15. Sloane
Sloane
I am feeling myself right now.
My hair is having a day, and this dress? Damn, this dress makes my boobs look incredible. I sway my hips to the beat of the Def Leppard song and turn my brush into a microphone. As the chorus ramps up, I sing along to the lyrics about sugar and sex.
Two of my favorite things.
God, I haven’t had sex in so long.
Just as I arch back, hitting a high note, the curtain swishes, and I spot Sully in the mirror, watching me with an amused smirk on his face.
Cheeks burning, I straighten and silence the music.
“I always loved sneaking in and catching you doing this while you got ready.” His tone is warm, soft even. Like he’s talking to himself.
I bite my cheek. “Haven’t done it in a while.”
He moves his arm, pulling the curtain back another inch. “May I?”
“Oh, yes. Welcome to Sloane’s,” I tease, holding one arm out as if showcasing the oversized stall.
I planned to get ready at the penthouse, and I still plan to stay in the city overnight, but then T.J. had a meltdown about not seeing me, so I promised I’d get ready here.
Sully slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and surveys the new décor. “Like what you did with the place.”
In addition to my Paris curtain, I moved Cal’s ficus in and put up a neon sign that says My Happy Place . It’s pink, though it provides the right amount of additional light for doing makeup.
“Thanks.” Nodding, I turn back to the sink and toss my makeup back into its pouch.
At the sound of shoes on the tile floor, I snap up straight and meet Sully’s eye in the mirror.
He stands so close now that his warmth engulfs me, but he’s far enough away that we’re not touching.
His blue eyes blaze as he takes me in, like he’s familiarizing himself with every curve all over again.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, like he’s once again speaking to himself.
Feeling awkward, I spin quickly and grab the edge of the sink for balance. “Do I look pregnant?”
His attention drifts down, getting caught on my breasts for half a second before settling on my stomach. Lips lifting slightly, he says, “Yes.”
“Shit.” My heart races. “I was hoping I could get away with hiding it for a little longer.” I smooth my hand over the emerald green fabric covering my abdomen.
The hem of the crushed velvet dress falls to the toes of my favorite rose gold Louboutins and fits me perfectly, making me feel sexier than I have in years.
Sully narrows his eyes. “Your date knows you’re pregnant with my child.”
I don’t correct him. I don’t tell him that I don’t have a date. He’s got it in his head that I’m going with Will, and I’m too keyed up over the possibility that my mother could be at this thing to dive into an explanation.
I really don’t want my mom to know that I’m pregnant just yet. I’ll have to make sure Will knows not to say anything. Other than Julius, he’s the only one at the firm who knows. As long as the two of them keep quiet, I’m sure I can pass off my bump as the result of eating too many tacos this week.
My alarm sounds, letting me know it’s time to leave. “Shoot,” I say as I tap the screen. “I forgot to schedule an Uber.”
Dammit. I forget everything lately. I’m going to be so late.
Sully takes half a step closer, catching my attention. His eyes are soft and warm, making me foolishly want to sink into them. To lean against his chest, press my skin to his, share a singular breath.
He brushes a bit of hair behind my ear, and his touch burrows beneath my skin, sending shockwaves through my system. It’s the simplest of gestures, yet it’s the most decadent sensation I’ve experienced in months.
“Your car should be here in a few minutes.”
He might as well have murmured filthy words against my mouth with the way he’s looking at me.
“What?”
“I got you a car, sweetheart.” He grazes his thumb down my cheek and gently pinches my chin, tilting my mouth up so he truly is only a breath away. “If you won’t let me take you, then I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
With him so close, I can barely think. Still, I recognize that despite him believing that I’m going with someone else, he hasn’t expressed his frustration, and he’s still ensured I have a ride. Shit, I should put him out of his misery. “I’m?—”
“ Mom .” T.J. barrels into the bathroom, interrupting my confession.
Sully holds my chin another second, as if hoping he can pluck my thoughts from my mind.
T.J.’s presence though is just the reminder that I needed.
It’s better we co-parent and I keep the secret of my non-existent date to myself.
As if he can read the warning in my expression, he releases my chin and steps back.
A heartbeat later, T.J. pushes open the curtain and stumbles into the stall .
“What have we discussed about knocking?” Sully asks, his tone firm but gentle.
“That I should knock.” Our son straightens, head tipped back, like he’s proud that he got this right.
“Right. And then?”
Our little boy shrugs. “I think that’s it.”
Sully shakes his head. “Try again.”
Full of energy, as always, T.J. bounces on his toes.
It’s a challenge for him to remain still in any situation.
And like this, when we’re watching him, when he feels the pressure that comes with being under the scrutiny of another person, it’s nearly impossible.
The teachers are working on it with him in school, as is the therapist we’ve hired for him, but it’s been a process.
I take a step toward him, ready to put him at ease, but Sully beats me to it.
He crouches so he and our little boy are eye to eye.
For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He simply watches T.J.
with an even, open look on his face. After a moment, our little guy settles.
It’s a tactic I’ve read about, though I haven’t mentioned it to Sully.
Is this a fluke, or has he heard about it too?
T.J. clasps his hands, his head tilted. “That I should wait to be told to come in.”
“Can you do me a favor and go try that again?”
With a nod, T.J. takes a step back. But before he can turn, he zeroes in on me and his mouth drops open. “Oh, Mommy, you look so pretty.”
A light laugh escapes me. I can always rely on T.J. to notice me. Even in moments when I felt invisible to my husband, I always felt love because of my little boy. “Thanks, bud. Now go do what your dad asked.”
“But I’m already in here, and all I wanted to say was can I go with Murphy to walk Dammit?”
Sully growls. “I’m going to kill Brian.”
T.J. tilts his head. “Why?”
Sully tries to keep his voice even. “You can’t use that word, pal. ”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a bad word.”
His little lips turn down in a puzzled frown. “ Why is a bad word?”
Sully stands and roughs a hand down his face. “Dammit.”
T.J. steps back, cringing. “That’s a bad word, Dad.”
Before this can go off the rails, I step between them and guide T.J. out of the bathroom by his hand. “No, the word dammit is a bad word. Your father wasn’t cursing at you.”
“But that’s the cat’s name.” The innocence in his tone makes it impossible not to smile.
“I know, baby.” I press a kiss to his cheek. “Be good tonight, okay? And yes, you can walk the cat so long as Cal or Brian is going with you.”
My brother-in-law appears out of nowhere with his mammoth cat on a leash. I try to stay far away from the animal. I get the sense that he only likes Brian and his paws are freakishly long.
“Looks like your car is here. Want to walk down with us?” Cal asks.
I glance over my shoulder at Sully, who’s stepping out of the bathroom wearing a frustrated scowl.
My heart aches at the sight. He handled the situation with T.J. well, even if he didn’t have the success I’m sure he hoped for.
That’s the thing with kids, though. They’re great at throwing wrenches into even the best-laid plans.
Assuming he’ll brood for the rest of the night, I drop my phone into my clutch, preparing to walk out with T.J. and Cal.
Sully skirts around me, surprising me by ruffling T.J.’s hair easily, and says, “Give me a second, and I’ll join you.”
Remembering just how cold it is today, I scurry to our bedroom to find my jacket. In the doorway, Sully stands, already holding it out for me. Hesitantly, I turn and slip my arms into it, and when he lifts my hair so that it doesn’t get caught and brings his cheek to mine, I shiver .
“Have a wonderful time tonight, sweetheart,” he whispers.
“Thank you,” I say, voice caught in my throat. As I step into the stairway, I can’t help but wish that I allowed Sully to take me after all.
On the way into the city, Julius texts, informing me that several junior partners are meeting for drinks at a bar a block or so from the party, so I give the driver the address and ask him to drop me there. When I arrive, everyone is tipsy, including Julius.
“Oh, Mommy cleans up nice,” he teases when he spots me.
I hit him with my purse. “Shush, you.”
Secretly, I revel in his compliment. Because though he was teasing, I know him well enough to know he meant it. After the way Sully looked at me, then T.J., and now Julius, I feel like I’m floating. I haven’t dressed up like this in so long, and it feels good to be noticed.
Forty-five minutes later, we walk into the restaurant where the party is being held.
In New York, Christmas parties are more about showing off than they are about celebrating the holiday season.
This is how firms boast about how well they’re doing.
Judges and clients are invited. Colleagues from other firms are often on the guest list as well.
I scan the elaborately decorated room, relaxing a bit when I don’t spot my parents. I’m not out of the woods yet, since they typically show up at functions like this. But they’re punctual people, and they don’t hang out at the bar, so their absence means it’s possible they won’t be here at all.
It hurts, feeling this way. I hate that my instinct is to hide from them.
But I’m not ready for my mother’s judgmental response when she discovers I’m pregnant or the demands she’ll make.
She’ll most surely tell me the divorce is off.
That if I have any hope of having a career, it’s imperative we raise our children in a two-parent home .
Millions of single parents make it work, so the second thing isn’t even a consideration for me. And the divorce? That’s definitely not off.
Even if my husband’s heated gazes are making my stomach do that swoopy thing again, and he’s clearly making an effort with T.J.
It’s not enough to erase the pain he caused each and every time he forgot about me.
As impressed as I was by his calm attitude tonight, I can’t help but wish he’d thrown a fit. That he’d gotten angry about my “date.” Maybe growled that I was his wife again.
I snort at myself. Because if he’d done any of those things, I’d be complaining.
Maybe I’m the problem here. Maybe I don’t trust that he’s really in this for me.
I don’t want to be the kind of couple that stays together for the children.
I want to be enough on my own. I want my husband to lose his mind over me. I want him to?—
“Damn. I thought Mommy looked good, but Daddy is looking mighty fine,” Julius singsongs.
Like a record scratching, my heart stops the moment I spin and follow his gaze to the bar where I find the most unusual suspects.
Will and Sully.
Sully, whom I left at home two hours ago.
Sully, who arranged for a car to bring me to the city.
Sully, who told me to have a great night.
Freaking Sully, who is wearing the hell out of a black suit with an emerald tie that, from here, looks like it matches my dress perfectly.
Lo. That tie has Lo written all over it.
Have my roommates been plotting to derail my night?
And what the hell is Sully doing talking to Will? He hates Will.
When Will notices me watching, his eyes flare and he licks his lips.
“Shit.” I elbow Julius. “Pretend you’re my date.”
He grimaces. “What?”
I snap my fingers, struggling for words.
“You. I need you to pretend you’re my date.
I told Will I had one, assuming he’d think it was Sully.
And I let Sully believe I had one too. I figured he thought I was coming with Will.
But I didn’t actually tell either who I was coming with.
So if you are my date, then it’s not really a lie. ”
He frowns like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Uh. That’s not how lies work. And you’re not really my type.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” I hiss as Sully holds up a hand to the bartender. “I don’t actually want to date you. I just want you to be my date.”
“I struggle to see the difference in those statements,” he muses as Will and Sully step away from the bar.
“You are a terrible wingman,” I whine, my armpits suddenly sweaty.
He huffs. “I’m not trying to be a wingman. I’m your assistant, remember.”
Shit. He’s right. This is completely unprofessional. “I’m sorry.” I hold up a hand. “I shouldn’t have propositioned you. I’m in a position of power over you, and it was?—”
He snorts. “I’m kidding. Would you stop it with the whole serious vibe right now?”
“I thought you were serious,” I screech.
The guys are headed our way, both looking at me.
I spin and focus on breathing evenly. Shit, Sully is totally going to know I fibbed about having a date. He’ll think I was trying to make him jealous.
I so wasn’t trying to make him jealous.
Oh god. Was I?
Here he is, doing exactly what I was just wishing he’d do, and my stomach is in knots because, oh my god, my husband is here to crash my date. “So will you play along or not?” I grit out from behind a fake smile.
“Yes, Mommy. Your date awaits.” He holds out his elbow. “Let’s go make baby daddy jealous.”
A smile slips free before I can catch it. “I’m not trying to make anyone jealous. ”
Julius chuckles. “Right, and I’m not attracted to Pedro Pascal.”
“Oh, he is hot, but I don’t know. Chris Evans might be hotter. No—Ugh. I can’t decide,” I whine.
Julius winks at me. “Why choose, baby, why choose?”
“Because she’s my wife,” Sully growls, as if Julius was speaking to him. He wraps an arm around my waist and presses a kiss to my cheek. “There is no choice.”
And dammit, my panties are wet, and now I know precisely how I wanted tonight to go.