Chapter 29
“My child hates me. She hates me, I’m telling you. While I love K-Pop Demon Hunters as much as the next person, we’ve watched it four times today. She won’t let me watch anything else—or else she starts somersaulting so hard I want to vomit.”
Dove blows a raspberry on the other end of the line. “She does not. And besides, KPDH is amazing. I don’t even like cartoons, and I’m obsessed with it. You know those demons were not singing about soda pop, Buns. I like ‘em spicy.”
“Am I allowed to buy baby fawn something pink?” Vixey interjects, the third part of our little conference call.
“No,” Dove and I respond simultaneously, before I add, “And her name is Faline. Not Fawn.”
“I know that, silly. But Faline from the movie is a doe, and a baby doe is a fawn.”
“She has a point,” Dove declares.
Per Hunter and Wrenley’s request, we didn’t exchange numbers with Todd on Thanksgiving, but we did tell him where to find our tall friend. It’s been a few weeks, and so far, if he’s gone to see her, she hasn’t said anything.
Then again, I’m still not sure I trust her entirely. She could just be keeping it from us.
“Well, I haven’t watched it yet.” Hangers clink in the background as Vixey speaks. “But if it’s that good, I’ll give it a try. I’ll bet it’s driving Hunter nuts, huh?”
Anger sparks like an ember stoked from the smoldering ashes of my jealousy.
“Hunter has been working nonstop. I swear it’s like Gwendolyn thinks the more she demands of him, the more likely he is to one day wake up and realize it was her all along.” The whimsy in my voice flattens. “Get real. Everyone knows it was always going to be me. Hunter would never.”
I don’t add that this is most likely—and that’s giving the woman a lot of credit—still happening because we haven’t announced that we’re having a baby yet.
Every time it comes up, something interrupts.
It’s not like no one knows—Hunter told his chain of command since he’ll need time off when the baby arrives—but people like Gwendolyn don’t need to know.
Still, the longer we go without saying it, the more intense my need gets to march up to her face and tell her to back off.
Hunter and I have been playing our little games very publicly for long enough that she should already understand he’s never going to choose her.
“Wait. I’m sorry, who are we talking about? Does she have Iconic? I need to look her up.” Vixey’s words taper off and muffle before growing louder like she put us on speakerphone.
“I forgot Iconic rolled out to everyone,” I say.
“Yeah, she’s on there. The department got access to it months ago, like we did at Metro Media. Gwendolyn Cabaret.” Shuffling sounds on Dove’s end and a muffled order for burgers and fries filters through the line before she returns. “She’s been after Hunter’s dick for years.”
“Hold on. I’m looking her up.”
I wait patiently, watching the Saja Boys perform Soda Pop for the umpteenth time. Baby girl has calmed down on the gymnastics since I turned the movie back on, and my stomach is grateful for the reprieve.
“I’m sorry, who does this bitch think she is? Bunny, babe, go to work and get your man.” Vixey’s switch from bubbly and sweet to I’m going to whittle your fingers into shanks and stab you with them throws me.
Never mind that she’s never called me an affectionate nickname before, and I’m not entirely sure we’re on that wavelength yet, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her utter a single violent thing.
I’m honestly liking her more and more as time goes on.
“Uh, what the fuck?” Dove cuts in, stunned.
“What happened?”
Slapping the speaker button, I pull up the app in a panic. Anxiety ripples through me like a stone dropped in still water, the nervous electric energy skittering down my limbs with a tingling ferocity.
Before either of them can answer, I see it.
A photo of Hunter’s desk, with an array of food laid out on it.
No her. No him.
Only his thick-framed glasses, the food, and the caption: Dinner date. #workhusband.
Bubbles of air catch in my throat, expanding through my chest until it feels like I might burst. “Excuse the fuck outta me?”
Oh, hell no.
Vixey sounds like an eager puppy ready to play. “Do we do teamwork? Dove can hold her down, and I’ll have Nibbles bite her.”
“Who is Nibbles?” Dove asks.
Meanwhile, I’m already on my feet, digging for something other than the sweats I’ve lived in for two days.
Hunter wouldn’t have dinner with her… right?
And he sure as hell wouldn’t let Gwendolyn post something like that, which means he doesn’t know.
“He’s my black flame centipede. His bite hurts like a bitch. And I’d like to help hurt this one.”
I freeze halfway up the stairs, one foot hovering over the hand-scraped walnut, unsure if I heard her correctly. “What?”
“Uhhh…” Dove trails off.
Someone shouts at her to keep walking, and she tells him to go fuck himself in her signature sugary-sweet lilt.
Long silken strands of my hair fall forward as I shake my head, tamping down the hundred questions clawing at my tongue. Surely we’re misunderstanding our ditzy friend.
“Okay, but like… you’re joking, right?” Dove finally asks, the question spurring me to keep moving up the stairs in a stupor.
“No? Why would I be joking?” Vixey’s usual innocence bleeds back into her tone.
She doesn’t strike me as someone who would own a pet centipede—but then, I wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who would severely injure a guy, and look how that turned out.
“You have a creepy crawly pet who has a painful bite, and you named him Nibbles?” Dove giggles. “Well, you know what we’re going to have to call you now, don’t you, darlin’?”
I’m only half listening as I wriggle into leather skinnies, but I know what’s coming.
“Now I’m crowning you the Venomous Vixen.”
“No offense, but I don’t even understand why she’s getting a name,” I huff. “Is she planning on killing any more people? Are you planning on killing more people, Vixey?”
Nervous giggles bubble through the line from both girls.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bunny,” Vixey grits.
“Bad Bunny! Down, girl!” Dove teases.
Admittedly, I shouldn’t be speaking like that over the phone, unsecured network and all.
But it’s not like Vixey even killed anyone. From what I saw, Todd took care of the guy for her.
Whether Vixey knows that is an entirely different story.
“Whatever. I’m crowning you Vexing Vixey.”
In hindsight… could I have messaged Hunter and asked what the hell was up?
Yes.
Instead, I march my cute, pregnant butt down to the department to make sure everyone—and by everyone, I mean Gwendolyn—knows that he is very much mine, I am his, and we are a family not to be fucked with.
But first, I have to pee.
Also, he hasn’t responded to any of my messages since this afternoon, which is unnerving in itself.
Hunter rarely goes long stretches without replying to me.
Voices echo off the cream porcelain tiles of the second-floor bathrooms just as I flush and start wrestling my pants back up.
I thought only my ankles would swell. Why is my whole body bloating like a hot air balloon?
Agitation creeps up my spine as Gwendolyn’s light rasp suddenly reverberates off the walls.
“It’s only a matter of time. I mean, I heard she’s pregnant. What, is he going to stick around and raise another man’s baby? It’s tragic.”
Tugging carefully, quietly, I fasten my pants as I listen.
“Have you ever considered that Hunter might be the dad?” A voice I don’t recognize cuts in over the sink’s running water. “He’s pined after her for years. And anyone who’s seen them together knows she’s got it just as bad. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Don’t be a homewrecker, Gwennie.”
Note to self: find out who that is and get her a nice gift basket filled with coffee cards and chocolate.
Gotta love a woman who looks out for other women.
Gwennie barks a harsh laugh.
Peering through the crack in the stall, I see her primping in the mirror—fluffing her over-bleached hair, checking that her ridiculous red lipstick isn’t all over her teeth.
How about I knock your teeth out so you don’t have to worry about it?
“Bunny Jones is a little tart who tramps around in too much leather and self-assuredness. She probably got knocked up by one of the guys she’s always dating. Hunter deserves better.”
Flicking the lock, I relish the way she jumps at the crash of the door. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and her shit-brown gaze goes wide.
“Bunny. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight,” she remarks snidely, her sour expression scrunching like she just ate a lemon.
Without a word, I stalk toward her, not sparing the other woman a glance. Gwendolyn spins as I come up behind her.
“Let me fill you in on a little secret, Gwendolyn.” Points for keeping my voice level, because my fury could fuel a rocket to Pluto and back.
And yes, Pluto is a planet. I didn’t memorize my very elegant mother just served us nine pizzas in fifth grade for nothing.
Stepping into her space, I force her to retreat or risk getting bitch-slapped by my baby bump. “You keep begging Hunter to take you on a date. He begs me to keep his cock warm at night. We are not the same.”
All the color drains from her already pasty face as her muddy gaze drops to my stomach.
Her mouth parts, the question forming—but I don’t let her speak.
“That’s right. Hunter is the father of my child, and he’s mine. He always has been. He always will be. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll find someone else to harass from here on out. Do you understand?”
Bloodlust screams through my veins like a banshee.
I’ve never wanted to harm an innocent person, especially another woman—but after hearing all the nasty things she said, I’m seriously considering luring her to a club just to slit her throat and watch the light die in her eyes as I reveal myself in her last few moments.