Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
“I love you so much,” I mutter to my mom.
“Oh, I love you too, darling. More than life itself,” she whispers. “And the two of you make a really beautiful couple,” she says observing us, after we break apart. “You quoting Gem’s father…well, that was something else,” she compliments Logan. She only uses that expression for things that have really, really impressed her.
“Have you kids given any thought to when you’ll make it official?” Rupert asks.
“This summer,” Logan nods happily. “Do you think you two could fly over again?” he asks his parents.
“The entire US Military couldn’t stop us,” Mary-Gene says, and I don’t doubt her.
“Will it be in Paris?” my moms asks.
I shrug and point at Logan. “He’s the ideas man,” I grin.
“It might be,” he says elusively, probably because I’m standing right next to him and he’s clearly not quite ready to share his plans with me yet.
A sudden idea coming to me, I ask Mary-Gene and Rupert, “What was your wedding song?”
“I’m a believer by Neil Diamond,” Mary-Gene smiles at the memory of it.
“It was the song that was playing the first time I saw her,” Rupert reveals, “and the words were so fitting that we used it for our wedding.”
Wait a second… “You fell in love at first sight?” I ask Rupert in disbelief. He nods and I immediately start giggling, saying, “It all makes sense now – it runs in the family! Is that going to be our song too?” I then ask Logan.
“Nope,” Logan shakes his head, grinning at me.
Rupert surveys me for a moment, before saying, “If I had to pick a song from him to you, it’d have to be—”
“Don’t say it,” Logan stops him. “Whisper it to me,” he tells his father dramatically, making my eyes roll playfully. Rupert whispers something in Logan’s ear and then Logan looks at his father in complete amazement. “How could you possibly know that?” he exclaims.
Rupert laughs and claps Logan on the shoulder. “You’re an old time romantic, just like me,” he says.
Old time romantic, I start pondering… “Sinatra?” I guess.
“A little closer to home than that,” Logan tells me.
A little closer to which home? Charleston? Paris? Oh, I’ve no idea!
“Mom, you’re suspiciously quiet,” Logan says to Mary-Gene. “I’m waiting for you to go crazy.”
“She did that earlier already,” Rupert tells us, and Mary-Gene unabashedly nods in agreement.
“Totally loco, kid, it’s all out of my system,” she assures us.
“I think we need champagne,” my mom announces. “Can we tell people?” she then asks eagerly, her excitement making me beam in happiness.
Logan gives me a what-do-you-think kind of look. Hmm…on a night of such a professional high, it does seem like the perfect opportunity to let word slip out about this personal high too.
“Sure,” I tell my mom. “What’s good news if not shared, right? Besides, once everyone knows, a whole new party can begin,” I laugh.
The five of us begin walking towards the bar, and I can’t help thinking – we so took back the night.
* * *
It’s four AM by the time the elevator pings, admitting us into our apartment. I feel like the living dead – we’ve been out at the party for ten hours! Not even in my wildest youth did I ever manage such an impressive feat. I kick off my heels and groan at the heavenly feeling of the flat floor underneath my feet. They’re going to hurt tomorrow, I know it already. Even without my heels I still sway where I stand, and it sure looks to me like Logan is doing the same.
We’re ever so slightly inebriated, except for the ever so slightly bit. Totally not our fault, I tell myself. The news of our engagement spread like wildfire, and because most of the people in the room have no idea how long we’ve been together, what questions and muttering there might have been had they known – things like: are you pregnant? Or: isn’t it a bit soon? – gave way to lots of toasting and celebrating. One glass of champagne turned into two, and two into three. This pattern continued for quite some time.
“Considering you only wanted to make it through the speeches, I’m impressed with your stamina,” I say to Logan, my speech incredibly slurred. I stumble into the kitchen to fetch two large glasses of water, praying they’ll be enough to stave off our hangovers.
“I must take after my father,” Logan quips, taking the glass that I offer him and downing it in one.
I follow suit, and then I take his hand and lead the way to the bedroom.
As we walk, he wraps his arms around my stomach and tucks his chin onto my shoulder. It’s a combination of this awkward walking stance and our high level of intoxication that makes us stagger down the short, glass-sided walkway. When we reach the bedroom, Logan kicks off his shoes mid-step and then proceeds to trip on them, ending up sprawled on the floor amid a fit of laughter.
I tower over him, looking down in amusement. He really is gorgeous, I think sleepily. “Can you make it to bed, baby?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Well, I’m going to bed,” I tell him, though I don’t move a muscle.
Instead I start stripping on the spot, and a short moment later, Logan copies me, his hands fumbling with the buttons on his pants while I reach for the hem of my dress, both of us engaged in similar movements to those on the rooftop earlier. Unlike then, this time I pull my dress over my head, aware, even though I’m drunk, that this dress is precious and needs to be treated with care. At least, that’s what my drunken brain tells me.
I dodder through to the dressing room to hang it up and by the time I’m back by his side, Logan is still lying on the floor, now sans his pants and boxers. He starts on undressing his upper half as I undo my bra, with a little more difficultly than usual – is this how men feel all the time? – and when it’s loose I let it fall on the ground. I then teeter dangerously as I step out of my panties, which I pulled back on after our sexcapade on the roof, and as I do so, Logan somehow manages to outstrip me despite his position on the ground.
When I’m finally free of my underwear his hand starts gliding up and down my calf as he looks up at me, his eyes sleepy but appreciative. A smile overcoming his face, he starts humming It’s My Party once more and I can’t keep the responding grin from my own face as I remember what his new lyrics are. Does he want to do that, again?
Answering my unasked question, Logan sits up, and then shuffles over to the window, sitting with his back to it.
“Are you coming to bed?” I ask him again, still grinning.
Again, Logan shakes his head. He holds out his hand, which I take readily, and he pulls me closer to him. I go with a giggle, standing on either side of his legs, my bare crotch level with his face. His hands grip my ankles and slowly, so slowly they begin moving up my legs, and all the while he’s humming away.
When his hands reach my backside he squeezes me and a small, amorous growl escapes him, sending a shiver of late night desire through my body. He pulls me closer to him, and I take one long, measured step forward, my toes only inches away from the window.
Logan then slides down the glass a little, and tilts his head back, creating a seat for me to sit on. My throne. I give him what he’s asking for in humming his little tune, I move my sex over his face. His hands hold my backside firmly, and I press my body against the cold glass, my arms reaching up above me. There’s really something magical about this window, my drunken mind muses. Then Logan takes me into his mouth, I moan loudly, and my entire capacity for thought is gone.
* * *
It’s twenty to one in the afternoon when I wake up on Sunday. I stretch, taking stock of how my body feels. Oh, shit, I’m aching all over. My poor feet are killing me, giving me hell for keeping them cooped up in those heels for so long, and my head throbs painfully. Last nights last-ditch attempt at avoiding a hangover has failed. Ow. Wanting to see how Logan’s faring, I inch closer to him on the other side of the bed. Slow movements, Gem. I rest my cheek on his bare chest, and something on his bedside table catches my eye. I stare at it for a long moment, then finally registering what it is, my eyes dart wide and I suddenly feel irrevocably awake.
It’s a little black velvet box. The type which typically holds a ring in it…Logan told me that my ring would be delivered today. An excited albeit potentially premature smile spreads across my face. Is that what’s inside of it? What does it look like? A plain band or bejewelled, I wonder.
My heart hammering, I sit up quickly. Too quickly. My head spins. Ow, I think again. Not wanting my aching hangover to ruin this moment, I ignore the pounding pain as best as I can, and I reach over him to pick up the box, giving it a little shake.
My fingers itch to open it, just a little bit, just so that I can have a tiny, teeny peek inside, but my conscience forbids me. I peer down at Logan, checking how asleep he is, and judging from the fluttering of his eyelashes that he’s sleeping deeply.
He’d never know…
But I would, and it would haunt me forever, I think dramatically. If I don’t want to kickstart the rest of our life together with a lie, then I have to wait until he’s awake, I tell myself.
I summon all of my willpower to do so. I lay back down and place the box on Logan’s chest a few inches over from where I rest my head. I stare at it continually – perhaps in the hope that it will miraculously open itself, which of course it doesn’t – until Logan wakes up I-don’t-know-how-long later. He stirs under me, making sweet, rousing noises, and then feeling something untoward on top of him, he pats his stomach until his hand finds the little box. He starts laughing sleepily when he realises that I’ve moved it.
“I found something intriguing,” I tell him needlessly, propping myself up on my elbow and leaning over him.
“Did you look?” he asks quietly, blinking his eyes open to gaze at me.
I shake my head vehemently, infinitely more awake than he is. “I’ve be willing you to wake up for ages,” I smile at him. “Where did it come from?” I ask, tapping the box.
“The jeweller came around this morning. You were sleeping,” he explains. “We could hear your snores all the way from the elevator,” he grins, stretching next to me.
I pinch him in retaliation, making him laugh. I do not snore.
Still laughing, Logan does a sit up, his stomach muscles going taut under my hand as he reaches up to kiss my lips. “I take it you slept well?” he asks me.
I widen my eyes at him as he lies back down. “You want to do smalltalk when this thing is lying here?” I ask him disbelievingly, indicating the little box once more.
He laughs again before telling me, “I just need a minute to wake up. I’m adamant that I do it properly this time.” He looks at me for a long moment, before a broad, dimple-inducing smile overcomes his face. His light-green eyes gleam as they survey me. The sight of him is so engaging, so engrossing, so distracting.
I put the box back onto the bedside table and then drape my body over Logan’s, showering his torso, shoulders, neck, and face with rousing kisses. When I finally reach his lips, his hands cup my face and he holds it to his, kissing me eagerly.
“Awake now?” I whisper into his mouth a few delicious moments later.
He nods, his eyes conveying that perfect mixture of adoration and amorous desire. “Shades,” he calls loudly, and slowly light begins to fill the room. It’s a clear, sunny day outside. Then to me, he says, “Baby, you’re going to have to get off of me.”
“I’m sorry, my hearing is bad this morning, did you say – get off of you or get off on you?” I smile against his lips.
“I’m good with either,” Logan chuckles.
Hmm, this time the celebrations can wait, I think. I’m dying to find out what’s in the box!
I roll off of him, and watch him leave the bed, standing tall and naked with his back to me, stretching his beautiful body right in front of my captivated eyes. He then turns around, showcasing his morning wood, while simultaneously picking up the little box from the bedside table and offering his hand to help me out of bed.
I take his hand eagerly, my heart rate increasing by the second, and once standing, Logan leads the way to the small open space between the window and the bed. His clothes and my underwear are still strewn everywhere, and letting go of my hand momentarily, he bends over in front of me, moving everything to the side whilst also providing me with a very eye-catching view of his male anatomy.
Giggling, I mutter, “Now there’s a sight not every girl gets to see right before she’s proposed to.”
Logan starts chuckling. “You love my backside,” he reminds me. “I’m just giving you want you want, baby,” he says, making me laugh heartily.
The clothes cleared to one side, Logan swivels around, taking ahold of my hand once more. Our laughter abates quickly as we stand looking at each other, the formality and intensity of the situation overcoming us. I know we’re already engaged, but that doesn’t stop the excitement that courses through me, nor the butterflies that take flight in my tummy.
“Gemima,” he says.
“Logan,” I smile.
He takes a breath and then sinks down onto one knee before me, and everything in me increases – my heartbeat, my smile, my anticipation. He lets go of my hand and holds up the little black box in both of his own, and due to the angle that I’m looking from, Logan’s sizeable erection is directly in my line of sight beyond the box.
My giggles return. “Your penis is distracting me,” I confess.
Logan laughs loudly. “I can’t help it. I’m happy, I’m completely in awe of your beautiful naked body, and besides,” he finally opens the box, “this will distract you even more.”
He’s right; it does! Inside the box is a silver ring with a thin, elegant band. In the centre a large, oval-shaped, light-teal stone sits surrounded by smaller, white diamonds. The central stone mesmerises me instantly. It has elements of both green and blue to it, and looks as clear as the water on a tropical beach.
Expectedly, my mouth opens in astonishment. I had no idea what to expect from Logan, but this piece of jewellery is beyond the beauty of any other I’ve ever laid eyes on. Surely, I’m not going to be allowed to wear this, I think to myself. It’s looks as though it belongs on display behind glass, under armed guard.
“Wow,” is all that I can manage to say. He’s good at distracting me, that’s for sure!
“It’s platinum with diamonds, and the central stone is a sapphire,” Logan informs me.
The next two words I manage are not an improvement. “Holy shit!”
Logan beams at my reaction.
“Baby, I’m stunned,” I tell him honestly. “It’s beautiful, Logan. It’s beyond beautiful!” Its charm is entirely ineffable! “Can I actually wear it?” I ask him, feeling wholly foolish, but having to make absolutely sure.
“Yes,” Logan laughs.
“Everywhere?”
“Anywhere and everywhere you want,” he informs me. “It’s basically indestructible.”
“Phew,” I say breathlessly, making Logan laugh again.
He takes it out of the box, and after throwing the box onto the bed, Logan takes my hand and holds the ring over the tip of the appropriate finger.
“Gemima Samuels, love of my life, woman of my dreams, will you marry me? Again,” he smiles.
“Of course I will, Logan,” I tell him immediately, and half a second later, he slips the ring onto my finger; it’s a perfect, snug fit. Smiling so widely that my cheeks hurt, I step towards him, cupping his face in my hands. “I love you. Forever,” I say, gazing down at him.
“Forever,” he nods. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he says in response, before getting to his feet once more and wrapping his arms around me as he kisses me headily.
My hands are still on his face as we kiss and when I open my eyes, I marvel at the sight of my new ring, and I can’t keep from blurting out, “I can’t fucking believe you bought this for me!”
Knowing what I’m looking at Logan smiles into my mouth. “Do you honestly like it, because I can—”
“I love it,” I breathe, cutting him off. There’s not one detail that I would change. It’s the kind of ring I’d choose for myself only if money was of no consequence. “It cost a lot, didn’t it? It looks like it cost a lot,” I say, having to ask him.
“I’ve been saving my pocket money,” he chuckles. “Ever since I saw you at that party,” he adds, playfully. “Even then I thought this colour would suit your blue eyes,” he looks at the ring for himself, “and it does,” he smiles, looking at me again. “Endless, timeless, and easy to get lost in,” he notes.
I beam back at him. “You’re sure I don’t need a security guard to wear it outside?”
“I’m sure,” he nods, amused by the notion. “I want you to feel at ease when you wear it, if you wear it. Which, of course, you don’t have to,” he lets me know. “Us getting married is what matters, this is just an extra gift,” he says.
Although his priorities are exactly the same as mine – marriage first, presents second – I say to him, “What about your extra gift?”
“Oh, I don’t think they make engagement rings for men,” he grins. “But I wouldn’t say no to you baking another one of your cakes,” he tells me eagerly, making me laugh.
Feeling elated, besotted, and every other good feeling known to man, I wrap my arms around Logan neck and whisper against his lips, “Thank you. For this ring, for asking me to marry you, for believing in us, for everything.”
“You’re welcome. You’re worth it, Gemima,” he whispers in reply.
I stare at his breathtaking face for a second longer, before I lunge forward, parting his delectable lips with my tongue as I kiss him passionately. We stay entwined for several sensual minutes until Logan picks me up, takes two steps over to the edge of the bed and tosses me onto it. I land on my back in a laughing heap, expecting him to join me imminently, but instead he stays standing.
“How about breakfast in bed? Or lunch?” he amends.
“Coffee,” I say, almost as a plea.
Chuckling, Logan nods his agreement and promises to return, pronto. After watching him leave – refusing to deny myself an opportunity to stare at his naked backside – I roll over and lie on my front gazing at my stunning new piece of jewellery. It’s going to take me some time to get used to the feeling of it, but I’m more than happy to do the time, I think, giddily. I stare into the depths of the central stone and feel as though I could look into it everyday for a lifetime and always see something slightly different. It’s so captivating! I’ve never seen anything like it.
“You have amazing taste,” I tell Logan when he walks back into the room a few minutes later, putting our steaming cups of coffee down on his bedside table.
“Of course I do. Have you seen my fiancé?” he compliments me.
I bask in his words, though my eyes stay glued to my ring.
“Oh, no, it’s already begun,” Logan sighs in faux-dramatics. “She’d rather look at her ring than look at me,” he says to himself.
I peer over my shoulder at him immediately. “Never,” I grin.
Evidently teasing me, he smiles back, and then crawls across the bed towards me. He lies on top of me, squishing me so that a funny hhhfff sound escape my lips. I can feel his hard member against my backside.
“I had a message from Karen asking us if we’re still interested in going to Disneyland,” he tells me. “At the risk of sounding petty, I told her we’d only go if Taylor wasn’t.”
“That’s exactly what I would’ve said,” I tell him.
“Good,” he murmurs, his lips against my shoulders. “We’ll have to be ready in an hour.”
“Are we going to celebrate before or after?” I ask mischievously.
“Celebrate?”
“Uh-huh. Consummate our engagement. Again,” I smile into the bedding. “We can do it like this, you know, so that I can look at my ring,” I toy with him.
Logan wriggles on top of me, payback for my words, and yet despite what I just said, I put my hands to better use, reaching behind me to squeeze his ass with a giggle. But when he moves slightly lower down my body, his ass no longer in reach, I rest my hands under my head, delighting in Logan’s next move. At my right hip, his hand squeezes between the mattress and I, moving diagonally south until he reaches my sex. Instinctively I tilt my pelvis backwards, pressing it firmly into his crotch. Ah! I’m caught once more in a perfect, inescapable embrace, the bed beneath me, Logan on top of me, with no choice but to indulge in the pleasure that I know I will be dealt.
“It really sucks to be me today,” I tell him sarcastically.
“Ditto, baby,” he says and I can hear that he’s smiling.
Logan starts stroking me slowly, delicately, and I want to widen my legs but I can’t. All I can do is whimper and continue pushing my ass backwards, into him, which in turn makes him groan in my ear. Oh, yes!
“I really do have the best taste,” he murmurs, moving my long hair to one side, so that he can kiss my neck as he continues his windup.
Desiring to do the same to him, I squeeze my non-ringed hand between his abdomen and mine and take ahold his erection. He eases his weight off of me slightly so that I’m able to both piston him and widen my legs against his touch. We’re in an awkwardly twisted and somewhat uncomfortable position, but it feels too good to stop. My whimpers turn to moans and I grip the duvet with my ringed hand, too consumed in the feeling of Logan stroking me to contemplate my new ring. He’s really good at distracting me, I think again.
Heightening our experience in his usual expert-style, Logan waits until we’re both frenetic before he enters me, our bodies now as flat and flush against each other as they could possibly be, both of my hands gripping the duvet in sexual anticipation. He slides into me, stimulating me more with every inch. I relish the feeling of his skin against mine. The sound of his satisfying sigh drives me wild, and as he begins moving, he keeps stroking my clitoris with his hand, provoking every sense I possess.
“Logan,” I pant breathlessly. Ah, he is amazing!
“Oh, baby, you feel so good,” he whispers, his voice erratic.
There is no reprieve from the provocation, even in the infinitesimal moments when Logan holds himself inside of me, I’m still pushed further by the feeling of him pulsing.
Ah, yes! Yes!
He feels phenomenal! He starts pumping quickly and I drown in the music of his glorious groans. My own are caught by the duvet, which I bury my face into, my nails digging in deeply as he winds me up tighter and tighter, like a coil whose tension is about to explode.
Abruptly, I scream as he hits the perfect internal spot, my body somehow opening to him more, begging him to do it again. He does, and I scream for a second time.
Fuck! Oh, fuck!
I’m in awe that I haven’t fallen to pieces already. I’m so close, delectably close. Knowing this, Logan does what he does best and calms everything down. He starts moving so slowly in and out of me, with more self control than I will ever be able to understand, that I start shaking against him, aching desperately for him to finish me off. At the same time, I don’t want this to end. Ever. I want him to continue massaging me in this wholly erotic fashion until I forget my own name. Holy shit! He’s doing a damn good job; I’ve lost all awareness of everything around me, except his slow, measured movements. My name begins with a G, but that’s all I can recall.
Instinctively I push out against him, hard, and he calls out in rapture, before he changes tact again. Still taking me slowly, he now thrusts with more force, deep and sharp, hitting that jackpot spot over and over. My mind deserts me; he’s pushed me too far. Far too far!
“Logan,” I mewl into the pillow, feeling the explosion about to go off. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
He pushes me over the edge, triggering an all-consuming orgasm that erupts throughout my body, going on and on, suffocating me in pleasure. I can’t even scream, it’s too elysian for that. All I can do is feel the sensations and try my best not to pass out. Oh my god!
Logan speeds up, and my body trembles again. I manage to open my legs wider still, wanting more. How does this feel so good? How does he stimulate me so soon after coming?
“Gemima,” Logan cries, closing in on his orgasm, and I remember, Oh, yes, that’s my name.
My body’s not used to being worshipped the way that Logan worships it, nor driven to such heights, but he proves to me for the umpteenth time that we can reach these new heights together. The seconds keep on passing and the pleasure keeps increasing and before I know it I’m screaming into the bedding once more. I feel myself tightening.
“Ah!” Logan groans loudly, on the verge of releasing himself into me, and a few perfect thrusts later he orgasms, shaking behind me. His movements, his sounds, and the feeling of his hands gripping me are enough to send me soaring. My body takes flight in pure euphoria as I come for a second time, calling out effusively.
Celebration sex really is the best, I muse, feeling utterly sated. “It really…really sucks to be me,” I pant once more, allowing my body to go fully limp.
Logan laughs airily, his full weight on me, his hands gently caressing my thighs and backside as he comes down from his high. He pulls out of me and rolls onto his back, breathing rapidly. “You’re so damn good at that, Gemima,” he tells me.
“Me?” I practically shout. “Logan, I swear, you have more self control than a monk!” I exclaim, prompting him to burst into a fit of laughter. “OK, no, probably not a monk,” I amend quickly. Get your facts straight, Gem!
“I think,” Logan stammers, “I think we’ll have to learn to agree to disagree on that particular subject.”
I stare at him for a long moment, before shaking my head at his suggestion, making him laugh even more. In my mind, to my body, Logan is a sex-god. It’s as simple as that.
I clamber over him to reach my aromatic cup of coffee. Although astounding, the jolting movement of Logan behind me hasn’t exactly soothed my hangover. While my headache is all but gone, no doubt due to the overload of endorphins that I’ve just had, that bilious, gluggy feeling in my stomach is crying out for help, and I’m hoping that coffee will be my saviour.
When we’re both fit for movement once more, we migrate to the kitchen, wolfing down an enormous breakfast, waiting to hear back from Karen. After her confirmation that Taylor won’t be joining us this afternoon, we have a hasty shower and dress in suitable theme-park attire, Logan’s dark jeans and deep-red sweater inadvertently matching my black skinny leg pants and red and white polkadot jumper. If I’m going to Disneyland I might as well as dress the part, I tell myself. All I need to complete my Mini Mouse outfit is a headband with mouse ears on it; those shouldn’t be too hard to find, I think excitedly.
* * *
Hours later, we soak in the warm water of my bathtub, Logan sitting behind me, as I lean back against his broad chest, my head on his shoulder. His breathing is slow, steady, and even and I’m almost certain that he’s fast asleep. I move to the side slightly so that I can peer up at him. Yup, he’s out.
He looks so handsome, even in slumber, and so much more at ease than earlier when, true to his word, he accompanied us on a roller coaster, and while his bad history didn’t stop him from having a good time, his hangover definitely did. The erratic swirling motions weren’t a good mix after a night like we had, and although Logan was able to contain his nausea, I wasn’t so lucky. Surely, I can’t be the only person to have ever thrown up in those pristine flowerbeds that they have at Disneyland, I wonder, still feeling embarrassed about it. We left soon after, before I could be arrested for public vomiting, which I’m actually paranoid is a real offence.
We dropped Karen and Abby back in La Défense, confirmed with Logan’s parents that only they would be joining him on his trip to Marseille tomorrow – due to an apparently unprecedented Taylor Tantrum that happened while we were gone – and then we drove to mine. Some soothing tea put both of our stomachs to rest, and our relaxing bath has done the rest.
At least it was relaxing, until my mobile phone starts ringing loudly from within my pants pocket piled on the floor. Logan stirs behind me. Sloshing water everywhere, I hurriedly lean halfway out of the tub to retrieve it. It’s Amber.
Settling into the water once more, I answer in a hushed voice, “Hey, baby momma.”
She laughs happily at her new name, a sound that causes a broad smile to spread across my face. She then bombards me with questions about last night and I keep my answers short so as to avoid waking Logan fully. I then request that she tells me everything about her and Seamus’ double date with Layla and Patrick, and her detailed account means that I don’t have to say another word for the next five minutes.
It doesn’t sound like it was a huge success, and certainly not something that Amber wants to do again. It turns out that Layla didn’t make a very good impression on her. “She’s fake,” Amber tells me. “No one is that happy all the fucking time,” she says in explanation. When she’s finished giving me all of the gossip, she then gets down to her real reason for calling. “As of today, I’m six weeks pregnant, so this is a curtesy call to let you know that you should stop taking your pill now, and then maybe our babies will be born close together…”
I smile to myself as I consider her words, thinking over the last several weeks and realising that I haven’t had a period since before my first lunch date with Logan. “You’re right,” I mutter to Amber, “I do need to stop taking my pill, but not so that I can get pregnant. It’s time for code-red,” I say, code-red being our slang expression for period.
“No!” she says stroppily, making my smile grow even more.
“We don’t want babies,” I tell her for what I feel might be the millionth time. “But your persistence is admirable,” I compliment her. “Why don’t you start pestering Layla and Patrick to have a baby instead?” I then tease.
She lets out a huffy sigh which makes me laugh out loud. “Alright,” she finally concedes, “so you’re going to condemn my first born to be a loner,” she says dramatically, “but maybe I can convince you when I’m pregnant with the second?”
