42. Hannah
FORTY-TWO
HANNAH
I fucking did it. One month of back-and-forths with my editor. Round after round of furiously working through edits. Zero sleep. But today I published my sixth book.
I lean back into the couch as I scroll through the social media posts early readers have created.
I’ll never get over how a person I’ve never met can so perfectly visualize characters I created.
So many of the images tell my story perfectly.
It’s incredible. And seeing my words quoted?
Reading posts from readers who fell in love with my words or the characters or the world I created?
It’s surreal. Each one makes my heart grow a little bigger.
The only thing that would make it better would be if I had the actual paperback in my hand. Unfortunately, author copies take weeks, so all I have is the e-book. It’s trivial, I guess, and nothing could bring me down today.
Since we were in Vegas a month ago, we’ve settled into our relationship even further.
Ava and War welcomed their son Beckham the day after Thanksgiving, and I’ve spent every moment the guys are traveling over at her house, helping with laundry and dishes and dinner while also soaking in every lesson I can so when my baby boy is here, I can put it all to use.
Ava is a natural. This is her first experience with a newborn, but she had a leg up, since she’s been raising three children with War for the last year.
I never could have imagined being so comfortable holding a newborn, but the first time my best friend put her baby boy in my arms, a switch flipped in my brain. And when she asked me to be his godmother, I just about lost it.
Now I’m even more anxious for our son to arrive.
Noah and Oliver officially live across the hall, and Oliver is obsessed with his new room.
While he was at his mom’s, Noah and Daniel decorated it—hockey-themed, of course—as a surprise.
The kid was doubly excited when he realized his little cousin’s room across the hall would match his.
Hockey wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I told Daniel he could decorate the nursery—don’t they ever get sick of it?
—but the joy on Oliver’s face is worth swimming in a sea of Bolts blue every time I step into the room.
I insisted on a gray rocker and gray furniture to keep the blue from being too overpowering.
“Why are you still laying on the couch?” Sara asks as she breaks into my apartment.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, since the door was unlocked, but she could have at least knocked.
“You’re going to be late for your own baby shower.”
I look pointedly at the clock on the wall—the clock with hands that don’t move; it’s merely decorative, but I want to make a point. “The baby shower that starts in six hours?”
When Daniel left for morning skate, I figured I had at least an hour to lie on the couch before he returned and cuddled me. Sex and cuddles—now, that sounds like the perfect way to celebrate a book release.
Being accosted by a friend at eight a.m. and bullied into getting ready for a baby shower? Not so much.
“Come on, I’ve got strict instructions to keep you on schedule. Daniel said to tell you don’t fight it. ” Her last few words come out frighteningly deep.
Head tilted, I study her. Her blue hair is up in a ponytail, and she isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. It’s cold out, but the woman is bundled up like she’s ready to head out into the wild for a week.
“Why are you here?”
The smile that splits her face is the manic one that means she’s up to something. “Because Daniel knows I’m the only one crazy enough to drag his baby mama out of her cozy apartment for his surprise.”
I roll my eyes. Old habits die hard, I guess.
Acting unimpressed by the things this man does for me is my go-to response—a defense mechanism, if you will—but inside, I’m bubbling with elation that could make even my pregnant whalelike figure take flight.
“Why would I leave this apartment? It’s twenty degrees out. ”
“It’s seven degrees, actually, but who’s counting?” She wraps her arms around herself and shivers dramatically.
“Me. I’m counting. Why are we going outside? How about you take off that jacket and snuggle under this blanket with me? We can discuss how to make your man come without coming.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but she toes off her boots and hangs her jacket on the hook by the door. “Why would I want him to come without me?”
I toss back the blanket and pat the spot beside me. “Not him without you. Both of you, together, without the mess.”
She licks her lips, eyes flashing. “But what if I like it messy?”
“Oh, you’ll get there, hunny. But if he comes without ejaculating, then you can just keep fucking.”
“Oh my god, you are evil.” She taps her phone screen. “You’re trying to use my love for sex to keep me from dragging you out into the cold, aren’t you?”
Head dropped back, I cackle. “Is it working?”
She plops down on the cushion and pulls her feet up. “Obviously. But you’ve got ten minutes. Then we’re heading to the spa. Daniel told me to get here early. Our appointment isn’t until nine.”
My chest warms. The man knows me so well. And the spa? God, I love him.
The technician grinds a knuckle into the ball of my foot, pulling a totally inappropriate groan from me.
My feet are like sausages these days, and though Daniel is in the thick of hockey season, he massages them religiously on the nights he’s home.
Elvira’s fingers aren’t quite as big or warm, but she’s working some magic right now.
“Yes, right there. You’re doing so good.”
Millie gags. “Every time you talk, all I can imagine is you talking my brother through another orgasm.”
Sara giggles. “She told me all about how he does it without ejaculating. I’m determined to try this magic.”
The horrified look on Millie’s face is gold. “Why in god’s name would anyone want to come without ejaculating?”
While the women working on our feet snicker, the two older women who are getting their hair set gawk in disgust.
I shrug. Eh. It’s sex. Surely the old biddies were getting some back in the sixties. Everyone was having sex in the sixties.
“Do you like having multiple orgasms, Ava?” She chose a seat at the other end of the row of chairs—probably to get as far away from our loud mouths as she could—so I have to shout.
When she walked in, I literally squealed. I didn’t think she’d come. She’s barely left Beckham’s side since giving birth four weeks ago. War was very excited to bring him to morning skate today, so he encouraged her to get out of the house.
From the sound of things, the guys all brought their kids—babies wrapped in carriers and little ones in skates and everything.
Shit. I hope to god there are no pictures.
If I see evidence, I’ll lose my street cred and break down in crocodile tears.
Just thinking about it has my nipples tingling and my tear ducts opening.
Ava’s red hair curtains her face. The woman is seriously pretending she doesn’t know us.
“Come on, my pretty, pretty princess,” I tease. “Tell us all about the orgasms your husband gives you on the daily.”
When the women under the hair dryers huff, I can’t help but taunt them by rubbing my belly with my left hand, highlighting my bare ring finger. I definitely can’t see my feet now, even propped up like this. Even so, my man loves my body, and I’m not the least bit ashamed of how much we like sex.
“I’m pretending I don’t know you,” Ava mumbles.
“Too bad I’m your best friend and favorite person ever—after Josie, of course.”
Ava’s lips twitch, and her green eyes light up. “Love that you put yourself above my three other children and my husband.”
“Daddy War will not be happy,” Sara cajoles.
“I bet Daddy War likes multiple orgasms, and I’ll be his favorite too when I tell Ava how to give them to him.” I settle back in my seat, content to know I’m right.
I like being right.
Daniel tells me I’m never not right.
If there’s a single thing the guy isn’t good at, it’s keeping me humble, and I’m okay with that.
One of the hairdressers approaches the women across the room and turns off the dryers. The woman who continued to huff stands, straightens her clothing, and with a glare at us, stalks toward the bathroom.
The other one glances down the hall to where her friend disappeared, then shuffles our way.
“Oh, this should be good,” I mumble.
She stops directly in front of me. “I couldn’t help but overhear…”
“That’s because this one”—Sara throws a thumb my way—“is loud.”
With a nervous smile, the woman shuffles around the technician in front of me, moving closer. “Do you have any suggestions for men who are”—she clears her throat—“older?”
“How to help him get it up?” I ask, making sure there isn’t an ounce of judgment in my tone.
She shakes her head. Her gray hair doesn’t move an inch as she does. “Oh, he does just fine in that department. The, uh…” Another step closer. “The multiple orgasm thing.”
Lennox stifles a giggle and Millie mutters a “Jesus Christ.”
I have to tighten all my core muscles as well as my butt cheeks to keep from peeing myself. My son’s favorite spot is tucked up right against my bladder.
“Ya know, I actually don’t. But—” I hold up a finger and pull out my phone. “If you follow this woman’s column, I’ll make sure she gets an answer to that question as soon as possible.”
Millie leans over, peering at my phone where I’ve pulled up the Instagram page for Calliope’s Column. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Not you too.”
I frown, willing myself not to snap at my friend. “What?”
“Daniel’s obsessed with that column. If he’d ever met Calliope, you’d have some serious competition.”
A thrill works its way through me. “You don’t say?”
Daniel never stops surprising me. Obsessed with my column, is he? Could I love the man more?