“Now, where were we when you so rudely interrupted me to tell me you love me?” I roll my eyes. My man – fiancé – can be corny sometimes. “You have entirely too many clothes on.”
“You can keep your clothes on, but you need to free that pipe in your pants,” I tell him.
“Pipe. I’ll show you pipe.”
I rub my hands together. “Oh, goodie. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
Chapter 36
If planning a murder in your head were a crime, I’d be doing consecutive life sentences by now. ~ Violet’s Secret Thoughts
“Just go.” I push Luke towards the door. Or at least I try to. The man won’t budge. I read all about ‘nesting’ tendencies for pregnant women, but no one warned me the baby daddy would morph into an overprotective alpha male who won’t leave me alone for a single second.
“I don’t want to leave you alone. What if something happens to the baby?”
“One, I’m not alone.” I sweep my arm out to indicate my group of friends gathered for my baby shower. “And two, I have nearly two months to go. Nothing will happen.”
“But—”
“I got this, Violet. Enjoy your baby shower.” Roman grabs Luke by the arm and pulls him out of the house. Thank goodness I called in team ‘give Violet a freaking minute to herself’. Roman, Jackson, and Brodie were happy to volunteer for the task of getting Luke out of the house. “We’ll bring him back in a few hours.”
“You can keep him. Seriously, keep him.”
Roman chuckles as he drags a scowling Luke down the driveway. I twirl around and raise my hands in triumph. “Freedom!”
I’m allowed to enjoy my freedom for approximately two milliseconds before Grandma takes over. “Simmer down, ladies. We’ve got an agenda to get through.”
“An agenda?” I gotta sit down for this. I waddle my way to the rocking chair. Yes, waddle. I’m a freaking penguin with a huge baby bump. Sexy, I am not.
“No sitting for you yet.” Grandma grabs my arm and leads me to the center of the room. “It’s time for our first game. Can you guess the baby bump size?”
I groan. Is she serious? As if I’m not already self-conscious about the size of my belly. Thanks to Luke’s freakishly large size, this baby is huge. If beating the average fetal length and weight chart is a game, I’m not only the winner, I’m the damn Olympic champion. Luke beats his chest like a caveman whenever the doctor says our baby is above-average size. And so, I waddle.
Grandma positions me in the middle of the room. “You need to pull up your shirt, so everyone can tie their string around you.”
I’m not wearing a shirt. I’m wearing a dress. And underneath my dress? The most unattractive panties ever. “I’m not pulling up my dress. They can tie the damn strings around the material.”
“Tsk. Tsk.” Grandma wags her finger at me. “You’ll need to stop swearing once the baby arrives.”
I don’t respond. In my head, though? I say every swear word I can think of, even those I don’t understand and those I would never, ever say out loud. But I keep my mouth firmly shut as I stand here like an idiot while my guests take turns tying strings around my belly.
“Good thing this isn’t awkward or anything,” I mumble when it’s Bailey’s turn.
“Think of yourself as queen for the day and the strings are your crowns.” I ignore her. There’s no proper response to incessant optimism, especially when I’ve been banned from swearing.
Grandma studies the strings before announcing, “And the winner is …. Shelby.”
Shelby jumps up and shouts. “I am the champion. What do I win? What do I win? Please tell me it’s not a stripper.”
Grandma frowns. “A stripper at a baby shower. Who would do such a thing?”
Frankie snorts. “You, Grandma. I know for a fact you used my name to try and hire a stripper for today.”
“Busted!” Shelby shouts.
“See?” Bailey shoulder-bumps me. “It could be worse.”
“Time for our next game.” Grandma pushes me towards a chair. “You can sit for this one.”
“What are we doing?”
“Pin the sperm on the uterus.” I’m sorry I asked.
While I was busy being humiliated, Grandma stuck a picture of an abnormally large uterus on the wall. She must have blown the picture up because it’s a bit fuzzy and disproportionate. Or at least I assume the uterus doesn’t narrow down to a sharp point. Looks painful. And are those flowers on the fallopian tubes?
“I’ll go first,” Shelby volunteers.
I can’t watch this. I sneak off to the kitchen to get a drink because I am not drinking from a baby bottle. I don’t care how delicious the raspberry sherbet punch is. I nearly stumble when I walk into the kitchen and see the counter lined with jars of baby food and blindfolds.
“What the hell?”
“Good thing Grandma didn’t hear you,” Bailey teases as she joins me.
“What is this?” I motion to the kitchen counter.
“I think it’s some kind of race to eat baby food or something.”
I groan. “Whose idea was it anyway to have Grandma organize the baby shower?” I’m blaming Grandpa. He’s the one who suggested it. I think. He’s quiet as a mouse except when he’s making a suggestion, which winds up ruining my baby shower. At least there are no strippers.
I hear a crash and then a shout. “Violet! Petal!”
At the sound of an obviously drunk Luke, I shuffle out of the kitchen towards the front door where Roman and Brodie are holding up an unsteady Luke. “Sorry, Violet. We kept him away as long as we could,” Roman says, and Brodie grunts in agreement.
“You’ve only been gone an hour.”
“Every time he said he was going home or going to call you, we made him take a shot,” Roman explains.
Oh shit. He’s pickled his liver by now then. I reach forward to help Luke into the house, but they wave me off. “We’ll dump him in your bedroom.”
As if I haven’t been embarrassed enough by Grandma’s antics today. Now my future husband – drunk off his ass – is being dragged through the living room in front of all my friends.
“Hey! Where’s my man?” Shelby asks.
“He’s snoring in my back seat,” Roman tilts his head towards the driveaway. “He met Luke shot for shot. Something about drunk sex being the best sex.”
Brodie groans. “You had to repeat that? My ears are still bleeding.”
“From what?” Shelby stands in front of the stairs, effectively blocking their progress towards the bedroom. “Don’t tell me Jackson talked about our sex life. I’m not allowed to talk to my girls about our sex life, but he is?”
Apparently, little miss cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs talked about how big Brodie is in the downstairs department while she and Jackson were in the throes of passion. Since then, she’s been banned from discussing sex with us. As if a ban could stop her or something.
Brodie and Roman glance at each other. Their lips pull into straight lines. They are not ratting out their friend.