Playing Dirty (Stargazer #2)(68)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Maybe after the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event,” she suggested. “Your profile will be much higher. I’ll even get you on a late-night talk show.” She reached over and patted his thigh encouragingly.

He put his warm hand over her hand.

They continued to chat. She wondered whether he had a hard time concentrating on the conversation, as she did. Her whole body centered on her hand touching his hand.

Finally the taxi dropped them off in front of Wendy and Daniel’s restored high-rise. As they waited for the doorman to call upstairs, she exclaimed, “Oh, man, I forgot all about their cat. Are you allergic to cats?”

“No!” he said, pointing at her and beaming.

“Congratulations. How about turtles?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

In the ride up the elevator, she thought to warn him, “Wendy looked okay when I left, but she claims she gained three hundred pounds in her last week of pregnancy. Expect the worst, Jabba the Hutt.” And by the time she knocked on the door of the loft, it had occurred to Sarah that she should have been warning Quentin about lots of things, a whole drive’s worth, but now she heard footsteps.

Daniel flung open the door and embraced her. Sarah was vaguely concerned about what Quentin might think, but Daniel’s muscles were tense. He needed this hug. She hugged him and rubbed his back.

Eventually, when he let her go, she examined him. He was handsome as ever, but he had dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved, and Daniel never skipped shaving. She thought his dark hair might even be a little mussed, but her eyes could have been playing tricks on her. Finally she laughed. “You look tired.”

“You look—” Daniel began in the sexy British accent he slipped into when he was stressed. He shook his head at Quentin. “You didn’t see the before photo, but this is some makeover.”

“Shut up,” Sarah said, whacking his arm.

A baby’s high wail sounded closer and closer, and Wendy appeared in the doorway. “Make it stop!” she exclaimed.

Sarah took the baby. The others introduced themselves and baby Asher and herded her out of the foyer to sit on the couch in the living room, but she hardly noticed, lost in the baby who shared her birthday.

She made some attempts at amusing faces, because this was what she’d seen other people do with babies. Asher had his eyes squeezed shut to wail and couldn’t see her. Wendy and Daniel were talking to Sarah, telling her about Asher. She couldn’t hear anything they were saying over the wail.

Finally she said loudly, “At first I intended to tell you that he’s adorable and tiny, but the screaming is really what you notice.”

“He’s hungry,” Quentin said.

“Don’t even go there, cowboy,” Wendy said. “I just fed him. That’s pretty much all we do around here.”

“You look great,” Sarah told Wendy to draw her off Quentin. It was true. She looked puffy, for Wendy, but far from Jabba-sized.

“Tell me another,” Wendy said disdainfully. “This is Daniel’s shirt. I’m still in maternity pants. And if the grocery store has a rule against bedroom slippers, I’m in trouble.”

Sarah sympathetically examined Wendy’s swollen feet, then gasped in fear. “Where’s the baby?” She looked around frantically. Quentin was holding Asher and jiggling him in his arms. “Give me that!” she said. She took Asher back carefully. When he started wailing again, Sarah wondered whether Quentin was actually good at this.

“The baby’s hungry,” Quentin repeated.

“Stuff it,” Wendy said.

“Have you had help?” Sarah shouted. She didn’t want to yell and upset Asher further, but she wouldn’t be heard otherwise.

“I was sorry to see Daniel’s mother go,” Wendy said. “How sick is that?”

Sarah could barely hear Wendy over the screaming. She asked, “Isn’t this what pacifiers are for?”

“The Lactation League says you’re not supposed to use a pacifier or a bottle for the first month, because it results in nipple confusion.” Wendy relished the term. “The baby prefers the pacifier and the bottle and won’t go back to the breast. Personally, I think it is a front for a misogynist group making up terms like nipple confusion to thwart me.”

Sarah could tell that Quentin was about to have one of his laughing spells. He was holding his breath and turning red. He cast a wary glance at Daniel.

“And they want you to express the milk,” Wendy said. “Express it, like it’s going to flow gently out. There is no gentle flow here. If I spun around in circles, I’d look like a lawn sprinkler.”

Quentin snorted. He was about to lose it. Even cool Daniel looked taken aback. Sarah stifled a laugh of her own. This was part of what made their marriage work. After two years, Daniel still wasn’t used to Wendy.

Wendy went on, “And if your boobs hurt from this—shocking!—the Lactation League suggests that you slice up some cucumber and put it on your tits, or should I say teats? Can you believe this? As far as I’m concerned, there is only one thing a cucumber is good for—”

Sarah and Daniel were both shaking their heads gravely. Don’t make that joke.

Wendy finished, “—and that’s salad.”

Quentin exploded. He removed himself into the hallway, but his musical laugh rang out through the house.

Daniel, lips pressed together grimly, put his arm around Wendy, hugged her close, and put his hand over her mouth.

She looked up at him with pitiful blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled through his fingers.

“Really?” he asked.

“No.”

Quentin’s laughter only intensified as he reentered the room and witnessed this. Wiping his eyes, he said, “I don’t do this for just anybody, but I’m going to help y’all out. Give me the baby.”

Sarah shot Wendy a look of disbelief as Wendy motioned for her to give Quentin the baby.

“I don’t have a lot to lose at this point,” Wendy explained. “Child-rearing lessons from a childless bachelor? Sounds fine.”

Quentin took Asher. “When you’re trying to feed the baby,” he said, “you probably hold him across you, like this.”

Sarah protested again. “I can’t believe you’re going to take advice on breast-feeding from this—”

Wendy slapped Sarah’s knee and growled at her, “What the hell do you know, Pink? Go on, cowboy.”