“He’s fine.” Anya’s eating a carrot stick and watching the popcorn spin in the microwave. Pop. Pop. Pop.
“He’s been up there for two hours.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t insane. Just that he’s fine.”
“Fine and insane are contradictory terms.”
She lifts a hand, wobbles it back and forth. “Depends on the task at hand.”
“Buying airline tickets is not that hard a task.”
“How would you know? Have you ever bought a plane ticket in your life?”
“Yes. No. Yes? I think so. I mean, I’ve been on a plane. Obviously.” He shrugs. This sort of thing is why people have managers.
She snorts. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
“Nice. That’s lovely. I appreciate your respect.”
“Aw. Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry, baby. You’re really smart. You’re smart and pretty. You’re so damn pretty, Zac, baby, sweetie, snookums.”
“Stop trying to seduce me with all that dirty talk. I already told you I’m not having sex with you again.” Zac juggles the kid so he can hold two fingers up in the shape of an awkward cross to ward her off. She sneers, as if to say that such a weak talisman could never hold her off. He has to admit she’s right. He eyes her warily.
He’s managed, somehow, to forget about how horny she got during her second trimester with PJ. He’s pretty sure this time around is worse. Seems like every couple of days, Anya’s grabbing him and Cal by the collars, throwing them on the bed, and devouring them. It’s terrifying, both the sense of being out of control and the worry that he might not be able to give her what she needs. She turns into some mystical being lost to a rhythm and music coming from deep inside her that only she can hear, a goddess bent on feeding, unknowable and far too powerful for his puny masculine strength to keep up with. It’s outrageously hot, but he also feels a little like a bug about to hit a windshield, and he still isn’t sure if several of the best orgasms of his life are a fair trade-off.
Between him and Cal, they always manage to satisfy her, but sex these days leaves them both drained and exhausted, sprawled across the bed and weakly begging for mercy. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.
He’s getting hard from thinking about it, but he also sort of wants to take a big step back so he’s got a head start. “Seriously. I think Cal’s afraid of you. You’re going to your grave without having sex again. Give it up.”
“Like I’d sleep with you anyway.” She throws a carrot at him. It bounces off his forehead, making PJ laugh. “I’ve reached the next stage. If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”
“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, and goes to give her a hug. “I’m forty years old, woman. There are limits to what my dick can do these days.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Cal I said that.”
“First thing I’m gonna do.”
He pretends to be wounded, hoping she might take pity on him. “You’re more beast than woman, Animal.”
“Yep.” She eats another carrot, unconcerned about his pride. “Brought that one on yourself, pal. Pick up that carrot from the floor, will you? Do we live in a barn?”
He sighs. He should’ve known. She doesn’t have a single bone in her body capable of pity. He wishes that weren’t so attractive. He kisses her cheek, resigned to Cal giving him that face, the one that says he’s laughing at you inside his head, behind his polite Midwestern blandness. He picks up the floor carrot and starts thinking about how he can convince Cal that there really aren’t limitations to Zac’s dick.
The microwave bell dings.
“Yessssss,” Anya hisses, yanking the door open. The smell of butter billows out into the room, thick and heady. “Come to mama.”
Zac puts PJ down when he starts to squirm, and figures that means he doesn’t have an excuse not to get drinks for everyone. He glances up at the ceiling again. Bellows, “Cal! Get your skinny ass down here!”
There’s another faint yell of acknowledgment.
“Really?” Anya asks, unimpressed, with a pointed nod at their toddler, who is fortunately banging a truck into the wall and ignoring his father, bad language and all.
“Look, I’d say I’m sorry, but we both know I’m not.”
“You can explain to his teachers why he has a foul mouth when he starts preschool.”
“Fine!” Zac throws his hands up. “I will. Because we’re gonna have to get used to it. He’s gonna have a terrible vocabulary. He’s being raised by two rock stars and an LA photographer. He’s going to be a punk. He’s going to be the only eight-year-old in eyeliner. Screw it. I’m fine with my life choices. And I’m fine with PJ knowing that his papa has a skinny ass. Life. Facts. Kids need ’em.”
“Would we call it skinny?” Anya tips her head to one side. The popcorn bag is open and her fingers are sloppy yellow as she crams popcorn in her mouth. It’s disgusting. He wants to kiss her. He wishes Cal were down here, because he’s missing the sight of their cultured, terrible Anya looking like a werewolf as she gnaws on her prey, only with butter all over her face instead of blood. Which should not remotely be an appetizing image, but it is. Whatever. Zac takes no responsibility for the things his brain does.
“Obviously it’s not skinny.” Cal has an ass that speaks of long hours running and occasional bikes around the neighborhood hauling PJ around in that little seat. His ass could be hewn from stone. Zac very much appreciates Cal’s dedication to working out. He could probably stand to do some of that himself, but he doesn’t want to. Not that that will stop Cal from trying to get him to go running with him. He glares up at the ceiling, outraged all over again that Cal even dared suggest such a travesty. What an asshole. “You know, I don’t think he’s going to do it.”
“He will.” Half the popcorn is gone. She’s staring aimlessly into the now-empty microwave as she eats. She’s a glutton. He’s married to an asshole and a glutton. He grins at how damn cool that is and goes to the pantry to get another bag of popcorn.
“If he was gonna, he would’ve done it two hours ago.” He looks up at the ceiling and yells, “Two hours!”
“I’ll bet you ten bucks.”
“You’re a multi-millionaire. Ten bucks is embarrassing. What the hell? I’m disgusted.”
“Fine. I’ll bet you babysitting duties next Monday. Cal’s going to be in Anaheim doing the photo shoot for that bass endorsement, and I want to go out and get pizza with the girls before I get too big to fit in a booth.”