2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) (18 page)

“So now you’re washing your hands of me?” Tara asked.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re so bent that I
can’t even begin to—”

“Cat, I just needed a change of pace. Some time to
figure out… things.” She slumped her shoulders like some of the life was
knocked out of her.

“That’s what a vacation is for, but here you are,
taking it to the extreme. Just like you do everything. You frigging
moved
.
People don’t do that.”

“But I’m done with New York. Nothing is there for me
anymore.”

“Your whole life is there—”

“It’s not the same since you left. And Jason—”

“Jason what?”

“Nothing.” Tara shook her head, denying herself.

“You can’t just cut him out. Not now. Not like this.
Not when you’re going to have—”

“It was a blip, Cat.”

She stared at her friend worriedly.

“I liked him, okay? He was from the right state and he
fulfilled my needs… over and over again.” A smirk.

“This isn’t a joke, Tara.”

“I’m not joking. We had spectacular sex.” She got
spacey all of a sudden. “I mean completely above and beyond… and I never would
have figured him for—” She shook out of it. “That’s not everything though.”

“No, it’s not,” Catherine agreed, her gaze trying to
pierce through Tara’s give-or-take manner.

“And it’s over now.”

“Are you seriously telling me that your relationship
with him was entirely sexual? Nothing more?”

“I needed him for my—”

“Tara, so help me, if you mention your PINK sex bucket
list again I will—”

“You’ll what?”

Catherine was silent, staring. “Is anything you do ever
about more than getting off?”

“You obviously don’t know how good getting off can
be.”

“You didn’t just say that.”

“It’s okay, you’re repressed, I get it,” she continued
to jab, keeping her up against the ropes.

“I’m not repressed. My sex life is just fine thank
you.”

“Fine?”

“It’s perfectly—”

“Perfectly what? Average?” Tara chided. “At Fynn’s
place. In Fynn’s bed. Missionary?”

An “O” of shock.

“Is that about right?”

“Okay, so I’m not a fucking whore like you, so what?”

“You tell bedtime stories with that mouth?” Tara
asked.

“I can’t believe—I mean, what are you think—but then
again, you don’t think, do you?—like I should even be asking
you
that
question…. I mean it’s obvious considering—” Catherine gestured toward her
friend’s midsection: exhibit A. And at the house: exhibit B.

“So I guess that’s it,” Tara said tightly.

“Yup, I guess it is.”

“She bought a house, Fynn. Right down the road!” Hissing
the words, thankful they were finally alone. She had been seething all evening.
Trying not to show it at dinner. Trying to get through the family game of Candy
Land that Cara had mandated, using an extra pawn for a fifth player, a Hershey
Kiss Pop-Pop kept threatening to eat. “Do you understand what that means? She’s
going to be here forever. For-ev-er.”

Catherine had first shared the news of Tara’s new home
blandly, while passing the butter at dinner, swallowing her animosity down with
her mother’s meatballs that she’d already forgotten how to make since her
lesson that afternoon. But with Tara on the brain it was no wonder that she
couldn’t retain anything else. It was mind-blowing, what her friend was doing.
And worse, her best chance for someone sharing her feelings about Tara’s
brashness, Elizabeth Hemmings, seemed completely unconcerned (her exact words: “Oh,
isn’t that nice.”). Catherine Marie would have gotten lambasted for the same.
It figured.

“It’s a free country,” Fynn said.

“There’s a lot of that going around.” She hated the
inconsequential nature those words brought to very consequential things. “You
seriously don’t have a problem with this?” She plopped onto the bed, watching
Fynn as he went about his getting-ready-for-bed business.

He emptied his pockets onto his dresser. “My feelings
don’t matter. If she bought a house she bought a house. Unless she’s planning
to turn it into a sex shop.”

“She probably is,” she grumbled.

“What?” His head snapped in her direction, stopping
him in the midst of unzipping his jeans.

She held his gaze, conveying just how perfectly “Tara”
that assumption was.

“She’s your friend. It can’t be that bad to have a
friend in town. You used to get along perfectly fine living in New York
together.”

“We didn’t live together. It was across town. Way
across. And New York is huge, mind you.
This, here,
is like having her
living in my apartment building. I would have had a problem with.”

“Wasn’t she just living in your actual apartment?”

“I sublet it to her after I moved out.”
Get with
the program, man!
It wasn’t that hard: the size of the town was inversely
proportional to the level of pain in the ass that Tara would be. “This is a
small town, Fynn.
Small.
I can’t take that kind of closeness. And she is
going to have a little Tara running around and wreaking havoc just like her!
The same age as our baby. They’ll grow up together. Probably be in the same
class all their lives. And our daughter will end up having sex by thirteen and
be knocked up by sixteen because she’s friends with Tara’s daughter—or worse,
Tara could have a boy who is the actual one who knocks her up because Tara sees
nothing wrong with sex at any age with anyone at any time whatsoever.”

Fynn’s body reared back from the force of her
onslaught. “Our daughter?” he choked out.

Catherine froze but for squirming little Eve in her
belly—apropos, as they were both on the hot seat.

“A baby girl?” he asked again.

“I was—it’s just a… scenario… that I was making up. I mean,
think about the far-reaching repercussions of this situation… if it was a girl.”

“You know.” His gaze was piercing.

“No. I don’t.”

“But you just said it.”

She shook her head, lips sealed.

“You’ve been keeping it from me?”

“It was an accident,” she rushed out, “seeing what I
saw.” That much was partly true at least. “I knew you didn’t want to know, and
I was afraid that if you knew that I knew then you would end up knowing soon
enough because I can’t keep things from you.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, like this. And isn’t it a good thing that I
can’t keep things from you?” she offered.

“Except you did.”

“I haven’t known that long. Besides, I thought you would
want that.”

“I wanted us both to be on the same page. Knowing or
not knowing. Being surprised together either way.” 

“And we are. Look here. Right now,” motioning between
them, “we’re
both
surprised.”

“I can’t believe you know. That you’ve known. And—” He
came over to the bed and dropped down next to her, lost.

“I didn’t want to ruin it for you like I ruined it for
myself,” she said earnestly, though she’d been happy to know apart from the
treachery.

“You probably already have a name picked out too,” he
added lowly.

“No.”

“You do!” he accused, so close now it made it even
harder to avoid him.

“I just had an idea that I’ve been mulling over.” And
thinking about and calling her and imagining her as—

“And what is this ‘idea’?”

Catherine was nervous enough to take up biting her
fingernails, though she’d never done so in her life. It was one thing to pick a
name she loved, a whole different thing to toss it out there to get brutally
picked apart, and considering the circumstances, Fynn had every right to pick
it apart. To deny her just for principle or just for spite—in this case one in
the same.

Naming a baby was not for the faint of heart. And now
that her heart was set on Eve, the last thing she wanted to hear was that Fynn
had dated a girl named Eve who broke his heart into a thousand pieces and shot
his dog and possibly turned into a serial killer somewhere along the way.

“I’m waiting patiently… like I was going to do until our
due date,” he said pointedly.

“Eve.” It was but a squeak, and she winced as she said
it.

“Eve.” A solid, single syllable right back at her. Not
a question. No hesitation. Just Eve.

She ventured a careful look into his eyes.

“It’s simple. Classic…. I wish I hated it.”

“So you don’t?”

He shook his head. “Which completely pisses me off,
and you know that you are going to have to let me give her a terrible middle
name that you absolutely despise just to make it up to me.”

“Like what?”

“Andromeda.”

She tried not to think about her penance, focusing on
the positive. “You really like it?”

“Yes, I like it,” he sighed. “I can’t believe it’s a
little girl. Eve Trager…. We’re having a little girl,” he smiled.

“So you’re happy?” Catherine searched.

“Not so much with you, but yes, I’m happy.”

“I didn’t mean to find out.”
At first.
“It just
sort of happened.” Minimizing her part.

“I never actually thought you would make it till the
end,” he assured her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Suddenly less shamed
and more irate.

“You aren’t known for your patience.”

“And you aren’t known for your tact, Mr. Trager.”

“Fair enough. And you know what else would make things
more fair?” He captured her in his arms and pulled them both down against the
bed. “No excuses,” he warned, his hands wandering over her belly, cupping her
breasts, breathing hot in her ear, tugging her earlobe with his teeth.

“What about—”

“What about nothing. You have to pay the piper.” The
words steamy against her neck, followed by an electrifying jolt as his tongue
touched a trail along her skin.

She squirmed, breathless with the tickle of excitement
that coursed through her. She turned in his arms, facing him, “Do you think we
are adventurous enough?” All seriousness, Tara’s words suddenly overwhelming
her thoughts.

“Adventurous?” He played with the buttons on her
blouse, flicking them open one by one. “What, are you wanting to travel?”  

“No, not that kind of adventurous.”

“So you’re talking about…”

“Sex,” she said firmly, sitting up, staring down at
him like it was an interrogation.

“Well we were about to adventure there, so I’d say,
why don’t we keep going and find out,” he joked.

“Do you know that we’ve only ever had sex here? Right
here in this house?”

“Except for those times when we didn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “So a few times in New York at my
place. My place or your place and nowhere in between,” she charged. “No beach
or park or woods. Never outside. No backseat of the car. Or front seat. No
airplane or pool. No—”

“And this is a problem?”

“Don’t you think it is?”

“Well—”

She didn’t let him answer. “Other people have stories.
Places. Times.
Things
they do. Crazy things.” She looked down at him pitifully
now. She’d never been like those other people. Maybe that was the problem.

“What do you want, Catherine?” he asked plainly. “Don’t
beat around the bush.”

“Punny,” she sulked.

“I’m serious. Is there something you want? Or need?”

“Isn’t there something
you
want?” she
challenged, unwilling to answer... because she didn’t know what she wanted. She
just knew that Tara was driving her nuts and making her feel like she was some
kind of sexual sap who didn’t know how to let go or get off or anything.

“I have what I want,” Fynn said plainly.

“A likely answer from a man who hates confrontation,”
she grumbled.

“That’s not fair,” he countered.

“You know you hate to fight or bicker or have any kind
of words at all.”

“You’re trying to instigate something.”

“I just asked a simple question.”

“But
why
did you ask?”

“Forget it,” she said brusquely.

Now it was his turn to sit up. “Every time you get a
bug up your ass, you do this.”

“That’s a pretty picture,” she snapped.

“You search for something rather than coming right out
with it.”

“Out with what?”

“If you want to know, just ask me.”  

She stared at him, holding his gaze, wondering who
would blink first. He didn’t. She groaned. “Are you happy with our sex life?”

“See? Was that so bad?” he challenged. “And the answer
is yes, other than the amount of it, which could always be more.”

“More of the same?”

“You act like the same is something distasteful,
wrinkling your nose like that.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d been doing it.

“You aren’t going to sway me with your little
subliminal tricks, you know. Sex is like bacon. I love bacon.
Love
it. I
don’t need different cuts of bacon or flavors injected in my bacon, I just like
pure and unadulterated bacon. That’s how I feel about you.”

Catherine felt her heart warming, her defenses
melting, her fears dissipating. She cocked her head to the side, grabbed his
shirt and pulled him to her, letting her blouse fall down off her shoulders. “So
I’m not turkey bacon?” she joked lightly. “Bacon’s boring and bland cousin
once-removed?”

“No, you’re the real deal.”

She squeezed him tighter.

“And further, I happen to like bed sex. At-home sex. I
like to think of it as comfortable, we-have-all-the-time-in-the-world sex,” Fynn
said, the vibration of his words traveling from her ear through her body to her
nether regions. “I think sex is private and should be; danger is overrated and
short-lived. Oh, and next time Tara gets in your head about our sex life, tell
her to take a fucking hike.”

“How did you know it—”

“Isn’t it always Tara?”