Chapter 3
Spencer
“ A nyone up for karaoke?” our server asks as she returns with our drinks.
Charlie and I have been treated like royalty all night, sitting at the birthday girl’s VIP booth.
It’s our first time ever getting bottle service.
But in solidarity with my underage sister, I’ve only been sipping on Shirley Temples.
“Seriously? No one?” Our server wiggles a clipboard in the air, trying to coax a response from our table. “You’re at House of Blues. Look at that lonely stage. Someone has to sing.”
Avoiding my gaze, Charlie reaches for the clipboard with her grabby hands. Like a reflex, I intercept the clipboard and hand it off to Lennox sitting across from me. “Just our drinks, please.” I shoot Charlie a pointed look.
“Regular Sprite for you,” the server murmurs, handing Charlie her fizzy mocktail. “And this one’s the diet. Just a splash of grenadine and no cherry.” She places a black napkin in front of me and sets my drink on top of it.
The server proceeds to hand everyone else their drinks. Mai tai for Avery, the birthday girl. A Perrier for my pregnant former boss. And some sort of scotch, bourbon, or whatever top-shelf liquor excessively rich men like to drink, for their husbands.
Lennox and Dex have been my former bosses turned friends for two years. I only met Avery and her husband, Finn, a few hours ago, and they’ve already all adopted me and Charlie like family. I like having girlfriends that are older than me. I get to play the little sister for once.
“No karaoke for me,” Lennox says, handing the clipboard back to the server.
She tucks a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear.
Charlie may know her as “purple-hair lady” but Lennox stopped dyeing her hair when she got pregnant.
According to her, the all-natural, organic violet tint she’s been using instead can’t conquer the rich brunette of her hair.
It smells nice though. There’s a burst of spearmint every time she throws her head back and laughs.
“Good call,” her husband, Dex, says with a slick smile. He rubs her round belly affectionately. “Jake startles easily,” he adds.
Lennox responds by poking her tongue out. He’s not wrong. I’ve heard her singing. “Startling” is an understatement. It’s almost as bad as mine.
“Jake? You finally settled on a name?” I cock my head and study the sentimental look on Dex’s face.
He nods but his eyes stay glued to Lennox’s stomach. “Jacob. After my grandpa.”
“That’s sweet.” I turn my attention to Avery and Finn. “Any baby plans for you two?”
“Hopefully soon,” Finn responds. He plants a soft kiss on Avery’s temple, and she cuddles into him a little closer.
“Not too soon, though.” Avery widens her eyes at me. “Lennox has not made pregnancy look glamorous.”
“Yeah, I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s a living hell.” She gestures to her own chest like Vanna White. “But, silver lining, my boobs look huge all the time.”
“Len,” Finn says, nudging her. “Little ears.” He nods toward my baby sister.
“It’s okay. I know what boobs are,” Charlie says proudly.
Mortified, I cover my eyes with my hand. Fantastic parenting, Spence. Truly.
“What’re you drinking, Spencer?” Lennox asks. “That looks good. I think the baby’s craving sugar.”
“All yours.” I eagerly slide my untouched drink over to her. “It’s diet though.”
Lennox looks around for the waitress that disappeared. “Oh, I can get one?—”
“No, please! Take it,” I urge. It’s the least I can do.
Having such well-off friends is uncomfortable.
I’ve had no choice but to let them pick up the tab tonight.
They also insisted on paying for dinner prior to this party.
Thank God , because I could not afford that steakhouse.
I told Charlie we had to share a meal so we weren’t too much of a burden.
It worked out. Charlie was way too excited for the party to have an appetite, and lately, I’ve been trying to eat like a bird.
To the people at this table, a thousand-dollar dinner tab is nothing.
To me, the McDonald’s value menu is getting a little big for its britches.
I spent all the spare cash I had on a birthday present for Avery.
Even after scraping up all my spare pennies, no way could I afford a designer clutch for the birthday girl.
I was slightly horrified when she opened her present in front of everyone at dinner.
She gave me the biggest hug and immediately swapped out her Hermès wristlet to use her new brandless purse for her party tonight.
Either Avery is the most genuine, humble rich person on this planet, or she pities me.
“Oh, that hits the spot,” Lennox says after taking a swig of the drink. “He’s already dancing in there.”
I smile at her, pleased that my small gesture made her baby happy. It’s such a tender moment until Charlie opens her mouth. “Spencer, are you pregnant?”
“ Charlie ,” I hiss. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because your boobs look huge, too. You’re popping out of your dress.”
My jaw drops as I make eye contact with Lennox, then Avery. They both stare at me wide-eyed, two deer in headlights. I glance at Finn, then Dex, who are both avoiding my gaze, and my apparently ample cleavage.
“That is so rude,” I scold my sister. “Don’t ever say that to people.”
“But are you though?” Her eyes are twinkling with what looks like hope. Does she honestly think a baby would be good news? I can barely take care of the kid I have.
I push back from the table and stand, trying to hold my head high. “Would you guys mind keeping an eye on my sister for a bit? I need a minute.”
“Of course,” everyone seems to murmur as one.
“Where are you going?” Charlie asks innocently.
I have to forgive her because she’s eleven. But for fuck’s sake, hell hath no fury like a preteen with no filter. Narrowing my eyes, I answer, “To the bar. For an alcoholic drink because I am most definitely not pregnant.”
Feeling self-conscious, I pull up on the neckline of my dress for the millionth time as I lurk by the bar.
The bartender has passed by at least a dozen times, but I can’t get his attention at the far end of the counter.
He’s too busy tending to the mosh pit that has centralized around the beer taps.
I’m unbothered. It’s not like I’m in a hurry to get back to my table after the way my sister humiliated me.
She wasn’t always like this. Her unleashed sass is a new development.
Every time I want to smack her right across the face, I force myself to picture chubby, pink cheeks, twinkly bright blue eyes, and little blond pigtails.
It’s hard to stay mad at five-year-old Charlie.
She was so damn cute. And I know that sweet little girl is still in there, somewhere.
I’m not even really angry at her overt curiosity.
It was an inappropriate time to ask me if I’m pregnant, sure, but her question hurt because her observation was spot-on.
This is an old party dress and it used to fit me much better.
Now that I’m off my medication, I’m gaining weight. Evidently, it’s noticeable.
But what choice do I have? Food, shelter, phones, internet, and school supplies are all more crucial than my pant size. It doesn’t mean my expanding waistline isn’t tormenting me. I’m dieting—and by dieting I mean, hardly eating. But every time I step on the scale, the number keeps creeping up.
“Can’t get a drink?”
I’m so startled, I yelp like a puppy. To my left, a strikingly handsome— oh screw the formalities —a smokin’ hot, sexy Adonis with golden-brown hair and deep blue-green eyes is staring at me.
“Where’d you come from?”
“Thin air, apparently.” He smirks. “I thought you saw me. I didn’t mean to scare you.
” For the briefest moment his gaze drops to my chest before snapping back to my eyes.
It was so quick, it’s possible I imagined it.
Or maybe it was even unintentional. Either way, it summoned my self-consciousness again and I yank up on the neckline of my dress.
The problem is I yank too hard, causing my miniskirt to ride up so high my underwear is exposed.
Quickly overcorrecting, I hastily pull the dress down and I swear I can almost hear the pop, pop as my breasts break free from the deep V-neck.
Oh, dammit to hell. With one hand clenched around my neckline, and the other fiercely gripping the hem of my dress, I silently vow to throw this outfit away the moment I get home.
“Are you okay?” He looks genuinely concerned for my sanity.
“You checked me out,” I say, unclutching my dress. “My sister just told me I’m too fat for this dress and bursting out all over the place, so I…” I roll my wrist in a manner that says etcetera . I don’t need to elaborate. He saw firsthand the awkward dance I just did.
“You have scratch marks on your chest.”
“Excuse me?” His statement takes me completely off guard.
“I wasn’t checking you out. You have red marks here.
” He pats his chest, illustrating the area of concern.
“That’s what caught my attention. It looks like somebody tried to grab you.
Not to mention you’re standing here alone by the bar, fidgeting, looking like you’re about to cry. I was putting the pieces together.”
“Oh, I must’ve accidentally scratched myself.” I’ve been fussing with this dress too much. But I’m shocked at his observation. How long has he been watching me to come up with that hypothesis? “I’m perfectly fine. Outside of the whole sister-calling-me-fat thing.”
“Sisters can be a pain.”
Understatement. “So you get it.”
He clamps one eye shut and grimaces. “Honestly? I’m an only child. But it seemed like the right thing to say at the moment.”