Again, I’m anything but.
I break from Em’s moaning mouth to glare at him. “So you’re really doing this right now, Ocean Eyes?”
Lix lifts a brow, chewing slow. “Doing what?”
“Eating cake,” I say, pointing like a prosecutor. “While we could both be eating out our girlfriend’scakeright the fuck now.”
Em’s lips brush my jaw as she smiles. “Technically, we’re kissing at the moment, and the three of us have tried to do that altogether, but it didn’t work efficiently.”
“Thank you for the clarification, doc,” I murmur, still staring at Lix. “My point stands.”
He shrugs. “It’s just cake.”
“It’smycake.”
“You said I could have some,” he says, voice so low but also so annoying that it makes me want to tackle him.
“I said you could havesome,” I repeat. “Notall of it. You’re eating it so fast. Slow the hell down.”
Em’s hand slides down my chest, like she’s trying to redirect my attention back to the important part—taking care of her while she’s so round at six months that all we wanna do is spoil her.
She kisses me again, so hungry that I forget my own name.
And for a few seconds, everything is perfect. Ocean outside. Disney nonsense inside. My favorite people in my bed. Em’s mouth on mine. My hand on her waist. Lix watching like he’s enjoying the show more than the cake.
Then Lix makes a sound. Not a laugh. Not a smug little hum. Awrongsound.
Em pulls back at the same time I do.
I look over, and Lix is wincing, blue eyes wide and goddamnstartled.
His fork drops onto the sheets. He coughs hard and then hits his chest like he’s trying to punch his own lungs out.
My body goes cold and hot in a split second.
“Oh, no,” I say, moving to get to him. “Nope! Absolutely not.”
Lix coughs again, so much harsher. He slams his fist to his chest like he can brute-force the problem.
Em is off me, sitting upright, voice crisp as she puts on her glasses to see. “Lix, are you asphyxiating?”
He nods. I don’t even know how to spell the word she just said, let alone know what the hell it means that fast.
But fuck it, I’m scootin’ behind him, dragging him forward off the headboard like I’m repositioning an overly pretty mannequin in my arms.
“Hey, Ocean Eyes,” I hiss, “the only thing you’re choking on is my dick, and you damn well won’t die on my birthday.”
Lix tries to glare at me, but it’s hard to be intimidating when you’re choking and half-naked in a Disney cruise bed.
Em’s voice is so even, compared to the panic hitting me like a drum. “Stan,” she says. “Heimlich.”
“I’m on it,” I say, hands hovering for half a sec ‘cause adrenaline’s screaming and also because I’m very aware that I’ve already watched him almost die once and I’m not doing that again, not ever, not—
“Make a fist with one hand,” Em instructs, like she’s teaching a class. “Grab it with the other.”
I do what the sexy doctor says.
“Place your hands below the ribcage,” she continues. “Pull inward and upward on the diaphragm to force air out of the lungs to expel the blockage. Repeat up to five times.”
