“Yes, but only for you.” He winked and since my ass was still achy from last night’s sexploits, I wasn’t surprised that my cheeks heated. Viggo noticed and knew exactly where my mind had gone—of course he did. He leaned close and rubbed his palm along the inseam of my upper thigh. “I was a bit wild in those days, though. I wanted to do it all. Fuck all the hot men and all the hot women. I figured my big brother duties were over. But sometimes I wonder if she’d be alive if I hadn’t been so self-absorbed.”
“That’s not fair. You couldn’t have known.”
He tapped his temple. “Here. I know that. But guilt is a funny thing. Now when I go home to visit, I don’t stay long. I see my parents, and Lars and Ingrid and their kids…and try not to get too attached.”
Viggo talked about his brother’s family, the lake he loved where fish would bite all day and all night, and the size of the zander he’d caught on a recent trip.
“A zander? That’s a fish?”
He bugged his eyes out comically and plucked the brush out of my hand. “Yes, it’s a fish. It’s a huge fish. Like this big.”
Viggo spread his arms and launched into a thorough description—something about it being a European pikeperch with a big mouth and two prominent teeth…like Dracula. All the while, he held the brush above his head, taunting me as I reached for it. And then he turned into a vampire, dropped the brush on his workbench, and dove for me. I dodged him, careful not to bump into the crib pieces propped along the wall.
He caught my belt loop and circled his arms around me, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my shoulder till I squirmed and kicked his shin. Viggo feigned grave injury, demanding a kiss for his troubles. And we sort of devolved from there.
Silly kisses morphed into the kind that curled my toes and made me forget my name.
And I loved it.
The summer months breezed by.
Days at the donut shop were bookended by coffee with Viggo, flag football practices and games, and evenings spent in Viggo’s workshop putting the final touches on the crib. He’d declared it finished in August and immediately began making a dresser-slash-changing table.
“You need one. Everyone says so,” he’d claimed.
“Who’s everyone?”
Viggo had shrugged. “I read it online.”
See, that was very Viggo. He was the guy who quietly researched pregnancy guidebooks for Freya and parenthood ones for me, dispensing his newfound wisdom as he deemed fitting. Viggo was up-to-date on the safest car seats, strollers, and whatever symptoms Freya might be experiencing.
Some people needed good food and wine and the promise of hot sex while others—like me—got hot and bothered by a guy who studied up on baby formulas.
“Did you know you can get formula that has the same nutrients as breastmilk? Organic is best, even if it’s more expensive. That might change if the baby is allergic or has colic or…”
I could have listened to him all night with a baseball game as background noise, spoon-feeding him bites of ice cream in between his helpful tips.
By September, impending fatherhood was beginning to seem very real. Freya was seven months along with an undeniable baby bump. She looked fantastic and said she felt amazing, too.
“My tits are so big and perky,” she bragged. “All I need is chocolate!”
Yep, I was her chocolate supplier, and Viggo was the one who lectured her about the importance of eating well. I knew Freya took nutrition seriously, so I wasn’t concerned in the slightest. But I liked their playful repartee.
Viggo treated her like a sister. He nagged her, teased her, and was fiercely protective of her. I was embarrassed that I’d ever thought they were lovers. But I was curious about Freya—in waysI knew were intrusive to our surrogacy agreement. I didn’t want to upset her and yet, I couldn’t let it go.
I should have known she was equally as curious about me…and Viggo.
“You’ve become good friends?” she asked, stirring her herbal iced tea with a straw.
We sat at the same table for two at the coffee shop where she’d confirmed she was pregnant months ago. Just us. Viggo had been asked to supervise a new deforestation project and was stuck in a meeting. Plus he had a game later in the day. Freya had offered to change the appointment, but I’d wanted to see her on my own. And maybe the feeling was mutual.
“Um…yeah.” I sipped foam from my latte. “Viggo has been very…supportive.”
“Supportive.” She twitched her nose and smirked. “I bet.”
“Okay…I see where you’re going with this. Did he say something or?—”
“Viggo?” Freya barked a laugh. “Viggo doesn’t sayanything.”
