I fucking loved it.
“How you feel about marrying me?” he asked in my ear.
“How I feel is, Vegas is a six hour drive away so that’s not outside checking off our to do list for tomorrow. That and stopping by the grocery store so I have Cocoa Puffs.”
Creed’s arms squeezed me reflexively.
Then he burst out laughing.
Then he picked me up and threw me on the bed and, as I bounced, he put a knee in and joined me. He tagged the ring case, pulled out the ring, threw the case aside, shoved the ring on my finger and, eyes on mine, he kissed it.
My heart swelled.
Then he used his hand around mine to yank me to him.
Other things swelled.
Then he made love to me on a bed of rose petals.
Seriously.
My man.
Was.
Genius.
*
Three weeks later…
I was pacing the bathroom, phone to my ear, white stick in my hand.
“Nothing’s happening,” I told Charlene.
“Honey, you just peed on it. I heard you. And, by the way, I love you but I never want to hear you peeing again.”
“Charlene, you’ve heard me peeing in bathroom stalls in bars. This is no different,” I replied.
“Oh, right,” she mumbled then, “Adam’s here. You want to talk to him?”
“No!” I hissed. “I’m waiting for a plus sign, Charlene. I love him but I can’t talk to Adam while waiting for a plus sign on a pregnancy test. Jeez.”
“Oh, right,” she mumbled then I heard her cover the phone but not well because I also heard her say, “You can talk to Sylvie next time she calls, okay, honey?”
“Okay, Mom,” I heard Adam say then a shouted, “Hi Sylvie!”
God I loved that kid.
I couldn’t think of that now. I was busy staring at a plastic stick.
Charlene came back to me. “Anything?”
“No,” I answered.
“Give it time.”
Fuck. The suspense was killing me.
“Should I shake it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. What does the box say?”
I snatched up the box and it didn’t say anything so I dropped the box and snatched up the instructions and read them.
“It doesn’t say anything about shaking. It just says one to three minutes. How long has it been?” I asked.
“Well, definitely over one minute but not over three.”
Shit.
I dropped the leaflet and stared at the stick.
A plus sign showed.
Holy shit.
I was pregnant.
Holy shit!
I was pregnant!
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
Silence then more silence then a soft sob.
“Charlene,” I said gently, “I need to go tell Creed.”
“Go. Go make a good man happy,” she replied quietly.
Right on.
A fabulous way to start the day. Making a good man happy.
Better, he was my man.
“Love you, babe,” I told Charlene.
“Love you too, Sylvie,” she told me.
I beeped off my phone, put it on the bathroom counter and wandered into the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen.
Creed’s back was to me, bare, his tat on display, his hips and legs encased in faded jeans.
God, he was hot.
He obviously heard me coming because he asked the inside of the fridge, “Cocoa Puffs or are you gonna join me in eggs and bacon?”
“You should always be ready,” I told him.
He closed the door instantly and turned.
I tossed the stick across the kitchen and he caught it.
I watched him look at it.
I watched his body still.
And finally, I watched his head come up and his eyes lock on me.
“Dreamweaver,” he whispered.
“You bet your ass,” I replied, smiling huge and not even close to whispering.
He dropped the stick on the counter and started stalking toward me.
I started backing up, sharing, “Creed, I peed on that.”
“Later, I’ll get the Windex out.”
Good call.
He kept stalking.
I kept backing up.
Finally, he lunged and I turned and ran.
He caught me two feet from the bed, tackling me and we both went down on the mattress.
This time, there were no rose petals.
Still, it was awesome.
Then again, it always was.
*
One month later…
“Partner, this sitting in the getaway car is for the birds,” I said, my voice going straight to Creed’s earpiece.
“Shut up, Sylvie, I’m breaking and entering,” Creed said back, his deep, smooth yet rough voice filling the cab of the Expedition.
“I’m just saying, next B&E job, I get to do the B&E,” I declared.
“You can do the next B&E that happens when you aren’t pregnant or nursing,” he replied and I blinked.
Then I snapped, “I’m not nursing! Nothing latches onto one of my breasts except your lips.”
“Now she’s making me hard while I’m breaking and entering,” Creed griped.
“We’re talking about breast feeding, Creed,” I returned.
“We’re talking about my lips and your tits, Sylvie,” he shot back.
He had a point.
I shut up.
Then I waited, staring at the building Creed was breaking into waiting for an alarm or a siren or anything while scanning to make sure he continued to have privacy, no cars or passersby.