Page 119 of Gone for You

“Well, shit. I still get to ride you tonight, though,” I’m quick to point out.

“I suppose,” she sighs, trying to sound like it’s really putting her out to agree to sex as she rubs her stomach and our baby tucked safely inside with her left hand. The one that holds the ring I put on her finger about eight months ago. Such a brat. Fuck, I love her.

“I know it’s a hardship.”

“Truly.”

Chuckling, I release her and finish getting ready, even going as far as to apply some shimmery eye shadow and something on my cheeks, per Liv’s insistence.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for the women in my life.

We didn’t have a fancy wedding. I proposed on the anniversary of the day we met again in the exact seat that is now reserved only for her at The Flying Goat. Later that night, she told me she didn’t want to wait to get married and it wasn’t just because she was carrying my baby; a little bit of information she had just found out and not shared with me yet. Liv enlisted her mom, Samantha, and Lily to help her create magic in a month’s time. And it all happened at, yup, you guessed it, The Flying Goat.

It might sound unromantic but, to us, it’s where itreallyall began and neither of us could think of a better place to start our marriage.

“Ready?”

She turns to me and grins. “So pretty.”

“Right? I rock this look.”

“You really do.” Her eyes are sparkling, shining with happiness. They’re also painted a deep green on the lids and rimmed with bright orange. What I didn’t know about her previously, was that shereallyloves dressing up.

I double check I have everything and follow her out the door to our garage. She waddles to my pickup and climbs in the passenger side, a chunk of pumpkin fabric getting stuck in the door before she readjusts and closes it. I don’t say anything, though. She’s been incredibly emotional in the final stages of her pregnancy and I do my best not to see her crying.

It doesn’t take us long before we arrive at The Goat and head inside. We decorated and got everything ready for the party this morning so we could have time to get into costumes. Liv went all out, hanging spider webs and ghosts from the ceilings, skeletons and mummies sit in chairs casually, as if they’re patrons of the bar hanging out, having a drink. The stage is set up for the kids to paint pumpkins and bob for apples, face painting will be done by Rex’s new girlfriend — pardon me, thegirl he’s casually seeing because we all know he doesn’t do relationship and we haven’t met yet because we’ll all assume something is going on.On the patio behind the bar is a spooky — but fun — maze made out of hay bales. It’s a small space but will be perfect for the kids.

We’ve been anticipating a large crowd tonight but my focus will stay on my wife and making sure she’s not overdoing it. We have four weeks left before our little bundle joins us in the outside world and as hard as I’ve tried not to hover and be overprotective, I know I’ve failed.

“How you feeling?” I place a hand on her lower back and one on her stomach while giving her a kiss on top of the head.

“Excellent,” she says, beaming. “Little nugget’s been kicking like crazy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm. I think he’s excited about Halloween, too.”

“Now it’s a boy, huh?” I raise an eyebrow at her in question. We chose not to find out the sex of the baby, wanting it to be a surprise. While she’s been in Camp Girl since about week twelve, I’ve stayed firmly in Camp Boy. Like the rest of our friends and family. “Me thinks you’re jumping ship because you’re hoping to save face the moment our little guy makes an appearance.”

“Pssh. It was a mere slip of the tongue.”

“Slip of the tongue, my ass,” I tease her, spanking her ass, which she doesn’t feel because the material of her pumpkin costume is poofy enough I end up only tapping at it.

She laughs, wiggles around and spins out of my reach. I love watching her move about The Goat like it’s second nature. The staff was definitely happy to see her return with me and for my perpetual bad mood to be gone when we were apart.

I help set out trays of food and do the finishing touches on our drinks for tonight. The chef crafted a crazy concoction of appetizers that look weird as hell – like witch fingers, brains, and spiders made out of candies and pretzels — and a few of the standard party foods. We have large glass pitchers on a stand with spigots for easy pouring — non-alcoholic and one full of booze that will only be served behind the bar.

The part I’m most excited for, though, is that the entire night is open to anyone to attend as long as they’re in costume. We have a donation jar set out with all the funds going to the mission house Samantha and Austin are hoping to build — well, remodel, actually. Their focus will be providing food, clothing, necessities and possible shelter for families down on their luck. They know a little about it.

I hear Austin’s booming voice and assume Liv must have opened the door to let them in. Bracing myself, I wait for the laughter that I know will come when he spots me. And sure enough, “Smile!”

Turning his way, I strike a pose. No use in fighting it — I’ll be dressed as a woman all night long so if I let him get it out of his system now, maybe he’ll let it go. Especially since I’m doing this forhisdaughter.

Happy squealing has me smiling more naturally and I come out from behind the bar, ready to be gripped tight around my legs by my little Cinderella. “Unca Efan! You look so bootiful!”

I pick her up and her tiny hands frame my face as she inspects my make-up. Squealing again, she hugs me tight. Her little arms wrapping around my neck and holding tight even as she squirms around excitedly. Erupting into a fit of laughter, I’m forced to put her down before she wiggles right out of my arms.

She claps her hands several times, dancing in place. “Daddy! Daddy! Did you see Efan? He da best, wight?”

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