LoveLines Page 8

  “Reece!” Bailey hissed. “You planning on drinking all of it? I might want some later.”

  He didn’t realize he’d been guzzling the whole time. The jumbo cup was nearly empty.

  “I . . . I ran a half marathon this morning,” he replied softly. Dude, where’d that come from? You’re such an idiot.

  Bailey raised her eyebrows. “You ran a half-marathon before work?”

  Fuck. I forgot today’s Friday, Reece thought.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s . . . a thing I do,” he whispered. “I train pretty religiously. You have to, you know, if you wanna make good time. It’s, uh, all about the times. I’m pretty competitive, so . . .”

  “What was your time?” Bailey asked.

  Shit. I don’t know how far a half marathon is. Six miles? Ten? Let’s see, a seven-minute mile. Let’s just go with an hour. Hmm, maybe a little less.

  “Fifty-five minutes,” he replied.

  Bailey burst out laughing.

  “Shhh!” someone called from their right.

  “What? Is that bad?” he asked.

  “More like impossible,” she replied, still chuckling.

  “Pretty impressive, huh?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  Reece scrambled out of his seat and told her he was going for a refill.

  “I expect you to make good time getting back,” she teased.

  He paused in the aisle and looked down at her. Cute. That was really cute. She knew he totally lied to her—was just trying to impress her—and she was gracious about it. And playful. He was digging this chick hard, and he suddenly came to a decision. He squatted next to her seat and leaned in close.

  “I’ll hurry. Especially since I plan to kiss you when I get back.”

  He watched her face. He couldn’t see the circles of deep pink he’d painted on her cheeks, but he suspected they were there. They had to be. It was too bold a statement not to evoke some kind of response. He wanted her shifting relentlessly in her chair the entire time he was gone. He wanted her heart racing. He wanted her panties the slightest bit moist. He wanted this girl.

  Bailey avoided his eyes when he returned. She sat rigid in her seat with the food tray in her lap, staring at the screen. Previews still rolled while she played with her fingers. Reece couldn’t stand the tension.

  “Bailey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I said that.”

  She said nothing as she passed him the tray.

  “I’m a guy, you know,” he went on. “And that automatically makes me an idiot.”

  She continued to stare at the screen. He shoved a nacho in his mouth. They didn’t taste as good as he remembered. He swallowed and tried again.

  “I just mess around. I’m a guy who jokes, is all.”

  She lunged at him, nearly knocking over his nachos as she pressed her luscious, pink mouth to his. The initial lips-on-lips was aggressive, but nothing else about her kiss was. She explored his mouth gently, raining light pecks in a sort of question: “Is it okay that I’m doing this?” He responded by cradling her head in his hand, trapping her against his mouth so that he could kiss her back more deeply. More aggressively.

  He was conscientious of the nacho he’d just eaten. It could go either way, but he was going for it, baby. Going for it. He teased open her mouth with his tongue, found hers immediately, like she’d been waiting the whole time, eager to share hers. She tasted like cherries. It had to be her lip gloss. That or she snuck cherries in her pocket and ate them while he was away. He grew hard again thinking of those cherries exploding on her tongue the second her teeth crushed them open.

  He doubled his efforts and kissed her harder, mingling his tongue with hers until he felt her moan into his mouth. He couldn’t hear it for the crashing and banging of the movie preview, but he felt it reverberate in the back of his mouth, and that’s all it took.

  Reece Powell was in love.

  Bailey pulled away. “I don’t do things like that,” she whispered.

  He didn’t know how to reply.

  “You probably think I’m a floosy,” she went on.

  “A floosy?” he whispered back, and chuckled. “First off, I love that you said ‘floosy.’ Second, you’re crazy. I hope you kiss me like that again.” He leaned in close. “And again and again.”

  “It’s unwise,” Bailey replied.

  “Shhhh!!” they heard to their right.

  “It’s unwise,” she repeated softly.

  “I can’t think of anything wiser than kissing you,” Reece said.

  Bailey couldn’t think of anything wiser either. And she was terribly lonely and with a man she believed truly liked her.

  “I just wanna keep kissing you,” she confessed.

  Her honesty reached down deep, grabbed hold of something within his heart that had never been touched by another woman. It frightened him for only a second before he identified the feeling. It was comfort. Security. Home in this strange town with new faces.

  He kissed her again. He kissed her throughout the movie. And when it was over, they parted ways, unsure where to go from here.

  “Annie!” I squealed, running and scooping her up before she had the chance to escape. I rained kisses all over her face. She was clearly confused, but she seemed to like it. The evidence? She dropped her doll and squeezed my neck.

  Erica stared at me through narrowed eyes. “No one, including me, likes my children that much. What is going on?”

  Annie giggled on cue, like she understood her mother’s words. I laughed outright.

  “Your momma’s silly, isn’t she? Isn’t she?” I asked, poking Annie’s sides.

  “Oh my God, who are you?” Erica demanded. “Where’s my BFF who promised me she’d never have children so I could live vicariously through her? I swear to God if you’re pregnant…”

  “Calm down,” I said over the top of Annie’s head. She twisted in my arms signaling she was over my show of affection. I placed her on the floor beside her discarded doll. “How would I even be pregnant?”

  “Sex. It’s called sex,” Erica replied. She finished folding the last of Little Noah’s shirts, then tossed it in the laundry basket.

  “Don’t say s-e-x in front of the baby!” I chided.

  “B, she doesn’t know what sex is.”

  “She’ll repeat it.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Oh, so you want to be the mother with the kid who knows the bad words?” I asked.

  “Bad word?” Erica asked, laughing.

  “You know what I mean,” I said. “You want to be the mother who all the other mothers gossip about? Like about how bad your parenting skills are?”

  Erica placed her hand on her hip. “Yeah, I do. Fuck ‘em. Fuck all those mothers. Fuck their playdates and mommy groups and fucking Melissa and Doug puzzles. Fuck their running strollers and baby couture and breastfeeding advice. Fuck their—”

  “ERICA!”

  “What?”

  I looked down at the floor, but Annie was gone. She’d walked away somewhere, no doubt the kitchen since that seemed to be her favorite place to play.

  “I’m not the worst mother in the world, Bailey,” Erica said, following my gaze into the kitchen. “You think I’d talk like that in front of my kid?”

  I studied her for a moment. “So what? You’re making a point or something?”

  Erica snorted. “I’m not making any point. No one’s making a point.” She sank down on the sofa and rubbed her face.

  I approached her cautiously, gingerly picking up a handful of baby socks to help sort and match.

  “Did something happen?” I asked softly.

  “When?”

  “Whenever,” I clarified.

  Erica sighed. “I’ve gotta stop taking Annie to Carly’s playdates.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Why?”

  “Because I’m tired of those mothers making me feel like shit. Completely inadequate all the time. I know you don’t understand, but it’s really hard to be a mom. It’s really h
ard to be a mom in this culture.”

  “Why?”

  “Pressure. Pressure to have the right clothes and toys and fancy baby equipment and stuff off Etsy. I mean, have you been on that site lately? Some of that baby shit is over-the-top expensive. I can’t afford that. And then these moms make me feel guilty for not having it. ‘You’ve gotta have the best, Erica. You just gotta.’ To which I wish I could reply, ‘How about you shove it up your ass?’”

  “Who cares about those moms?” I asked.

  “I know, I know. I shouldn’t care. And usually I don’t. But today just got to me.” Erica leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Am I supposed to take my kids somewhere special every Saturday?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the whole, ‘Oh, what did you do this weekend? We took the kids to the aquarium at Ft. Fisher and let them pet the stingrays.’ Did you now? Did you really let them pet the stingrays? Well, I took my kids to McDonalds for the dollar menu.”

  I suppressed the urge to laugh.

  “Why is everything a big damn competition?” Erica griped.

  I shrugged.

  “It’s a cruel mothering world out there.”

  I grinned. “It’s obnoxious if you ask me.”

  Erica chuckled. “Oh, you don’t like people making you feel like a weirdo for not wanting kids?”

  “Quite the contrary. I loooove it,” I said. “Especially when they stare at me all confused, unable to process what I’d just said, and then reply with something like, ‘Well, you’ve still got time.’”

  “Ha ha!” Erica laughed.

  “I don’t even understand how that’s a legitimate response to ‘I don’t want to have kids,’” I said, searching the basket for the blue and white striped mate to the sock in my hand.

  “How about ‘You don’t want to live with regret?’” Erica offered.

  “Oh, that’s a good one. The guilt trip. Mom loves to make me feel guilty, but hers is purely selfish. She doesn’t care about me regretting. She just wants grandkids,” I said.

  Erica grunted. “How about this one: ‘Don’t you wanna feel what it’s like to really love someone?’”

  I laughed hard. “Now that’s the best one.”

  “Did you know that I don’t really love Noah? I didn’t truly understand love until I had his baby,” Erica explained.

  “Ohhhh, I get it now.”

  Erica took a nice long breath and let it out slowly. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You’re welcome. Nothing like folding socks on a Saturday afternoon. Where’s the other half of your family, by the way?”

  “At the park,” Erica replied. “Playing ball.”

  “That’s cute,” I said.

  “It is, actually,” Erica replied. “I wish Noah would think to take pictures.”

  We sat in silence for a time.

  “I think children are cute,” I said. “They’re fun to play with. They say silly things. Sometimes they can be really insightful.”

  Erica nodded.

  “Why can’t that be enough for me? Why can’t I appreciate them from a distance without the world making me feel badly for not wanting to give birth to one?”

  “Because the world wants you to be as miserable as it is,” Erica said.

  “You’re not miserable,” I countered.

  “I feel like I have no identity at the moment. My entire world revolves around my kids. Look at me, Bailey. I’m starting to look old. I swear I never thought I’d be one of those moms who forsook herself completely for her children.”

  “Did you just say ‘forsook?’” I asked.

  “Yes, why? Forsaked isn’t a word,” Erica replied.

  I smiled. “I’ve just never heard ‘forsook’ in casual conversation. Ever.”

  “Just because I had kids doesn’t mean I’m dumb,” Erica said.

  I rolled my eyes, then had a thought. “Oh, so you don’t have what they call ‘Mommy Brain?’”

  “What the hell is that?”

  I widened my eyes in surprise. “I know something about baby world that you don’t?”

  Erica clapped. “Yay for Bailey. Now just tell me what it is.”

  “Something about how your brain goes to mush when you don’t get enough adult interaction.”

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, I have that.” She glanced at me like she was passing a secret. “Which is why . . .” She jumped up from the couch and stood over me. “Did you shower and exfoliate like I told you to?”

  “Umm, yes. That was really bizarre, by the way.”

  “No make-up on your face? No lotion on apart from your rough, dry areas?” Erica asked.

  “No. And what is going on?”

  Erica’s eyes went wide. “I’m starting a business.”

  “Congratulations!” I squealed. And then I crinkled my brows. “What business?”

  “Well, I don’t want to work outside the home right now with the little ones, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “So I did a bunch of research on airbrush tanning—”

  “Airbrush tanning? Like spray tanning?”

  “Custom spray tanning,” Erica explained. “We live by the beach. People are becoming more conscientious about tanning in booths, right? Airbrush tanning is really popular, but it’s really expensive in tanning salons. I would offer it at a cheaper rate. Of course, clients would need to come to my house, but once the kids are in school full-time, I could travel to them!”

  It wasn’t a bad idea at all. Erica certainly had the disposition to be a successful businesswoman. She was personable, sweet, funny. Hard-working. Money-savvy. She could turn it into a lucrative business.

  “Erica, I think you’ve come up with one really smart idea,” I said.

  “Really?”

  I nodded enthusiastically.

  “Okay, good, because I just got my tanning system in the mail, and I wanna try it out on you!” she said.

  “Hold up. What?”

  “Why do you think I asked you to shower and exfoliate?”

  “I thought you and Noah might suggest a threesome?” I offered.

  “Please, Bailey. Be my guinea pig,” Erica said. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen.

  There it was: the Sun-dazed Broad Spectrum Coverage Spray Tanning System. It looked hardcore, like something used in a high-end salon.

  “Do you even know how to use this thing?” I asked.

  “Sure!”

  I wasn’t born yesterday. I recognized that high-pitched squeal of hers. Erica never squealed—ever—unless she was nervous or unsure about something. She didn’t have a clue how to work this machine, and something told me I’d come out looking like a cheetah.

  “Okay, Annie,” Erica said, plucking the Tupperware lid from her little girl’s hand. “It’s nap time.”

  “Erica, I don’t know—”

  “Bailey, chill. I’m gonna put Sugar Britches down, and then we’ll work on your golden tan.”

  I wanted to tell Erica I wasn’t interested in a golden tan, but that would have been a lie. I’d love a golden tan; I just wasn’t sure she was the girl who could give it to me. And I didn’t have time to argue anyway. She disappeared into the nursery before I could get out a syllable.

  I stood in the center of the kitchen eyeing the tanning machine. It was still boxed up. Something lay on top of the box, and I walked over to get a peek. A tanning tent. That made sense. She couldn’t have tanning solution all over the place. I suppose I’d just stand in it. In my underwear? No way! I was wearing one of my expensive bras today. Why didn’t she tell me to bring over an old bikini or something?

  “Out like a light,” Erica said from behind me.

  “Um, Erica, I didn’t bring anything for you to tan me in,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m doing you naked,” she replied nonchalantly.

  “Seriously?”

  “You don’t want tan lines, do you?” she asked.

  I shoo
k my head automatically.

  “Okay then. Get over yourself.”

  “Where are we doing this?” I asked.

  “In my bathroom. It’s big enough. And that tent’s supposed to pop right up,” she explained.

  “What if the boys come home and walk in?” With each question, I was talking myself further out of this.

  “I’ll scream at them,” Erica replied. “Now grab the tent and follow me.”

  We carried the equipment upstairs and spent the next half hour assembling the system.

  “Annie’ll wake up before we even get started,” I pointed out.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Erica replied. “Now you never did tell me why you were acting like a goof earlier. Kissing on my daughter like you all of a sudden discovered your Mom gene.”

  “Be nice,” I replied. And then I grinned.

  “I saw that,” Erica said. “Spill it.”

  My face flushed. “I kissed someone yesterday at the movies.”

  “Just a random guy sitting beside you?”

  “No,” I laughed. “My coworker. The one from The Reel Café. He happened to be there, too, without a date.”

  Erica lit up. “Oh, wow. I call that the aligning of stars. Cute stars. No, no. Hot stars, ‘cause that guy is hot.” She paused. “Good kisser?”

  “So good,” I sighed.

  “Gentleman?”

  “He bought all the snacks,” I replied.

  Erica nodded her approval. “What happened after the movie?”

  “Nothing. We went home. Separately.”

  “Good girl,” Erica said. “No one likes a ho.”

  I nodded. Erica turned on the compressor and shot a few practice sprays into the tanning tent.

  “If you make me look like an Oompa Loompa, I swear to God . . .”

  “Oh, shut up and relax,” Erica said. “Now strip and put this hair cap on.”

  I peeled off my clothes carefully and folded them neatly in a pile on the sink. I tucked my hair under the cap and stepped into the tent facing my best friend, who immediately looked at my crotch and rolled her eyes.

  “What?” I cried indignantly.

  “Nothing. Just wish I had time for a wax,” she noted.

  I smirked. “Jungle down there?”

  “I don’t know how he can find anything in that mess,” she replied.