The waiter gives her a happy, indulgent smile. “That’s fabulous. Congrats. This cake is on the house. Thank you for celebrating with us.”
“No, thank you. That pasta was delicious.”
He leaves us with our cake and the glowing candle in it. I cock an eyebrow at my friend, but she unrepentantly shrugs.
“What? It’s free cake.”
“Our wedding night?”
She beams a smile at me. “Is it not, sugar plum?”
“If only. Then I wouldn’t be pregnant or married to Aston.”
“You mean the man who kissed you sideways until all you saw were spinning lights?”
“Ha! So funny.”
“Make a wish before this candle drips wax all over my chocolate frosting.”
I close my eyes and make a wish because right now I needall the wishes I can get. With one exaggerated blow, I knock that candle out, and Braelyn cheers for me like she did when I turned six.
“Nice.” She goes straight for her fork. “You do know this won’t stop me from going down the street for the pastries I was promised, right?”
“Girl, I’m pregnant. We’re getting the big box.”
She holds her fork up to clink it with mine. “This is why I love you. But you have to try this. It’s orgasmically good.” She gulps, crumbs of chocolate cake sticking to her lips. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll have a real orgasm one day.”
“Do you remember when we were little and thought boys had cooties?”
I nod. “Simpler days.” I fork a bite of cake into my mouth, and though it’s not the wedding cake of my dreams—that’s champagne cake with strawberry cream filling and buttercream frosting—this is damn close.
“When are you going to tell everyone else about the pregnancy?”
“If I can avoid it, after I have the ultrasound in three weeks.”
“You can tell them before that.”
“I know. I might have to if it spreads around the hospital.”
“They’ll be on your side. Even Aston’s.”
I don’t reply, just continue to shovel more chocolate into my mouth.
“Are we going to talk about the kiss? Or the vows? Or the ring?”
I shake my head. “It’s not real.”
She hooks her brown curls behind her ears like she’s about to get down to business with me, her brown eyes telling me I’m not fooling her for a second. “He kissed you. And bought you an epic ring.”
“So it would look real.”
“Do you really believe that?” She’s genuinely asking. “Because, and I’m not trying to stir drama, I’m really not, but… he looked at you like… and then he kissed you like…” She glances up as if searching for the right words. “Like he meant it.”
“He didn’t,” I say reflexively, though that kiss certainly had my toes curling in my heels and my stupid pussy getting wet. Pregnancy hormones are bitches like that, or so I’ve been told. They make sluts out of the most pious chicks. Not me, of course.
“Fine. Tell me one dirty thing you want done to you that you’d never admit to.”
