There are two types of freak-outs in the world. Shocked-what-the-effing-hell freak-outs and angry-what-the-effing-hell freak-outs.
I've experienced both in the past sixty minutes. The former from my mom and the latter from my best friend. In fact, Day is still going.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me! I bought the friggin' pee stick. How could you leave me hanging?!"
"Yes," I reply dryly, pouring a glass of water and leaning against the counter. "My new state of mind is nauseated, and in a few months, a person will be passing through my vagina, but let's focus on how I didn't let you know immediately."
"You're lame, you know that?" She narrows her eyes. "How did Harry take it?"
"Better than I did," I admit, summarizing the events of that night.
"What about his parents?"
"Asked us when we're getting married."
She snorts. "And your parents?"
I sigh and put the glass down. "Asked me when we're getting married."
Her snort switches to a laugh. "Shall I continue it?"
"Try it and I'll tie you to the Space Needle by your baby toe." I glare.
"I know. But seriously...?"
"We're not getting married, okay?" I throw my hands up. "We just got into a relationship, had a baby thrown into the mix, and I have to move in here next week. Let's not add rings and shit into that equation, got it?"
She hides her smile. "Got it. Although the baby kind of came first."
"Fuck you, Black. Fuck you."
-:-:-
I let the last interviewee out of the bar and bang my head against the wall. One of five interviews today has been worth my while. The others were all jacked-up college kids who can barely tell their left from their right.
My stomach growls angrily, reminding me that I haven't eaten today. Thing is, I don't want to eat. I feel sick, but that's an empty stomach kind of sick, not a 'Hi, Mommy, I'm in here' kind of sick. But I'm afraid that, if I do eat, the sick will change.
I poke my stomach lightly. "You're already making my life hard. I know you're only a few weeks into this growing thing, but go easy on me, yeah?"
"Are you talking to your stomach?" Aaron is grinning when I look up.
"More specifically the person inside, but yes, I suppose."
"Harry called me this morning. Congratulations, Liv." He hugs me and kisses my cheek.
"Thanks. I'm still getting used to the idea."
"Talking to your stomach will probably help with that." He smirks.
"You might technically be my boss, but you're also my best friend's fiancé, and if you keep that up, I'll have a few hormone induced words for you, sir." I flounce over to the bar and separate the résumés .
"I don't doubt it," he responds, joining me there. "Any luck?"
"It's going okay. Two cocktail-shaker guys—I really have to stop calling them that—and two bar girls. One guy for the weekends. I still need another four or five staff members."
"You and Harry go to California tomorrow, correct?"
I nod, sighing.
"Let me know who you want in and I'll have Dottie set up the interviews. Dayton can do it in your place."
"I can do it when I get back."
"After the bachelorette party?"
"Ah. Yes?"
"Don't. You'll stress yourself out. Dottie will call, Day will interview, and then you two can pick the best ones. Got it?"
I glare at him. "I won't stress myself out."
"The bars need setting up still, the tables need organizing properly, and staff have to be trained. It's one less thing for you to worry about."
"I won't break from running a bar."
"No, but you forget that your baby is my family, too, so I'm going to make it as easy as possible for you."
I sigh and head for the store room. "Fine."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to set up the bar. God forbid I should stress myself out." I roll my eyes and open the door. The boxes containing the large spirit bottles are by my feet and I bend to lift one.
"And for your next trick..." Aaron mumbles, taking it from me.
I throw my arms in the air and follow him back to the bar. "Holy hell! Why don't you and your cousin just put me on bed rest for the next eight months?"
"That's not a bad idea." Harry's voice carries across the bar. "Although I have doubts about its success."
"Fantastic. Both of you now. Here's an idea. Why don't I just sit here at the bar and supervise you?" I drop onto one of the stools.
"That's a brilliant idea." Harry kisses my cheek as Aaron shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves. "Tell us where to put them," he instructs.
"There are another three boxes in the storeroom before you start that." I rest my cheek on my hand.
They both disappear and return with all three boxes.
I flip the file to where I have the setup mocked up and tell them where everything needs to go. They do as I say, no questions asked. Although I'm secretly enjoying having both Aaron and Harry doing exactly as I say, I keep my face blank and my voice down.
I mean, seriously. One hot guy in a suit and another—my hot guy—in a polo shirt that fits his shoulders and arms properly are moving fairly heavy stuff around.
I'm not saying the view is bad. At all.
"There, you see? You're a manager and you just did a great job managing and you didn't have to lift a finger."
I stare at Aaron. "I'll manage your ass out of here if you keep treating me like a china flippin' doll."
He laughs. "Is that everything you'd like done today, boss?"
I click my tongue and he grabs his jacket.
"You two have fun in California. Try not to do too much, Liv."
I flip him the bird behind his back. Damn protective males. Harry's mom was right last night—cavemen, all of them.
God help Dayton when she gets herself knocked up. That's all I'm sayin'.
"What was that?" Harry says as a rumbling noise erupts from my stomach.
"Um."
"Have you eaten today?" His gaze flashes with annoyance.
"I'm sensing 'no' is the wrong answer here, so I'm going to plead the Fifth."
"Liv," he growls. "You have to eat!"
"I'm taking my vitamins. I'm okay as long as I drink."
"No, you have to eat," he repeats, walking round the bar. "No wonder you look like you're about to collapse."
"I don't want to be sick again, okay? I just don't want anything."
"A little bit of something, even if you are sick, is better than a whole lot of nothing. Now get up and grab your purse. We're going to get you food."
I drop my head back like a petulant child and get up. "I don't want to go for food. I want to go home, get in my sweatpants, and watch The Big Bang Theory until my ears bleed from Penny's sarcasm," I huff.
Harry sighs and cups my face. "Then we'll go home, get in sweatpants, and watch The Big Bang Theory. But you're still eating." He kisses me quickly and pulls me to his car before I can argue any further. "Pasta, okay? Just some plain pasta. It'll give you energy and line your stomach."
"Fine. I'll eat some pasta." I get inside the Mercedes. "And when you say home, whose home do you mean?"
"My home is your home," he responds, pulling away. "But your apartment for now, I suppose."
"Good. Sean moved out last week, so Angus is left to his own devices. Fuck knows how many birds and mice are in my apartment right now." My head pounds at the thought.
"And you want that animal to live with us?"
"That animal is my fur-baby."
"Funny. He's always been a pain in your arse."
"True, but you pushed him right out of that spot. It's all yours, honey."
He shoots me a smile and laughs. "It's always good to know our feelings are entirely mutual."
"You know those heels I have, yes? I can be a physical pain the ass as well as a literal one."
"The literal pain is more than enough to cope with, thank you very much." He parks outside my apartment and we get out.
I reach out and take his hand in mine. A calming feeling washes over me as our fingers entwine and his thumb rubs the back of my hand. The elevator doors close in front of us, and I curl my body into his, just needing to be held by him.
It comes fleetingly—the urge to touch him, to have him touch me, to have that connection. It's always strong and irresistible, and as he slides his hands down to my ass and kisses my neck, I'm reminded that we're still very much governed by our addictions.
He still craves my body, and in turn, I still crave his heart.
Our love just has a way of pushing it to the side, smothering it a little. I think more of how I love him than how I'm addicted to him... And maybe that's the key.
Maybe that's how we'll make it work.
Perhaps our love and our addictions are intertwining into an intricate knot that makes total sense.
I reluctantly step from Harry's hold and put my key in the door. And pause.
"I hear flapping."
"Are you serious?" Harry asks, knocking my hand away and opening the door. "Shit!" he cries, ducking when a bird comes flying clumsily through it. I shriek, thankful that no one has taken Sean's old apartment yet.
Angus comes flying out, hissing at the bird.
"Oh no you don't!" I scoop him up and throw him back into my apartment. I tug Harry inside and slam the door. "Before the thing gets back in."
"So you're just going to leave it there flying around the hallway?"
"Pretty much." I dump my purse, put a can of food in Angus's bowl, and head into my room to change. Harry watches me as I go and, the second I turn into my room, laughs at me.
Nice of him to try and hide it.
He's an awful actor.
Cupboards open and close and pans clang from the kitchen. I pull some sweatpants and a tank top on before I pad my way back out. Harry already has some water boiling on the stove when I turn on the DVD player and lie back on the sofa. Angus finishes his food and strolls across the apartment to jump onto my legs. He circles a few times and I wince at his claws digging into my thighs.
He lies down, his head on my stomach, and I smile.
"So he brings a bird home and is now keeping the baby warm. Is that like an offering to it or something?"
I meet Harry's eyes, my smile still in place. "The bird is for me. He thinks I'm weak, and given that he had no food, he assumed I needed help to feed him," I explain, scratching my cat's head. "And cats can sense babies. I was watching Teen Mom and one of the girls had a cat—it was always sleeping on her stomach."
He raises an eyebrow. "Is your knowledge of pregnancy all courtesy of Teen Mom?"
"No. It makes you pee a lot, makes you sick, and makes your boobs really tender. I figured those out for myself."
He stares at me for a minute before smiling and turning back to the pasta. Yeah, you smile, buddy. You fucking smile now. You won't be smiling so much when I'm having the baby.
I'm pretty sure those hours of labor are reserved purely for Daddy's suffering. I get pain relief.
He gets broken fingers.
To be honest, it seems like a fair trade to me.
Harry brings me over a bowl of pasta with a sprinkling of cheese. I take the fork from him and rest the bowl on my stomach. This isn't appealing to me—not in the slightest. But I'll eat it because it will make him happy. And as sexy as an angry Harry Styles is, I don't have the energy to deal with him tonight.
He'll have to wank instead.
Wait. When did I start thinking in British?
Bloody hell.
Shit. There it is again.
"Have you packed yet?"
I shake my head, my mouth full of food. "Last time, you did it, so I figured you could just do it again."
"Last time, you were taking your vibrator. This time, you don't need it."
"Why? Did you pack yours?"
He steals a bit of pasta. "No. I reckon I only have a few months before you tell me you're done with sex and I'm not wasting them with a vibrator. So, until after the baby is born, the only thing inside your pussy will be me."
"Well, how does a girl argue with that reasoning?" I jab some pasta and shove it in my mouth.
I look down at the bowl. I've eaten just over a quarter of it. That will do. I set it on the coffee table, ignoring the way Harry's brow furrows, and turn to the television.
He rubs my thigh and gets up. He turns in the direction of my bedroom, presumably to pack for me. My phone buzzes after a few minutes and I awkwardly pull it from my pocket in an attempt not to dislodge Angus.
Marchant's name flashes on screen. I swipe to open the message.
Monday. Starbucks on Pike Place. Noon.
I swallow my groan.
No choice in meeting. He must have spoken to my mom.
Fucking hell. That's the last thing I need—a conversation with a therapist about my pregnancy and my addiction.
I drop my phone on the floor with a thunk.
"Liv? You okay?" Harry calls.
"Mmph."
He comes back through to the front room and leans against the door. "What is it?"
I look up and can't help but notice that his shirt is off. Yes. The noticing is entirely accidental.
Just like the way my eyes flick over his abs and down that V that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants...
"Liv."
I snap my eyes back to his and catch his smirk. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"
His lips curve a little more. "What's up?"
I'm guessing that 'my libido' isn't the right answer. "My mom kind of freaked earlier when I called and told her. Not about the baby, but how I'll cope with it...and you. She's a little overprotective. Anyway, my dad has this friend he fishes with who's a therapist. It's never bothered me before, but he was there when I went over there last week and started asking me questions. I know my mom put him up to it."
"And?"
"And he said if I wanted to talk to call him. I did—a couple days ago, just after I took the test.
But I got his voicemail. I was still in panic mode then, but now that I've calmed down, I don't need to talk. But he just texted and said to meet him Monday for coffee."
"You're not going alone."
"He's not going to upset me, Harry."
"I couldn't give a shit, Liv. We're in this together. Besides, he can go back to your mum and tell her I'm a great guy, can't he?"
"Of course he can. He'd be crazy to think you're anything else."
"Do I detect sarcasm there?"
"Probably."
He leans over the sofa and kisses me. "Your sarcasm sucks."
"No, I suck," I mutter, nipping his bottom lip.
"Good thing, too. We have an hour or so in a plane tomorrow. Since you denied me the last time we flew together, you can put your sucking to good use, can't you?"
"A challenge?"
"A demand."
"Far be it from me to deny you your demands."