“Nice shoes, Brooke. Am I going to be getting those back any time soon?” Dylan’s voice at my back halts me.
I spin around, glancing down at the pink Steve Madden’s I have yet to return. They work amazing with this dress. With my legs. In all honestly, it would’ve been a tragedy not to wear them.
Lifting my head, I limply shrug. “I figured I’d break them in for you since your feet are too swollen to wear heels right now.”
Dylan’s face falls. She glances down at the black strappy sandals on her feet, grumbling, “I’m so over being pregnant.” She whips her head around. “This is it, Reese. Three and we’re done. No more kids.”
Reese leans back to look at her, a deep frown line setting in his forehead. “What? I thought we had agreed on four. What happened to that?”
The look that creeps across Dylan’s face has my feet firmly planted where they are, willing to stick around for another minute. It also seems to pull everyone else’s attention across the table.
Juls with her wide, curious eyes as she slowly brings her drink to her mouth. Joey, grinning enormously, drumming his fingers on the table and practically crawling across it to get a better view. Billy and Ian both take another route and reach into their pockets for their phones, deciding it’s best they look busy and uninterested in Reese’s potential demise.
I bet everyone seated at this table has had this ‘don’t fuck with me’ look directed at them at one point. I know I’m familiar with it. Back when I first started working at the bakery I saw this look quite a lot.
And Reese? His ass has definitely seen it.
Turning on his stool, Reese gently smiles at Dylan before moving in for a kiss. “Love.”
She pushes against his chest. “I’m sorry, are you the one carrying a watermelon around twenty-four seven? Are you giving up sushi and fantastic fucking footwear for nine months? Mm? No, you’re not. You can eat what you want, you aren’t bloated and sweaty all the time, and your downstairs region isn’t going to be pushing out a human. I’ve been pregnant for the last four years. Four years, Reese. Do you have any idea how exhausting this is for me? I got up eleven times last night just to go to the bathroom. Did you know that?”
He caresses her face. “I only counted six.”
Through clenched teeth, she leans closer, grunting, “It was a hell of a lot more than six. Maybe I should start waking you up every time, that way you can experience some of this misery with me.”
“You can do that.”
“Ugh!” She bats his hand away. “Would you stop being you for five seconds? It’s making me want to have another kid.”
Laughing, Reese grabs her face and kisses her. Dylan seems to melt against him, letting go of her anger, maybe even her conviction on the subject. They break away from each other enough to breathe, but keep their foreheads pressed together, Reese’s hands cradling Dylan’s face and hers holding his wrists. Their eyes remain locked as if they’re sharing this silent moment, conveying unspoken words, and I take that as my cue and remember why the hell I got up in the first place.
I melt into the crowd and push my way to the back hallway. The restroom is cramped and smells like a cross between the fragrance department at Macy’s and an ashtray. My nose burns as I apply a light sheen of gloss to my lips.
God, I hate cigarette smoke. Can’t these bitches here read? There’s a no-smoking sign posted every ten feet.
Tugging the material of my dress away from my body in hopes it’ll air it out a little, I drift through the bar, making my way back to my friends. A tall figure standing next to the table halts my progression.
Mason has his hand on the back of my chair as he converses with the group. His dirty blond hair is carelessly tousled, maybe a bit wet. I can’t tell from this distance. He wears a fitted blue T-shirt and jeans, and as he reaches across the table to extend his hand to Reese, the material stretches over his ass and lean thighs. A hint of flesh peeks out from above his waistband.