“Sounds like a woman,” Conor said slyly. “Tell us all about it, Uncle J. We could even record it, get the fans’ opinions.”
“Do not press record. There’s nothing to tell. It’s just a compatibility issue.”
My youngest nephew nodded solemnly. “In the bedroom?”
“No, not in the bedroom!” I caught the eye of a grinning Hatchling. “The bedroom is not a problem. Far from it. We’re just not on the same wavelength outside it.”
We still checked in with daily texts.
How are you feeling?
Fine. Great game!
Anything you need?
Not right now. Sorry for the loss.
The small talk was killing me.
I was still annoyed, but I also recognized that she was her own person. She had always done it her way, and I’d muscled my way into her life—and uterus—and she was rebelling against that intrusion. But spending a good chunk of her pregnancy in a different city, away from her family? Away from the father of her child? Such unilateral thinking did not square with the cooperation I expected during this momentous time.
Conor narrowed his eyes. “Is this someone we know?”
“Nope.” But they would soon enough. Unless …
Franky could keep her pregnancy a secret in Boston, if she wanted to. She wouldn’t have to breathe a word of it to anyone. Sean was so clueless he probably wouldn’t even realize she was pregnant until she went into labor.
That couldn’t be her game, could it?
Even more irked than when I’d come into this stupid basement, I muttered, “Let’s get this shit over with.”
“Hey, it’s Jason.”
Intercom static crackled back, then a cheerfully surprised, “Oh, hi. Come on up.”
I headed up the stairs, wondering if these steps were safe for pregnant women, then dismissing it as yet another example of my patriarchal thinking. Hell, I was running arguments in my head on behalf of the doc!
After Conor’s podcast, I’d come to a decision. I needed to be the bigger person here, and as it was the season of goodwill toward my fellow men—and women—this gave me the perfect opportunity to offer an olive branch.
She stood at the door to her apartment, her hair in that ballyhoo topknot, her glasses slightly crooked, wearing leggings and an oversized green knit sweater open against a white V-neck T-shirt. Her middle had thickened slightly, though maybe I only noticed because I knew.
“Merry Christmas, Francesca.”
“Merry Christmas.” It might have been my imagination that her voice trembled. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I figured I’d take a chance and surprise you. Rosie mentioned that you were heading over to her dads’ place for Christmas lunch later, so I thought I’d catch you before you left.” I held up a shopping bag. “Plus, I brought gifts. Ho fucking ho.”
Smiling tentatively, she stood back to let me in. “Well, if there are gifts involved.”
It had been a month since I’d seen her. Touched her. Smelled her hair. I had hoped that being in her orbit again would arouse general feelings of affection and friendliness. Maybe a tepid warmth at seeing her body developing with the baby we had made.
What I had not hoped for was a thickening of my cock and a kick of lust so savage I was having a hard time keeping my hands to myself.
The cat hissed at me the second I crossed the threshold. Little shit knew my game.
“Happy holidays to you, Bunny Boy.”
She shut the door. “Can I take your coat?”
