The blonde, whom I assume is Briar, waves as we walk up the icy driveway.
“Be careful,” she says, gesturing to the ground. “It’s super slippery.”
Sutton and Briar hug, and when they pull apart, Briar beams at me. “I’m Briar,” she says, holding out a hand. I take it and introduce myself.
“This is Asher,” she says, tugging him over by his arm. Damn. Sutton is right. He’s nice to look at, but intimidating as hell. He gives me a nod, squeezes Briar’s ass, and kisses the top of her head before he jumps onto his skateboard without wheels and slides down the little hill in the yard.
“This is Adrian, who’s basically my brother,” she says, pointing
to a guy who smiles suggestively at me, his deep dimples on display. “My actual brother is…away,” she says cryptically. “And this is Dare. He’s grumpy, but he’s harmless.”
Tall and tattooed grunts at me in response. He looks vaguely familiar. They’re all gorgeous, but Dare is like the leader of the beautiful, and even more threatening than Asher. I think it’s a rule that you must be ridiculously attractive to hang out with this crowd.
“We should go inside before the ladies get cold,” Adrian says.
“We’re fine,” Sutton insists.
“Not you. I mean these assholes,” he says, flicking his chin toward Dare and Asher.
“Where did Tweedledee and Tweedledum go?” Asher asks, as if suddenly noticing someone is missing, as we walk inside.
“They’ll be right back,” Dare says, holding the door open for us.
Inside, it’s sort of bare—which is to be expected for a guy’s house. What I don’t expect is how beautiful it is. Tall, wooden beams and vaulted ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A pool table sits in the middle of an open room off to the side of the kitchen, and there are two rustic brown couches that sit in front of a somewhat formidable fireplace made from stone.
Sutton takes off her coat, revealing a cream color off-the-shoulder sweater and skinny black jeans, and Briar tells her to hang it on the hook by the door. I follow suit, hanging my cardigan and scarf next to hers.
Sutton’s hands are immediately on my belly. “I can’t even handle it, Molls. This is amazing.”
“You’re pregnant?” Briar asks, extending her hand, but she snatches it back before she makes contact. “Can I feel? I mean, is that weird?” I laugh and assure her that I don’t mind.
I know a lot of pregnant women hate their stomachs being touched—I’ve been on enough online baby forums to know that’s generally a no-no—but I’m not one of those women. I think it’s sweet. Ask me again when a stranger tries it, though, and I might answer differently.
I don’t even see how it happens, but Adrian’s on his knees in front of me in a flash, adding his hand to the mix. I’ve got three sets of hands on my body—two of them belonging to strangers. This is the most action I’ve had in months.
“How far along are you?” Briar asks. “If Sutton didn’t start rubbing you like a Magic 8 Ball, I wouldn’t have even known. You’re tiny.”
“Like twenty weeks. Now is when I’ll really start packing on the pounds, or so I hear.” It feels good to talk to people about this who don’t know me or my situation. They’re just genuinely curious and excited. Babies have a way of doing that to people.
Briar is the first to step back, and Sutton is next. Adrian lingers, gripping my bump like a basketball.
“I’m weirdly aroused right now, I’m not gonna lie.”
The room goes dead silent, everyone looking to each other, each expression a variation of did he really just say that?
“What?” Adrian asks, looking around, genuinely confused.
I’m the first one to break, unable to keep the full-on belly laugh inside. Dare snorts out a laugh, and like a domino effect, everyone else follows.
Just then, I hear the front door open. It happens in slow motion, the way I turn my head toward the sound, only to see a tattooed hand dropping a set of keys and said keys clanging to the hardwood floor. The way the smile melts off my face, and the way that brief, happy, carefree feeling morphs into horror.
Because it’s Cam at the door, staring right at my pregnant stomach, and Adrian’s hands that are all over it.
“Who’s the pregnant chick?” a guy who looks a lot like Cam says from behind his shoulder as he chews on what appears to be a breadstick. I realize now that he’s his brother, and he was at the bar that night. That must be why Dare looked familiar to me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cam barks, his eyes hard in a way that I’ve never seen from him before.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I was going to tell you.”