Dave chuckles and points at Ellie. “This one too.”
Ellie playfully knocks away Dave’s hand and then turns to Lottie again. “Are you saying we should have two weddings?”
Back to this? Hell.
“Why not?” Lottie asks. “I mean, it seems as though this is a very special moment for Dave’s parents, and I completely respect that.” Lottie places her hand on her stomach and says, “When this little one gets married, trust me, I’ll be ordering a skywriter and a billboard to let everyone know that my baby is tying the knot. But I wonder if you guys could do a small, intimate ceremony, just you, and then maybe even the next day, you have the ceremony that’s being planned.” Lottie shrugs. “I guess something to just think about. That way everyone is happy.”
Dave turns to Ellie and asks, “Would that make you happy, sweetheart?”
Ellie smiles and nods. “It would, actually. I’d really, really love that.”
When Lottie turns to me, she has the biggest fuck you look on her face. And here I thought I was the cocky one.
“Then I’ll speak with my mom and tell her our plans. She’ll have to be okay with that.”
Ellie excitedly kisses Dave just as the doorbell rings. “Food is here. Will you get that, Dave? Lottie and I can head into the dining room.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll help you,” I say to Dave as I rise from my chair and then offer assistance to Lottie, who thankfully takes it.
Ellie links her arm with Lottie’s and says, “I’m so glad I met you.”
Together they head toward the dining room, while Dave grips me by the shoulder and guides me toward the front door. “I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ellie this excited. Lottie, man, she’s something else. Your grandma was smart, setting you up with her. She smooths out your rough edges, and she brings light into the room. She’s quite the catch.”
If only he knew.
But, hell, I have to give credit where credit is due—Lottie is absolutely killing it tonight.
She’s more than a catch, she’s absolute perfection.
“So, how far along are you?” Ellie asks. “I’m assuming not very far, since you don’t seem to be showing at all.”
“Eight weeks,” Lottie says and then nudges me with her shoulder. “This guy shouldn’t be telling anyone, but he seems to let it slip more than he should.”
We devoured our Chipotle, the girls actually finishing their meals first. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Lottie was pregnant from the way she unapologetically matched Ellie’s ravenous appetite. Now we’re sitting out back, a fire pit burning between us, Lottie and me in one loveseat, Dave and Ellie in another. Lottie is curled against my side with her hair tickling my cheek and her hand resting on my chest. She really is such a little thing; she fits perfectly plastered against me. Not that I’d ever admit this to her—because talk about the world of fucking pain it would be to hear her boast—but she feels good curled against me.
Apparently, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a female companion, not that I’ve really ever had one, but I’ve dated here and there, and having that feminine touch, the attention, yeah . . . it’s nice.
“I had a hard time keeping the news quiet too,” Dave says. “When you find out your girl is pregnant, it’s hard not to shout it from the rooftops.”
“Same,” I say. “I just can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.”
“Have you bought anything for the baby?” Ellie asks.
“Not yet. But I’ve looked at a few cribs from Pottery Barn that caught my attention. My sister is all about sustainability, and Pottery Barn makes a lot of their furniture from repurposed wood.”
“Oh, wow, I love that. Dave, we should look at Pottery Barn.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart.”
Dave is such a yes-man when it comes to Ellie. Wish he was a yes-man with business too. Maybe I should butter him up with some of Ellie’s tactics.
What my brothers would fucking do if they saw me curled up against Dave’s armpit, slowly stroking his thigh while nuzzling my head into him.
Also . . . was Lottie really looking at cribs? I doubt she’d say anything that isn’t true out of fear of being called out. So, how the hell does she know about repurposed-wood cribs?
“Did you hear that?” Lottie asks me. “Dave is going to give Ellie anything she wants. Is it the same with us?” Lottie pats my chest with her hand and looks up at me. She’s inches away, and I know if I were an outsider looking in, we would 100% look like a couple. All because of Lottie.
“You know you can have whatever you want,” I respond. “When do I ever say no?”
Her finger plays with the buttons on my shirt. “Just last night, when I asked for—”
“Not around company,” I say, not sure what she was going to say, but wanting to cut it off before it becomes something it shouldn’t. Lottie is a wild card and she’s been on her best behavior all night; I could see the potential of her slipping soon.
Dave chuckles. “Best we go grab dessert while Lottie convinces Huxley to perform . . . whatever it is she wants.”
“Might be best,” Lottie says with a wink.
Dave and Ellie retreat inside the house. When the door clicks shut, Lottie stays in place, but the sweetness in her tone dissipates as she says, “I don’t appreciate you squeezing my leg when you think I’m about to say something wrong. I’m going to have bruises.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
Her finger plays with the side of my cheek, her nail scraping against my scruff. “I’m really carrying the team over here. No wonder Dave doesn’t want to do business with you. You’re like a dead fish in a button-up shirt.”
My brows narrow. “I’m not a dead fish.”
“Uh, it’s like pulling teeth to get you to show some personality. Seriously, where’s Chipotle guy? He was way more fun than the one I’ve been petting all night.”
“You haven’t been petting me.”
“Feels like it.” Her finger tugs on my lower lip. “Are we going to have to kiss at some point? Because I’m really not interested in that. Kissing a dead fish is really not an activity I’d care to partake in.”
“I’m not a goddamn dead fish,” I seethe.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she says. “You barely even laugh. That helps, you know—laughing, interacting. Making a joke on occasion. I know he’s a business associate, but lighten up, man. Sheesh.”
“How about we leave the business interactions to me, and you just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing?”
“Oh, making you look more likeable because you had enough sense in that pea-sized brain of yours to ask me to fake marry you?”
“You’re foul to be around,” I say.
Her eyebrows shoot up and then her eyes grow round with anger. “I’m foul to be around? Uh, hello pot, it’s kettle . . . you’re black. Also, I’m not sure how I could be foul to be around when clearly I’m the life of this borderline Hallmark movie we’ve been living in the past two hours.” Still whispering, she says, “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m having to talk about marriage, babies, and what kind of linens I like to use on my bed. Shoot. Me. Now.”
“Then talk about something you like,” I say.
“Oh, you want me to do that? Shall I discuss the latest dildo I purchased from an exotic website? Because it has a suction cup and I love using it in the shower.”
Jesus.
Christ.
I shift in my seat and turn more toward her. “Do not bring that up.”
She smirks. “But I thought you wanted me to talk about what I wanted to talk about.”
“This is why you’re foul to be around.”
“Coming from the one with the stick up their ass.” Her eyes travel to my lips and then back up. “You’re unpleasant.”
“You’re unhinged.”
“You open your mouth and put people to sleep,” she snaps back.
“You’re obnoxious.”
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re bawdy.”
“You’re imperious.”
“Aww, look at them,” Ellie says, coming back outside. “They’re so cute, aren’t they, Dave?”
“They do look quite perfect for each other.”