Bad Cruz(106)

“What for?” Bear asked, frowning.

Rob put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder. “Well, son, I can’t be sorry for the day you were conceived because that turned out to be the only thing to keep me going during the dark days—these last few weeks changed my life. But, uh, let’s see. I guess I’m sorry for not giving Bear my obvious, undisputed athletic gift.”

“Your humility, too,” Tennessee pointed out.

“I’m glad for you, bro.” Rob shook my hand. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For officially crowning me Fairhope’s newest hottest bachelor. Unless you have second thoughts and want to try to make it work again?” Rob winked at Tennessee.

She pushed his chest away, laughing.

“In your dreams, Gussman.”





We made baby number two under the same bleachers where I got pregnant with Bear.

It happened after we came back from eloping in Vegas (the thought of having a full-blown wedding made me want to throw up. Plus, I simply couldn’t take the chance Dalton and Jocelyn got an accidental invitation. I couldn’t stomach any more conversations about vaginal lip-lifts and foot fillers. And, I still had nightmares about that cruise and all the two-penis lies I’d spewed there).

Bear was still at Rob’s, my parents were out of town, and Wyatt and Trinity were looking at houses in Knoxville, closer to his new job.

Cruz and I were bored, and he suggested we go catch a Fairhope High football game. Show support for the local team.

“Ah, I don’t set foot in that football field,” I said. “Not since the day I got knocked up there.”

At first, he laughed it off.

Then, when he realized I was serious, he said, “But Bear’s a student there…?”

I winced. “This is why I got him into video games and skateboarding and discouraged any type of field sport.”

“You’re a crazy woman.”

“I’m well aware.”

According to Dr. Cruz Costello, the best way to get rid of a phobia is to face it head-on. The following day, we snuck onto the football field in the middle of the night.

He even wore his varsity jacket, which I found kinkily hot (also, extremely tight for the correct size of his shoulders). He tugged me under the bleachers and did all kinds of things to me, and this time, I did come.

Twice.

Okay, three times.

He really knows how to use his tongue.

When he finally pulled a condom out, I knocked it out of his hand.

“I stopped taking the pill.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I know you want a baby, and—”

“I want you more than I want a baby, so don’t just do it because of me.”

“I’m not,” I protested. “What do you take me for, a ditzy teenager? I’m doing this because I think we’ll make a really good-looking baby, and I want to tie you down to me so I can continue living in your house, which, by the way, has been my dream house since babyhood.”

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, Lord, really?” I asked in surprise.

That was a pretty depressing thing to find romantic.

He nodded.

“Well, how about this? I want to grow old with you and be there for you when you whine about your hip replacement, arthritis, and deep vein thrombosis.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, for planning my early grave before I hit middle age. Now can you shut up so I can put it in?”

And that was that.

He was in.

That was nine months ago.

And now?

Now I’m running the risk of losing him, since my nails are sinking deep into his veiny forearms.

“I’m going to kill you,” I pant. “I am. What’d you do to me?”

I’m in a hospital bed, delivering our baby while Bear and our families wait outside. It’s Christmas, and all I want to do is eat pudding and watch Mama Mia and wonder how Amanda Seyfried still manages to stay so skinny.

“The epidural should kick in any minute now.” Cruz taps my hand lovingly, smiling down at me.

“Good, because I’m about to kick you out of here if that doesn’t happen. I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“I seem to remember you being a willing participant.”

The doctor walks into the room, flashing Cruz a hey-I’m-a-doctor-too-high-five smile.

Totally ignoring me.

I’m going to sue him later for that.

“Good news is, Nurse Hallie said the head’s popping out, so we’re good to start pushing. Are you ready to meet your baby, Mrs. Costello?”

“No!” I scream, flinging my arms in the air.

“She is,” Cruz amends with an easy smile.

Twenty minutes later, Adriana Sylvia Costello is in my arms.

She looks like a sweet, harmless alien. I’m talking ET-cute, not like the aliens who come to our planet to invade our countries and rectums. Her eyes dark and blue like her dad’s, her head as bald and shiny as Bruce Willis’.

“Look at you,” I coo, holding her in my arms. “And to think you almost didn’t happen because of your mother’s stupid pride.”