explain it but I justknow, Sam. It's a gift. Some people can pick race horses, I can spot pregnant boobs."
"You're sure it's not a push-up bra or something?" He kept his gaze fixed on me.
I glanced at Shannon again, and noticed the rosy glow high on her cheekbones despite the wintry chill in the air tonight. She looked good. Healthy. And her otherwise small breasts were busting out of her dark plum dress.
"She's pregnant," I said, turning my attention to Will. "Look at those two. They don't even need to have sex. There's a cloud of hormones around them. All he needs to do is give her a hard look.Boom. Pregnant. I guess some guys are gifted like that."
I realized the impact of my words as Sam stiffened. A muscle in his jaw flexed while he absently stared over my shoulder and silence choked the air around us.
"Sam, I—" I stopped.
"I know what you meant," he said quietly. "It's fine."
If it was fine, he would have laughed and offered a quick comment about Shannon and Will's inseparability, or their thoroughly entertaining love-hate. The Walsh kids rarely articulated the things that rubbed them the wrong way, instead pelting each other with sarcasm and quippy remarks like a take-no-prisoners game of paintball. Shannon's whiz-bang relationship was the preferred playing field at the moment.
The boys were all feeling a bit pouty over their lack of involvement in Shannon's personal life of late. It was precious how they handled the turn of these tables.
"Maybe we should…" My voice trailed off as I saw Shannon and Lauren moving toward us. "We should talk about all of that. In the trust tree."
"We should," Sam said. "Let's see what happens this month, and then we'll go tree climbing."
"Iamsorry," I whispered as Shannon and Lauren were steps away. "You have big, beastly, hearty lumberjack sperm."
"Do lumberjacks swim well?" he asked, his lips pressed to my temple. "Sure, they can demolish your forest but they might not be swimming across your bay."
"Hey," Lauren said, pointing at me before I could respond to Sam. I was biting my tongue to keep all the filthy lumberjack comments to myself. "I need to talk to you."
Confused, I glanced around. "Me? Why? What did I do?"
Shannon—with her totally pregnant boobs—pointed at Sam and then gestured across the hall. "The reporter fromEstateswants a few minutes with all of us."
"Be good," Sam whispered, kissing my temple again.
"I need advice," Lauren said when Shannon and Sam were out of the room. "Music education advice, for my school. I want to get some time with you. When can we have a conversation about that?"
"Um…" I didn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry," Lauren said, touching her fingertips to her forehead. "That was really formal and strange considering you're one of my best friends. I'm in super-crazy-fundraising mode, and keep forgetting to turn it off. Let me start again. I want to hear everything you have to say about kids and music education, and I have tons of questions. Would that be okay? Like, you and me, not during drunken pedicures, not during lunch where everyone's talking at once."
It didn't matter how many journals published my research or how many degrees I earned, I didn’t think I'd ever feel like an expert on anything other than the best bagel shops in town.
