I exhale, loudly, to cover my embarrassment. Haden one. Presley zero.

I grab my clothes and head to the shower. The steaming hot water is exactly what I need and as my body relaxes, my skin begins to prune from the water. Getting changed into my tank and boxers, I cringe at having to wear a bra to bed. It’s extremely uncomfortable with the size of these bazookas, but what choice did I have? The tank I’m wearing is light pink and my nipples have darkened from the pregnancy, not to mention their size. I could have given the Amazonian ladies on National Geographic a run for their money.

Exiting the room, I see that Haden has taken the lids off the plates and my stomach rumbles embarrassingly. The plates surround the bed and I jump on it, immediately devouring everything in sight. On my last bite, I let out a sigh.

“Jesus, I thought you were kidding when you said you could eat all that.” He finishes taking his last bite.

“Baby needed it,” I tell him.

“The buffalo wings as well?”

“Yes.”

“And the cheesy fries?”

“Yes,” I repeat.

“The pizza with extra toppings and salad on the side?”

“Yes and yes.” I smile, satisfied.

“The chocolate mud cake?”

“No, that was for me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, curling his lips as he laughs. “Well, you still look beautiful. Eloise would never eat anything like that. She’s into this stupid diet where everything has to be green. Even the wedding menu is all green.”

I stop laughing and stare at the TV uncomfortably. Firstly, who invented green diets? What a waste of perfectly good (and delicious) colorful food. Secondly, that’s twice he has mentioned my looks. At what point do I classify that as infatuation instead of just admiration? Both times he’s done it, I have frozen up with no following comment to offer. After last night’s misadventures, I am extremely cautious of being in the same room as him. It would be silly of me to take these passing comments to heart.

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can sleep on the bed too. Just no scary movies?”

He smiles. “Deal.”

We still argue over each movie before finally settling on Father of the Bride. Haden appears bored by my choice, but continues to watch with a chuckle every now and then at Steve Martin’s ridiculous antics.

“Marcus loves this movie,” I blurt out, regretting it immediately.

In the dark room, his body stiffens beside me. His stare is fixated on the screen.

“Do you still talk to him?” he asks, in a slightly aggravated tone.

“Um, not really, apart from a text here and there.”

“So you do talk to him?”

Confused by his question, I just agree. “If you consider that talking, then yes. Why?”

Crossing his arms to cover his bare chest, he continues to watch the TV, refusing to make eye contact with me. “I just don’t see why you still talk to him. You told him it’s over.”

“Because we’re friends. It wasn’t just about sex.”

The tension in the room thickens, and I have no idea why this is still an issue. It’s almost like he’s jealous, but that notion seems ridiculous because again, we’re not together.

With an undermining stare, his eyes bore into me, followed by a deep growl. “So you weren’t just fucking him?”

“Do you have a problem? Because the last time I checked, you were engaged. My sex life is of no concern to you, especially what’s in the past.”

“He’s my cousin!” he raises his voice, startling me.

“How does that matter? You and I weren’t dating! Geez, Haden, it was one night—”

He interrupts me, dead cold. “That you regret.”

“I did regret it, but—”

“But what?” he demands.

“Would you let me finish?” I exhale. “But now I have this baby growing inside me. I can’t regret something that feels so right. This is my life now.”

“Our life,” he corrects me.

I don’t understand him, and I have no idea what triggers his erratic behavior. This is getting more complicated by the minute. Now, we are sitting here side by side with a whole night still ahead of us. I’m pretty sure one of us won’t come out of this alive.

We continue to watch the rest of the movie in silence. Towards the end, I twist my back against the headboard of the bed, scratching the itch that the bra strap is giving me. For starters, it’s two sizes too small and my breasts grew to double their size overnight. Trying to remain inconspicuous, I move in subtle yet slow twists.

The Jerk turns his head to watch me, his eyes peering like a curious meerkat. I still my body movements, not wanting to draw further attention. Stupid big nipples.

“Why do you look like you’ve got a spider down your back?” he questions with dark amusement.

“It’s my bra!” I tell him, fed up with the persistent itch. “It’s uncomfortable and the stupid strap is driving me insane.”

“Then take it off.”

“Honestly, you got a screw loose. That’s so awkward, and no, I won’t do that.”

“Just do it, I won’t look, okay? Besides, there’s going to be more uncomfortable moments than that, like when the baby comes shooting out of your vagina.”

“You’re not going to be in the room!”

“Why not?” he argues back. “I’m the father. I have that right.”

I laugh at his comment. “You don’t have the right to look at my vagina. If you have to be in there then stand in the corner.”

“But don’t I have to hold your hand and shit?”

“Maybe you need to watch Father of the Bride II.”

The credits rolled on, the illumination from the TV screen providing the only light in the room. All of a sudden, some foreign film comes on with nudity. Boobies to be exact. It is laughable and extremely tacky. Oh, and downright awkward. There is bush…plenty of bush.

“This is so lame. People don’t screw like that,” I say to myself.

“I’m sure people do.”

“Yeah, smartass, name one.”

He hesitates for a brief moment. “Me.”

Silence.

The movie is showing a couple having sex against the wall in the shower. The man has lifted the woman up, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, he continues to drill into her while she lets out the fakest moan. I can’t take my eyes off the bush! You could run a brush through it and style it with cornrows, it’s that long.

“What’s wrong? You don’t believe me?” he continues, not letting go of this awkward subject.

“Oh no, I do,” I mutter. “It’s just the type of conversation you don’t have with a pregnant woman without a partner. You know, it’s just not advisable.”

“Oh right, the hormones.” He grimaces hopelessly. “Is it that bad?”

He’s asking the question that should remain unanswered, because the more I think about it, the more I work myself up. Kitty could start a whole debate on this subject.

“Yeah, pretty bad. Bad enough that I’d probably do you again.” I swat him with a pillow, teasing him in a friendly and relaxed way.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and when I take a glance at him he is removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. He’s roughly running his hands through his hair, and I feel the sheets move until the heat attacks my skin and his body is in line with mine.

My heart is beating a million times a minute and my vocal chords appear to be out of order as I beg him silently to back off, knowing full well I am the weak one.

“Presley?” he murmurs gently into my ear.

With his body in close proximity, the words cannot be communicated, so I turn my head until our eyes are locked onto each other.

“Then do it,” he whispers, against my lips.

Three little words, and my world comes undone.

 

Did he just say he wanted to have sex with me? Baby brain, a miscommunication, or maybe I’m reading this all wrong?