“You work early in the morning.”
“Babe, I’m used to staying up late and surviving on limited sleep. If you need me awake, I’m awake.”
She quietly exhales. “A movie sounds good.”
She climbs back under her comforter, and I take the space beside her, not getting underneath the covers. Instead of a movie, she turns on a show we’ve seen countless times. As she slowly falls asleep, I’m hit with a wave of uncertainty.
Do I return to my bedroom?
I can’t lock the door behind me.
Instead of leaving her, I stay next to her—on top of the blankets—and fall asleep, hoping she doesn’t freak out in the morning.
“I’m kind of embarrassed,” Grace tells me the next morning.
The sun shining through her curtains woke me early, before her, and I tiptoed to my bedroom before she woke up. I showered, got dressed, and was in the kitchen, waiting for her.
Her face appears refreshed as if she got a full eight hours when she appears. Her hair is thrown back into a braid, and her baby bump is starting to show through her dress. I’ve never dated or been with a pregnant woman, but I find a baby bump on Grace to be sexy as hell.
“Nah.” I take a sip of my coffee. “We all have nightmares. I had them bad as a kid because my father found it normal to watch horror movies with me while I was growing up. I get it.”
The only difference is, Grace wasn’t scared of the bogeyman, or Jason, or Freddy Krueger. The terror on her face alerted me that it was deeper than your typical nightmare.
A blush stings her cheeks. “Thank you for being there for me.”
“I told you, if you need me, I’m there.”
No matter what.
Chapter Twenty
Grace
I’m a pregnant woman walking into the city’s hottest nightclub.
Something I never anticipated happening.
I expect judgmental stares, but thankfully, no one seems to notice.
Since my baby bump is starting to show, I went with a loose-fitting maxi dress and sandals tonight. Not that the dress is out of the ordinary. Comfortable is my style. My friends have labeled my style as sophisticated flower child.
Colorful strobe lights and loud music blare through the crowded club. Finn and I maneuver through the bodies hand in hand. We pass a group of people yelling at each other over the music and stop at the VIP section. The bouncer jerks his head toward Finn and allows us entry.
We don’t go clubbing often, but since it’s Lola’s birthday, we all made an exception. Normally, we tend to hang out at someone’s house or go to dinner, only really going for a night out if it’s someone’s birthday or we have something big to celebrate. I’m grateful Lola got us a table so we can hang out. I hate bumping into bodies while holding a conversation, and I have the rhythm of a three-year-old jamming to “Old Town Road,” so the dance floor is out of the question.
Riding with Finn is common for me on nights like this. I prefer leaving early, and he never minds taking me home when I’m ready. Not that my friends wouldn’t, but I hate being the buzzkill of the party.
Our friends are seated around the booth except for Lola and Georgia, who are semi-dancing in the corner. Purses, glasses, bottles of liquor, and a bucket of ice are scattered along the table.
“There’s the baby daddy and baby mama,” Lincoln says when we come into view.
“Grace!” Lola shouts, stumbling toward us. “My bestie carrying my future godchild. Thank you for being here!”
“Um, excuse you,” Georgia says from behind her. “I’m the future godmother.”
Lola wrinkles her nose. “We can all be a godparent.” Her speech is slightly slurred.
The birthday girl doesn’t get drunk often. Silas is sober, so she tends not to drink much. Not that Silas would care if she did. He’s always up for clubbing. No one knows why he doesn’t drink, but I don’t think it’s addiction.
Georgia shrugs. “I’ll accept that.”
Georgia, sporting a sequined crop top and jeans, squeezes into the spot next to Archer. Her boyfriend appears as happy to be clubbing as I do visiting my OB/GYN.
“Happy Birthday,” I greet Lola, dropping Finn’s hand to hug her.
Everyone is relaxed in their space. Jamie and Cohen are next to each other, and Jamie is showing him something on her phone. Their attendance is surprising. With the two kids—one being a baby—and Jamie’s crazy hours in the ER, they don’t get out much. Georgia and Archer are snuggled together, her leg over thigh. Lincoln has his arm thrown over Cassidy’s shoulders while she sips on water. Maliki and Sierra, our friends who live in Blue Beech, are laughing with drinks in their hands. Maliki once hung out with us more, but he returned to his hometown to take over his father’s bar. Sierra is Cassidy’s older sister and the one who helped her get a job at Twisted Fox. Silas, the only one not on the couch, is sprawled out on a chair next to everyone as if he’s the king of the party.
Finn helps me onto the couch before sinking into the space next to me on the end.
I gape at Lola. “I haven’t seen you this wasted since college.”
“I’ve never seen her this wasted, period,” Silas says. He spoke to me, but his eyes warily stay on Lola. He hasn’t been as loud or as playful as he usually is tonight.
“Agreed.” Georgia nods next to me. “Did something happen today?”
Lola shakes her head, her eyes heavy-lidded. “It’s my birthday. I was gifted a complimentary bottle from the club since I’m the owner’s alcohol rep. He also sent over some bubblegum shooters.” She motions to the tray of shooters, snags one, and knocks it back.
The birthday girl definitely looks gorgeous in her short black dress and red stiletto pumps. Her dark hair is straight and parted down the middle, a rhinestone pin clipped to the side. I’ve always considered my style boring compared to her edginess. Her style changes from day to day, and she can get away with it.
Silas runs his hand through his dark hair in frustration. “I’ll be sure to inform Phil you’re cut off.”
Lola rolls her eyes. “Buzzkill.”
“This is weird,” I tell Finn underneath my breath.
“Them at odds?” he asks.
“They never argue.”
Our waitress interrupts us to take more drink orders.
“Just a water?” I ask Finn when he tells the waiter he’ll have a seltzer water like me.
He grins down at me. “I figured you should have a sober buddy.”
I sneakily point to Cassidy. “She’s not drinking either, and the past few times I’ve seen her, she’s been ordering the same drinks as me. I wonder if she’s prego.”
He shrugs. “It might be good to have a pregnancy buddy.”
I give myself a mental reminder to ask. It can’t happen here, and I need to figure out the best way to go about it. You always hear of those women who ask someone when they’re due, only to find out they’re not actually pregnant. I’d be mortified.
“My best friend.” Lola’s voice drags me away from our conversation. She topples into Silas’s lap, sitting sideways, and wraps her arms around his neck.