A Not So Meet Cute(61)

Huxley: No. See you in fifteen.

“What’s going on?” Kelsey asks.

“I have no idea. He said he’ll see me in fifteen minutes. Something with Dave and Ellie probably. I feel like if he’s going to spring these things on me, I need more context so I can prepare.”

“Agreed. Ask him what’s going on.”

I shoot him another text.

Lottie: Can I have some idea about what we’ll be doing?

Huxley: Lamaze class. Hope you’re good at breathing.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Kelsey asks.

I look up at her. “Lamaze class.”

She snorts and covers her nose. “To be a fly on the wall.”





I take a seat in Huxley’s car and turn toward him as I buckle my seatbelt.

“What on earth—”

“Hey, baby,” Huxley says, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. “How’s your sister doing?”

Oh yeah . . . there’s someone driving us. Act like the fiancée. When in doubt, from now on, always act like the fiancée.

“She’s good,” I say in a cheery voice. “Excited about Friday.” Wanting to get some information about what the hell we’re doing, I say, “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“I know how much you like surprises,” Huxley says and then turns to his phone.

Okay, so I guess that’s that.

I’m about to say something else to him, just to keep the conversation flowing so we don’t look like a lame couple, when my phone buzzes in my hand with a text. I glance down and see Huxley’s name on the screen.

Ooo, secret communications.

Huxley: This will be your first pregnancy class. You’re going just to try it out, and then we’ll get ice cream with Ellie and Dave after.

I’m glad he’s handing out information. The more I can prepare, the better.

Lottie: Can I ask how you got us wrangled into a pregnancy class?

Huxley: Ran into Dave at the coffee shop this morning. He told me he and Ellie were going to a class. I asked him which one and said we were thinking about taking that one. He told us to join and get ice cream after.

Lottie: What class was it?

Huxley: No fucking idea.

I chuckle and text him back.

Lottie: How do you know it’s good?

Huxley: I don’t. But I know since we have no clue what the fuck we’re doing, it’ll be good enough.

Lottie: Isn’t it a little early for a pregnancy class for me?

Huxley: Hell if I know. If anyone asks, just say we love education.

Lottie: How eloquent.

Huxley: Ask me a question, we’ve been too quiet on this ride.

Lottie: Uh . . . what did you have for breakfast?

Huxley: Jesus Christ. Out loud. Ask me a question out loud.

“Oh,” I say quietly and then chuckle. Facing Huxley, I ask, “How’s your rash doing?”

His eyes narrow and I have to hold back the straight-up outburst of laughter that threatens to slip past my lips.

“Rash is fine,” he answers through clenched teeth. “But now that you bring it up, is your yeast infection improving?”

Ohhh, he plays dirty.

“Faring well,” I answer. “Doctor said no sex for a week, though, but don’t worry, I won’t back out on my promise. I know how much you want to try out my vibrators.” A smirk crosses my lips. I find this far too entertaining. I pat him on the cheek. “I can grind your gears tonight, when we get home. You can light that lovemaking candle you enjoy so much.”

His nostrils flare, and I cover my mouth, protecting myself from an outburst.

“Sounds good to me. I know watching me come turns you on, but if you could refrain from sounding like a barnyard animal while I come, that would be great. The mooing is a weird habit you’ve picked up.”

“That was one time,” I say in defense. “And it’s because I watched that documentary on animals reproducing.”

“One time is enough,” he says, turning back to his phone. His fingers fly across the screen.

My phone buzzes.

Huxley: You realize I’m going to have to find a new driver now.

A hiccup of laughter pops out of me. This is the Huxley from Chipotle, from the sidewalk. This is the side of him I appreciate. The side of him I wish he would show way more often, because if he did, I’m certain we’d be friends.

Lottie: I’m pretty sure this conversation made my year. Also, I can run by the pharmacy tomorrow if you need more cream for your rash.

Huxley: If that’s how you want to play this, it’s on, Lottie. And remember, I’m relentless.

Lottie: I think you’ve met your match, Huxley Cane.





Chapter Thirteen





HUXLEY





“Huxley, Lottie, over here,” Ellie says, waving her hand while she balances on an exercise ball.

I squeeze Lottie’s hand and guide her over to the jubilant pregnant woman.

I was worried I’d be encroaching on Lottie’s day with this request, I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she didn’t seem to mind. She actually seems to be in good spirits today, which is throwing me off. Still has an edge to her, but it seems as though that edge has been smoothed out—slightly.