Pulse (Collide, #2)(85)
Fallon swung on her coat and gave Emily a hug. “I have to go get ready for work. I love you, toots. Don’t mind me. I’m just PMSing right now. I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.” Emily gave her a small smile and helped Fallon wrap her scarf around her neck. “Stop by the restaurant soon. Antonio misses you. Shit, we all miss you.”
Emily nodded, missing everyone too. She’d given her notice a few weeks earlier, deciding that working part time as a teacher for a class of first graders was more than enough for the time being. “I will.”
After bidding Fallon goodbye, Emily and Olivia slipped into a taxi and started out for a day of maternity clothes shopping. Again, her stomach wasn’t quite the bursting balloon it would be in a few months, but her expanding shape definitely required some new attire. Twenty minutes later, after what Emily considered one of the scariest rides through the city ever, courtesy of an overly hotheaded driver, they reached Rosie Pope, a high end maternity boutique on Madison Avenue.
Olivia slammed the taxi door closed. “Psycho!” Olivia flicked her middle finger at the cabbie screeching away into midday traffic. “Christ on a cracker. I swear, the city needs to give these dudes some tranquilizers before they go on shift.” After securing her thick blonde hair into a messy bun, she sighed and held open the door for Emily. “Why the hell didn’t you bring your car? You have a brand new, slamming vehicle Gavin bought you, and you barely drive it.”
“You barely drive yours.” Emily scanned the posh boutique, impressed by their selection. “You’ve been in Manhattan a lot longer than I have. You see how scary it is out there. It’s not only the cab drivers; everyone drives like a nut here.”
“Right. I’ve turned somewhat Manhattan-ized cabbing it or taking the subway. But I could reach orgasm by merely sitting in your car. I’d have no qualms about driving it. That machine was meant for speed and sex. It’s hot on wheels.”
Emily signed, her mind jolted back to a glorious freeway in California. It was indeed made for… fun.
Olivia pulled a red tunic sweater from a rack and plastered it against Emily’s chest. Cocking her head from side to side, she studied it a moment. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and hung it back up. “Not your color. Oh, and can I say I’m not thrilled about you deciding not to have a baby shower.”
“Liv, there’s no way I’m having one. The situation doesn’t merit it. Stop bringing it up.” Emily swiped three pairs of jeans ranging from size eight to twelve from a neatly folded stack. Staring at the astronomical price tag, she almost put them down. On his way to work this morning, Gavin had left his credit card and a note on the counter, telling her he wanted her to purchase some clothing from this particular boutique. Considering he’d spent a cool $30,000 on stunning, intricate, hand-carved, mahogany nursery furniture flown in from Italy, she wasn’t sure why she was shocked. “Other than clothing and a few odds and ends, we already have everything for the baby. We don’t need a shower.”
“I know you guys don’t need one, but it’s a rite of passage.” Following Emily to the dressing room, Olivia plucked a few tops from racks along the way. “As your best friend, what fun is my life if I don’t get to see you wearing that stupid bow hat?”
Emily giggled and grabbed the tops from Olivia. “Those hats are hideous.” She rolled the curtain open and slipped into the dressing room. “You’re evil enough to want to see me in one of those.”
“No doubt I’m evil.” Olivia pulled lipstick from her purse, applying the deep red to her puckered lips as she stared into a compact mirror. “Come on, Em, I’m being serious. Let me set something up for you. If not, I’m calling the Maury Povich and Jerry Springer shows to make sure you, Gavin, and Dark Lord of Dickheads get your fifteen minutes of fame on live television.”
Emily hooted out a laugh. “I can’t say I don’t appreciate your names for Dillon now.” She whipped open the curtain and stepped out of the dressing room wearing a pair of dark maternity jeans and black V-neck top that hung slightly off her shoulders. “But I will kill you if you call either of those…” Emily’s voice trailed off, completely sickened when she caught her reflection in the mirror.
She’d often admired the beauty of a woman’s body carrying a child. The way their flesh expanded, creating a temple for a growing, unborn life, awed her. But as she stared at her reflection, Emily couldn’t find any trace of beauty. She brought her hands to her stomach and smoothed them over her widened hips. The fact that she hadn’t reached the halfway point of her pregnancy only made her realize she was half the size she’d be once she gave birth.
Through the reflection, Emily watched Olivia come up behind her. “I look horrible,” Emily whispered, totally convinced that was the reason Gavin was withholding sex. “I’m going to look like the Pillsbury Doughboy by the time I give birth.”
Olivia placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You look beautiful, friend. And if the Pillsbury Doughboy looked as good as you will, he’d bake a tray of cookies in celebration.”
A small smile touched Emily’s mouth. “You know that wasn’t funny, right?”
Olivia shrugged. “Eh. I usually hit them better than that. Give me some credit. The Doughboy’s hard to work with.”