Page 125 of Tequila Tuesdays

Damien cupped my face and kissed me softly. Then he ran his lips gently across the scar on my cheek. “I love you too, Legs.”

A few more tears leaked out, but I kept it together. “Maybe we were meant to find each other in this strange, screwed-up world.”

He smiled. “I know one thing.”

“What?”

“I’ll always have a love-hate relationship with volleyballs.”

I laughed and rolled up on my toes to kiss him again.

Four Years Later

My back ached, and my bladder felt like an overstuffed sausage casing. There was nothing wonderful or miraculous about being eight months and seventeen days pregnant.

Except—and then I felt it, that kick to my stomach from the inside. I started feeling those soft flutters in my nineteenth week of pregnancy, and they’d steadily grown into little kicks that sometimes left me gasping.

I rubbed the spot on my tummy absently. “I know, little man. I’m ready to be home with Daddy too.”

I pulled into the garage of Damien’s house, which was our house now, and parked. His truck was already there. He walked out and opened my driver’s side door, then leaned in and studied me.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling? And how was drug court?”

I smirked and shook my head. “Drug court was interesting. The prosecutor had to explain to the judge what Rastafari is and why my fourteen-year-old client with a serious marijuana addiction shouldn’t be wearing Rastafarian colors to his first day of juvenile drug court.”

He chuckled and took my backpack, swinging it over his shoulder. Then he held out both hands to help pull me out.

Damien knew I could do it myself, but it would take twice as long. When we walked into the house, Gary greeted me at the door. He moved a little slower now, but he still had a few good years in him.

I gave him pets, then headed to the bathroom where I’d been spending a lot of time over the past three months. Damien was in the kitchen putting a small snack together for me when I came out.

Sliding onto a stool, I leaned my head in my hand. “How was your day?”

He grinned. “Probably better than yours. Is he kicking?” He nodded toward my stomach.

I rubbed my tummy and smiled. “Yeah. It was pretty hard today. He’s definitely your son.” Reaching around, I also rubbed my aching back. It had been paining me more than usual all day.

He walked around the bar as if drawn to my swollen stomach. He watched it carefully, then laid his hand on the spot where Junior seemed to be pounding on it from the inside.

When he felt the movement Damien froze, like he always did, and studied me with love and naked wonder. “That’s fucking amazing.”

I crinkled my eyes. He said the same thing almost every time. “He’s going to slide out of my vagina, look around, and say to the doctor ‘that’s fucking amazing’ right out of the womb.”

He laughed. “Or he’s going to come out complaining and saying, ‘God, this sucks.’”

“Maybe,” I smirked. It had become my favorite saying as I navigated my third trimester of pregnancy.

Damien grabbed my thighs and pulled them apart, stepping between them. My stomach poked him a little, but he didn’t seem to care.

“You’re fucking beautiful, swollen with our child, and your round, firm tits. I can’t get enough of you like this.”

I swayed into him. He’d researched all the best sex positions for a woman in her third trimester. And we’d tried them all. He rubbed my lower back, and I placed my hands on his cheeks.

Pulling his face down, I kissed him softly. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to try the reverse cowgirl tonight.”

His lips quirked, and he studied me. “Do you have something else in mind?”

“No, but the baby does. I’ve been having contractions since nine this morning.”

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