Page 74 of The Fake Husband Play
“Well, thank you.” Chelsea laughs as she tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder. “But it’s probably for the best. There are only two guys in our office right now, and I want to throat punch them at least once a week. If I were surrounded by men, I’d probably be in jail by now. The older I get, the more the male of the species brings out my stabby side.”
“That’s because you’re pregnant,” Miranda says, pointing to Chelsea’s cute baby bump. “I wanted to stabeveryonewhen I was pregnant.”
“Same,” I agree. “But I thought that was just the rampaging teen hormones. Good to know I wasn’t alone.”
They both laugh, warm, accepting laughs that confirm we’re moving past the “it’s weird that Elly had her baby when she was practically a fetus” phase of the mom-friendship zone.
Maybe we’ll become real friends, after all. Our quirky babies certainly have a lot in common. It makes sense that we would, too.
There was a time when I worried that Mimi’s circle of friends was small and danced to the beat of their owndrum. But watching her now, laughing and talking a mile a minute, I realize this is better. It’s not about havingallthe friends. It’s about having therightones, who see what a treasure you are and can’t wait to spend time with you.
The thought makes my mind drift to Grammercy…
Everything is so different with him. Before, even with guys who seemed cool with me having a child, Mimi changed the way they related to me. I was never just Elly, a woman they were attracted to and wanted to know better. I was Elly, the single mother, Elly with “baggage,” who forced them to plan in advance and think about babysitters and things most men in their early twenties aren’t ready for.
But with Grammercy, I’m just Elly, a woman he finds fascinating, who happens to be the mother of a little girl, who he also thinks is great. He sees us both and cares for us both, separatelyandtogether.
I don’t think I realized how important that “separate” part was until he made me feel like a main character for the first time in so long. But now…I love him for letting me just be me.
And yes, I dropped the “L” word again.
Only in my head, but still…
Must get a grip! It’s too soon to be in love, no matter how incredible the sex is.
But itisincredible. Holy hell, is it incredible.
I’m already counting the minutes until Mimi’s bedtime tonight, when we can be alone again…
“Anyone else craving something more caffeinated than juice?” Chelsea asks, fanning herself with a paper plate. “I know I’m only supposed to have one small iced coffee a day, but…”
She trails off mid-sentence, her juice box halfway to her lips.
Miranda follows her gaze, her jaw going slack and her eyes comically wide. And then suddenly both of them are doing that sitting-up-straighter, perky expression thing that means a cute boy has entered the chat. The breeze shifts direction, and I instantly know who that cute boy is.
I know before I turn around. It’s like my body recognizes his vibration, his scent. Some primitive part of me is locked on Grammercy Graves.
I turn and, sure enough, there’s my man.
God, how is it possible that he’s mine?
He’s so…him.
Even in worn-in jeans and a faded navy T-shirt that hugs his strong arms, he’s extraordinary, and it’s more than the handsome face or killer body. It’s the way he holds himself, with that mixture of confidence and awareness of the world around him and the way he wants to show up in it. It’s in his eyes, those kind, clever, always-ready-for-a-laugh eyes that are becoming my favorite.
Only, they’re not looking very amused right now…
Not amused at all.
As our eyes meet, he winces and nods to his left, toward the parking lot where he must have just pulled in. I can’t believe I didn’t notice. It’s not like there’s been much traffic at the gator farm today. Aside from a family from St. Louis and a high school biology class on a weekend field trip, we’ve been alone with the zookeepers and reptiles.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, pushing my chair back. “I think someone needs to talk to me.”
“And who is thissomeone?” Miranda asks, not even trying to sound casual. Her voice has that high, curious pitch that means she’s planning to pump me for information as soon as I return to the table. “Because he isfine, woman.”
“With a capital F,” Chelsea murmurs, still gaping. “Look at his forearms. I didn’t know they made them like that in real life.”
“That’s my roommate?” The words sound way too much like a question, prompting a sharply raised brow from Miranda. “I mean, he is,” I maintain, backing away with heat creeping up my neck. I roll my eyes in a silent confession of “yes, there’s more to tell, but I have to go see what this fine ass man wants, be right back,” and motion toward the kids. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Mimi for a second?”
