Page 90 of I Wanna Be Your Lager

“For what?”

I emerge from the kitchen, wielding a wand of three butter knives secured together with duct tape. At the end of the wand is the nail polish brush, again securely fastened with duct tape. “I want to paint my nails, but this baby is preventing me from accomplishing that. This would be a great invention, by the way. Pregnant women all around the world would rejoice. They can paint their nails again.”

“Or they could ask their husbands to help them.” We both freeze at the word “husband.” That’s a road not traveled for either of us. He quickly recovers. “Or boyfriend. Partner. Pretend baby daddy. Come here.” He moves to the end of the couch to give me room to sit and stretch out. He grabs a pillow from behind him and sets it on his lap. “Sit on the other end and rest your foot here.”

“You’re going to paint my nails?” A warm sensation explodes through my chest, much like when he tells me to ride his cock.

“An attempt will be made, but I’m sure it will be better than whatever you plan on doing with this.” He takes the wand from me, rips off the tape on the brush end, and tosses the rest onto the coffee table.

I take a seat on the couch and lean against the armrest. Lach lifts my leg and sets my foot on the pillow. He dips the brush into the bottle and slides it over my toenail, leaving a streak of pink sparkle in its wake. If it’s possible to fall even more in love with this man, I just did.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” I ask.

Without missing a beat, he continues to run the brush over the next nail and says, “In five years, I see myself doing exactly this. Sitting on the couch with you, painting your toenails while terrible reality TV plays on the television because that’s what you like to watch.”

“Wait.” My heart stammers. I would sit up if I could, but I can’t. “You’re only painting my nails because I’m pregnant and can’t. So what are you saying? In five years, you want to?—”

“Yep. Toys will be strewn across the living room. We’ll have at least one more. Maybe two. But we’ll definitely need a bigger house by then.”

“Dammit, Lach.”

He freezes and lifts his gaze to meet mine. “What?”

“You’re saying all the sweet things to me.”

“I only say them because I mean them, Sunflower.” His warm breath blows across my toes. “All done.” He screws the brush cap back into the nail polish bottle.

“Give me ten minutes for my nails to dry. Then I’m going to show you exactly how much I love you. In the meantime, I have a game for you. Will you grab my purse?” I point to the opposite side of the coffee table. Lach grabs it and passes it to me. I dig inside, pull out a folded piece of paper, and pass it to him.

“What’s this?” He peels back the edge of the paper.

“It’s a game. You have to guess if it’s birth or anal.”

“What the fuck?” he screeches and tosses the paper to the coffee table.

I fall into a fit of giggles. Dammit. I peed myself, but it was worth it.

FORTY-SIX

TWO WEEKS

Eve

When I arrive at Rylee’s house, I step out of my car and hoist my camera bag over my shoulder. I’ve read a lot of horror stories about pregnancy, but I think I fared well. I somehow escaped full-blown morning sickness. Heartburn is a bitch. The preeclampsia is the worst of it. I did limit my coffee intake, which wasn’t a terrible sacrifice since I found a caffeine-free herbal ginger tea I enjoy. Fatigue tends to hit me by midafternoon, and then I’m like a toddler who didn’t get a nap. Not to mention the July heat suuucks. Sometimes I find sweat in places I didn’t even know could sweat. I’ve learned air conditioning is my friend, and I will happily pay that electric bill.

Before I’m halfway up the sidewalk to the front door, Rylee greets me.

“What can I help with?”

“If you could grab the two bags in the back seat with the lighting, that would be great.”

“Of course.” Rylee collects the bags, and I follow her into the foyer.

“So we can start in the living room with the antique chaise lounge or the bedroom.”

“Let’s start in the living room and work our way to the bedroom.” I pause, rehashing my words. “That sounds like a bad date, doesn’t it?” We both laugh. This is like learning to ride a bicycle again. It’s been years since I’ve done it by myself, but I should be able to hop on and start riding. I scan the room to determine the best angles and perfect lighting. “With the sun shining in through this window, we could get some dramatic lighting that could look really great.” I point to the large floor-to-ceiling window on the south wall.

“You’re the professional. Also, thank you so much for doing this. I know Trey’s going to love these. Even more because it was you seeing me half naked and not some stranger.” She turns to face me. “Your due date is coming up, isn’t it?”

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