Drew + Fable Forever (One Week Girlfriend #3.5)(23)
Author: Monica Murphy

“I knew the gift shop had some baby wear, so I went in there hoping to find something.”

“You bought it? You’re the quarterback—shouldn’t they just give you this stuff?” she asks, never tearing her gaze away from the onesie.

I climb into bed beside her again, propped on my elbow, watching her trace the stitching of the tiny piece of clothing with her index finger. She likes it, I can tell. “I didn’t have time for all that. I went into the gift shop, bought it real quick, and jammed. I don’t care if I have to pay for it or not.”

“I love it.” She meets my gaze, her smile small, the look in her eyes hopeful. “This makes it feel so much more concrete. Our baby’s first gift.”

“Is it?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, Jen knows, and Owen. Of course, now Colin knows. But I’ve received no gifts from anyone. I mean, who the heck do I know?”

“You have friends. The other players’ wives,” I point out, and she waves a hand.

“Meh, I’m happy you were the first one to give Junior a gift.” She smiles and kisses me, still clutching the onesie in her hand.

“Junior who? Junior me or Junior Fable?” I ask, amused at her flipping and flopping.

“I’m not sure yet,” she says. “All I know is I’m glad you’re here for me.”

Her words strike me dead center in the heart. “I’ll always be here for you. You’ll never have to worry about that,” I say sincerely.

“I know. I believe you. I have faith in you.” Her smile is tremulous and her eyes are filled with tears. “We’re going to make it, aren’t we, Drew? And we’re going to be the best parents ever.”

“You better f**king believe it,” I say right before I kiss her, earning a shocked laugh out of her for my words.

“We’re not allowed to say those words anymore. They might damage our child’s psyche,” she says primly, and I scoff.

I f**king scoff. I mean, really? “You gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding. We need to clean up our acts.”

“Are you going to be one of those moms?”

“What type of mom are you talking about?” she asks.

“The nerdy kind who are always good and doing the right thing, because if that’s the case, I can go ahead and kiss my sex life goodbye. You know, because we can’t have sex for fear of traumatizing the baby since he or she is inside of you at the moment,” I say.

“Oh my God, I never even thought of that,” she whispers, her eyes wide.

“Well, don’t, because later tonight, we’re going to have sex whether little Junior likes it or not and you’re going to love it, I can guarantee you that. So let’s take a nap. I’m exhausted,” I say as I pluck the flowers off the comforter and grab the onesie, getting out of bed to go set them back on the dresser.

“Shouldn’t you put the flowers in water?” she asks.

“I can rest them in the sink in the bathroom,” I suggest, knowing it’s a lame solution. And the easiest solution, since all I want to do is crawl back into bed and hold my wife.

“I don’t think so,” she says on a sigh, slowly shaking her head. She waves a hand. “Hurry up then and come back to bed, Drew.”

Finer words were never spoken.

Chapter Nine

Drew

My wife is due any day now and I’m …

Not with her.

I got a huge endorsement deal I flat-out couldn’t refuse and I’m in the middle of a giant warehouse in downtown Los Angeles, sweating my balls off as endless photos are taken of me wearing fall athletic gear. Considering it’s the middle of June and near record-breaking highs are predicted today, I’m f**ked.

And grumpy.

Fable encouraged me to go because she’s good at that, the supportive wife thing. Plus, I think she wanted me out of the house for a day or two. If anyone’s grumpy, it’s Fable. Oh, and don’t forget moody. Her belly is swollen with child, her back aches, and she can barely move around, she waddles so bad. The baby shifted low, so low Fable appears she’s in danger of delivering at any minute, but the doctor checked her not even two days ago and said she’s not dilated yet.

So we wait. I grow impatient. I started reading that What to Expect When You’re Expecting book just to know what’s going on, and that was the final straw for my wife. She took the book straight out of my hands and told me to go mow the lawn or something, find a hobby.

Stop worrying about my pregnant wife.

When the call came for the deal with one of the leading shoe and athletic-wear brands in all the world, I leapt at it, then retreated when they said they wanted to see me as soon as possible. But Fable wouldn’t let me turn them down.

“What, you’ll be gone one day and then fly home that night. I won’t have the baby in that short amount of time.” She ran her hand over her huge belly as I sat there trying to come up with all sorts of arguments. I knew, though, that I wasn’t going to win. “I’m starting to think I’m never going to have this baby. She’s taken up residence in here forever.”

Sometimes I think she wishes that because the idea of childbirth scares the crap out of her. Other times, I know she’s ready to get this over with when she moans, “Get her out.”

I’m standing in front of a white backdrop, the camera flashing in my eyes again and again as the photographer snaps away, when one of the assistants runs up and whispers something in the photographer’s ear.

He pauses, standing straight. “Well, tell him, then.”

The assistant approaches me hesitantly, her demeanor shy and a little worried. “You had a call, Mr. Callahan, on your cell phone. I saw that it kept ringing with the same number and I finally answered it for you.”

Oh holy f**k. I’m the worst husband ever. I left my phone on the counter by the mirror where they did my hair and freaking makeup earlier. Yes, I’m this close to losing my man card and no way can I ever admit this to anyone, especially Owen. I’d lose respect points for sure.

“Who was it?” My heart starts to pound and I try to ignore it. It’s probably nothing important. Most likely it’s Owen griping to me about Fable or Fable griping to me about Owen. They’ve been getting in lots of arguments lately only because her patience level is zero and Owen is completely freaked out by the creature who was once his sister.

“Your wife. Well, it really wasn’t your wife. More like a message from her.” The assistant’s narrow face is solemn and I swear to f**king God, my heart goes from a full gallop to a dead stop in a matter of seconds.