Outer Core (3 page)

“So?” he asks.

Pardon
? My eyes widen. “So?” My head slightly jerks back in bewilderment. “Wasn't this graphic enough for you.”

“Oh, it was.” He tries to calm his smile with not much success. In a small gesture, he motions with his hand toward the pool. “What does it really mean, though, Hales? Is it effective . . . immediately?” His eyes dance with joy.

“As of tomorrow morning when I need to take one, I guess.” I can't keep my lips from stretching wildly in response to his expression.

Daniel rises to stand, and in three confident steps, he is by my side. He grabs me by my hips and lifts me to straddle him. His lips grinning against mine. Over a smile, he presses a kiss to my no less grinning ones. “So no wedding? You're just gonna be my baby momma?”

“Yes to the wedding, just not necessarily in the near future. And certainly positive on the baby momma part.”

Daniel chuckles and brings his mouth to cover mine. And then there's just our mouths, hands, the warmth we're transferring into each other, and little needy, breathy sounds of want. When we pull back, Daniel dips his head, leveling our stare. “Are we really doing this?” It's a quiet question, yet carries so much.

My answer comes out even suppler. “Yes.”

The tender warmness of his hands frames my cheeks. His voice lightly vibrates between us. “Christ, I love you.” His warm, manly scent. The heat of his breath tunneling to my mouth. Some moments are small but hold such great significance.

In response, I tilt my head to feast on his delectable taste. I can feel a smile crawl up Daniel's lips as our lazy kiss subsides.

“What?” I smile at him. I give his mouth a chaste brush.

His lips pull up higher on the side. “Who's gonna clean the pool now that you've littered it?”

I roll my eyes. His smile becomes radiant. And before I know it, he pushes us both into the pool. I yelp at the chilled bite of the water. The “litter” is our last concern as we start peeling clothes off each other in a lustful, hurried pace.

“There are so many things out there better than monogamy,” Ian says to the strawberry daiquiri in his hand.

“Such as?” Tasha asks, leaning back onto the sunbed by the indoor pool, round cucumber slices covering her eyes.

“Um . . . happiness?”

“What's wrong now?” I say, gazing at Ian with mild frustration.

“Oh, those dear, dear days. The good ol' days are gone.” Ian sighs a tad too theatrical.

“What's up with the drama? Which old days?” Tasha says drily.

“The ‘I saw, I conquered, I came.'
Hard
, days. I feel old.”

“So much therapy in that,” I murmur.

“Best time to feel this way, uh, Ian? How does Josh feel about you mourning your good old days of debauchery? Bet he's stoked,” Tasha says, blunt disapproval coloring her words.

“Fucked-up timing.” Ian shakes his head. “Just when I'm surrounded by all these yummy, free-spirited entertainment world individuals. I swear I must have been conceived on a full moon. It's the only explanation for my rotten luck.”

“You know what? Even just talking about it is disrespectful to your boyfriend.” It's my turn to scold.

“Whateves . . .” Typical Ian dismissal. “So, Tash, dish out. Why have we gathered here today in this fine pampering establishment?”

Now that the most indulging massages have mellowed the three of us to our bones, we can finally attempt to remedy Tasha's
current
“mid-life” crisis sprawled in this scenic spa resort.

In succession, Tasha peels the cucumber circles from her eyes. She straightens in her seat and turns to us. “I felt like taking a breather from, um, everything.”

Ian sends me a sidelong glance. I shrug in return.

“For starters, work has taken over my life lately. But the funny part is, I couldn't be more relieved being so tied up with work. I don't have to come up with excuses not to see Rafa.”

Ian's brows furrow. “Didn't see that one coming.”

“I think we've reached the ‘too comfortable with each other' phase too soon. Feels like we're living together and we've been seeing each other for only a few months. The new and exciting stage no longer exists. To me, it feels like I'm with you.” Tasha jerks her chin Ian's way. “I feel too comfortable with him. Which in a way is a bit of a turn-off.”

I contemplate Tasha's words, not sure she'd be pleased with my finding. And just as I'm about to speak up, Ian beats me to it.

“Honestly, gorgeous, sounds like you're looking for excuses. I've seen you guys together. You can't take your hands off each other. It's been a while since I saw you so into someone. Too good scares you?”

Hey pot, you're sorta calling the kettle black.

Tasha opens her mouth to respond but closes it right back when I add the clincher to Ian's dogma.

“Tash, you said it yourself, you had a lot on your mind lately. No wonder you weren't fully into your relationship. Yet in the middle of all your stress and crazy, Rafa was there for you. As I see it, you're judging whatever it is you're feeling from the wrong angle.”

Tasha pouts first, wrinkles her nose, and only then seems to consider what we've just told her. She shrugs. “I don't know. You guys might be right. Maybe.” Ian and I trade pleased glances. “Anywho, glad we're here. I really needed this break. The distance.”

For some long, silent moments, we each wander off to our own thoughts.

“So.” I break the silence. “Could be that the next time we hang out, I might be carrying a little human inside me.” Both my friends dart their gaze my way and freeze. Their stunned expressions are almost comical. As if they'd masterfully synchronized their unified shock.

After what seems like the longest stupefied mini-coma, their words crash. The collision sounds like something along the line of, “Wha-yley-Grace-uh?
Hayley
!”

I can't help but classily snort. In a blink, Ian is sitting, squeezed next to my right thigh, and Tasha almost identically scoots closer to my left.

“What in the literal fuck, Hales?” Ian finally manages to utter a coherent question. Language choice aside.

When I finish recounting the night of my theatrical grand gesture tale, Tweedledum and Tweedledee are on the verge of hysterics.

“No. You didn't just throw the pills into the pool. Gorgeous, you're killing me.” Ian chuckles viciously.

“You're such a moron.” Tasha cracks up yet again. As her laughter finally winds down, she says, “Wow, that's huge, Hales. So what are you guys, like, trying now?”

In general, I'm not too keen on discussing the intimate parts of my relationship. Though I used to be the “kiss and tell thy besties” kind of gal, with Daniel it's always been different. Everything that happens between us, everything about him, feels deeper, special. Something I prefer to keep between the two of us.

“We need to wait two weeks before, um, trying. I'm not going to get into the details, something about getting off the pill.”

“Don't you prefer to tie the knot first?” Tasha asks. “Oh, wow. Your dad is going to flip.”

Ian tsks twice, shaking his head from side to side. “A child born out of wedlock; oh sugar, flipping is putting it wildly mildly.”

“I don't really mind. The wedding part will happen eventually. And about my dad?” I sigh. “He'll cope.”

“What about Daniel?” It's Ian's turn to probe.

“Once he understood just how committed I am to our relationship, he sort of dropped it.”

Tasha's brows hide under her bangs. “Really?”

I nod. Wanting to change the subject, I say, “I want to get him something for his birthday. Something special.”

“What, like, more special than, say, a human?” Ian asks, making Tasha laugh.

I roll my eyes, though with a hint of a smile. “No, like an actual gift wrapped up with a bow. Something meaningful.”

“Isn't his birthday only in a few good months?” Tasha says.

I nod.

“How about an autographed guitar?” she suggests.

I smile pensively. “Not bad.”

“Or a car racing thingy,” she adds.

“Oh, I got it.” Ian straightens up so he can eye us both. “This is gold.” He grins excitedly. “Why don't you get one of those hymen reconstructions? Men dig this shit. It's this alpha thing . . .” He lowers his voice to sound more macho, which by itself, even before hearing the rest of his idea, is pretty moronic. “Claim you, puncture your innocence away.” He pops the p in puncture.

“How do you even come up with these things?” My tone is placid and even, just as one would speak to a child.

Ian points at his temple and taps twice with the pad of his finger. “A wealth of brilliance.”

Tasha, appearing a tad dazed, says, “Just when I think you've reached your crazy quota, you prove me wrong.”

And just like that, the perfect idea pops into my mind. The perfect idea for a gift.

It's really fascinating how your perception of time varies depending on what lies at the end of the waiting tunnel. These past two weeks have given me enough time to stew over taking this huge plunge into parenthood, and it has slowed time to an achingly volatile pace full of anxiety, questions, concerns, and an undeniable thrill. Most of all, it's made me really, truly think about marriage. About how it's much greater than two people, especially when a child is involved. Unfortunate as it might be, “untying the knot” is not a difficult thing to do these days. A short bureaucratic process and the “till death do us part” becomes a sad poetic memory. However, a child is a completely different sonnet. It's about tying lives together for eternity.

I don't have even a single doubt in my mind that Daniel is the one I want as the father of my future progenies. But cut a girl some slack; this is one humongous commitment. Am I even mother material? Am I ready to screw up another person's life? Thank God for Daniel's heavy loot bag; at least, financing therapy for our dependents won't be an issue.

I give the bright morning and the calm sea one last appreciative glance, polishing off the last spoonful of my fruit salad. The view from our patio will never get old. I carry my plate and Daniel's empty mug to the kitchen and go search for my man.

Wrapping my hands around Daniel's waist, I give his back a small peck. Quickly, my hands find their way to his belt.

“I really need to get going, Hales. I have a flight to catch,” Daniel says, throwing another shirt into his carry-on.

Reluctantly, I take a step back. “Well, I have a mouth that's quick . . .” I grin, sensual teasing full on.

“Fuck . . .” is his curt murmur.

“When you put it that way . . . Fuck, it is! You. While I'm on my knees . . .” I smack my lips together and regard him with a small, flirtatious smile.

Shirt frozen in hand, he gazes at me for a silent moment.

I blink with a dash of sass. “Lost your words? Need a moment, D?”

“Yeah, I need a moment, and I'll take it while you pack. You're coming with me.”

“Needy, are we?”

“I'll give you needy.”

I squeak, finding my blood rushing toward my brain as Daniel swings me over his shoulder. He sets me back to stand on my feet near our walk-in closet.

“Start packing, you don't need much. Shoes, a thong, and drop in a dress or whatever you need in case I decide to take you to dinner before bed.”

I wrap my hands around me. “As much as you going all caveman-macho on me gets me worked up, no can do, handsome.”

Daniel folds his arms over his chest. “Why's that?”

“I have an important meeting tomorrow morning.” I counter his annoyed stare with a determined, hard one. I gaze at him as he fetches his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts. “What are you doing?”

He gives me a brief, stern glance as he says to the phone, “Hey.” He chuckles next. “Is your friend with you?” Daniel rolls his eyes. “I don't have the entire day to swap recipes with you. Is he or is he not?” There's a long pause in which Daniel twists his mouth, not exactly the happiest camper. “Then tell him Hayley will not be at work tomorrow.”

Excuse me
? He
did not
just call my boss's boyfriend. A flash of irritation hastens up my spine.

“Thanks.” He ends the call, and with an utter graveness only he can pull, he tells me, “Start packing. We have seven minutes.”

With eyes wider than humanly possible, I snap at him. “Seriously, did you just do that?”

“Six and a half minutes. Hales, pack.”

I huff in irritation. “Not happening.”

Daniel shakes his head.

With his determined psycho face on, he turns to the closet. Grabbing a small carry-on, he shoves a dress of mine inside, some other clothes fly in next. “You want me to get your creams and shit, or are you getting them?” I watch him, stunned, with a well-developing exasperation. He rolls his eyes again, enters the bathroom, and comes out with a bunch of my stuff crammed into his arms and huddled against his chest. Toiletries are dumped unceremoniously into the suitcase. “Do I need to haul your ass over my shoulder again or you coming?”

I wonder how much prison time you get for strangling someone? Not sure how cute I'd look in ginger scrubs. Maybe I'll get Tash and Ian to help hide the body then I won't have to worry if orange is my color.

“Baby, you started this. Own up to your actions.”

“Where are
you
going anyway?” I ask.

“
We are going
. DC. Overnight.”

There's so much to be said about leisure. The most glaringly alarming thing is how addictive it can be. And oh, it can. In the best, mind-numbing ways possible. While Daniel has been busy doing his business thing, I've let myself indulge a couple of hours more in our ridiculously gigantic and pampering suite. The spoiling theme continued throughout the late morning with a heavenly massage, this treatment and that, till it felt borderline immoral. At that breaking point, I dropped everything excessive gratification and took a lovely jaunt into the city. One that began with a double shot, extra hot, thin layer of froth Grande cappuccino and ended with a few good hours at the National Gallery of Art.