“What was that for?” he whined rubbing his head.
“Eres un tonto, hacer una chica honesta de ella,” she told him with a smile. I had no idea what she just said, but he looked perplexed and maybe a little conflicted. Before I could even ask what she’d said in Spanish, the girls launched into a round of questions.
“Javerio?” I asked in a hushed tone while walking out to his truck at the end of the night.
“Don’t. Only family calls me that,” he snapped. His harsh words triggered a pang in my chest and an anger that I needed to keep tightly reined in. He was absolutely right; I wasn’t his family. I wasn’t anybody’s family.
“What did your mom say in Spanish?” I asked referring to the words she’d spoken at dinner; ones I had no hope of understanding.
With a scowl he mumbled, "She told me I was a fool, and I needed to make an honest girl of you." He shook his head in what I was sure was part annoyance and part disgust. I already knew the mere idea of Trip settling down and making an honest girl of anyone was ludicrous, so I bit my tongue and stared out the window.
The drive home was more than a little tense, but as he pulled up to my apartment, I decided I wasn’t going to let him be an asshole or hurt my feelings. I also had this uncontrollable urge to push his buttons and call him on his shit whenever he pulled it, which more often than not, was when he opened his mouth and sound came out.
“You know what? Screw you. I won’t have you treating me like one of your whores.” My assumption that he didn’t want women he slept with knowing his real name, knowing his real self, was dead on the money from the grunt and maddened facial expression I was so nicely graced with.
Jumping down from the truck and starting up the walkway, I stopped short at his gruff voice behind me. “You weren’t ever one of my whores. Never will be, Princess.”
His warm hand on my arm turned me around to see his face; chewing on his lip and looking down at me with his bright blue eyes, he looked unsure. It wasn’t a look I’d seen on him before and the mere idea that Trip, of all people, was unsure of anything stopped my smart reply in its tracks.
“Don’t think you’re anything less that special to me, Teen. Even before this,” he gestured to my stomach, “above all of it. Even if nothing happens with us, we’ll share something pretty damn special.” His hands cupped my face and he laid his lips gently to my forehead leaving a whisper soft kiss. With a long sigh, he turned and jumped into his truck disappearing down the road.
I let myself inside the front door of my shitty apartment locking the deadbolts behind me. The neighborhood wasn’t a great one and was most definitely far from safe.
As if on cue, banging and screaming started up from the apartment next door kicking off the normal building dramas. I really needed to find a bigger and safer place, but with the pathetic shifts I was getting at the run-down bar I worked at, there wasn’t much hope.
After my nightly routine of bath, puke and PJs, I curled up on the sofa with a movie and blanket. I was feeling lonely. I didn’t want anything much, just a little companionship, even somebody to curl up with and hold me. These things didn’t usually bother me, so I simply put it down to hormones and sulked into my pillow. I was used to being alone. I’d lived on my own since I was sixteen years old. I’d never needed anyone before and I promised myself I wouldn’t ever need anybody. I was a big girl. I could do it all on my own. Yeah, and your pride has absolutely nothing to do with it, an annoying voice in the back of my head mocked.
I zoned out before the opening credits even rolled by. Playing the night over in my head, I came up with endless questions and scenarios, all of which just served to cause a twisted knot in my stomach.
While Trip seemed excited and proud, my own self-doubt crept in turning my mind in to a little vortex of what ifs and maybes. I didn't want anyone to have to have me, just because I was pregnant. Then there was Ma and the girls, Milla and Haven. What if Ma thought I did this on purpose? Oh no! Maybe that’s what she said in Spanish? I don’t speak Spanish. Shit, what did she say? Trip hadn’t looked upset when she’d said it, so it couldn’t have been too bad, but there was confusion there. Maybe I was over reacting? Probably, but I just couldn’t get a grip on all of the self-doubt. Useless tears welled up in my eyes for no reason other than because they could. This pregnancy crap was driving me nuts. I’d never had so many emotions run through me in the span of five minutes. When I wasn’t being a nasty, bitchy little brat, I was crying over nothing. Even some stupid commercial about assholes that kicked puppies was enough to have me hysterically bawling my eyes out.
Where the hell had my sass gone? Sniffling, I wiped the tears away as they slowly trickled down my cheeks and I shuffled to the kitchen. My food cravings were already out of control. Chocolate ice cream and pickles. Yeah it was gross, but I wanted it so I had to have it. I opened the near-empty fridge in search for my precious pickles, only to find three jars completely empty, apart from a little juice in the bottoms. “No!” I cried. “No, no, no, no!” I reached into the freezer feeling around in the hopes there might be a tub of ice cream that would magically pop up, but again, nothing. “Why me?” I burst into tears, again. My chest heaving, I sat on the cold, battered-up linoleum floor for a good ten minutes wailing like a kid whose pet bunny had just died. I knew exactly how unreasonable my tears were, but at that point, it was completely out of my control. I crawled over to the coffee table and snagged my phone. Shit, it was late; Scarlett would be asleep; besides, I wasn’t in the habit of bothering her and Mace. This left me with one option. Trip. Looking between the kitchen and my phone, I weighed my options. Did I dare call him? Were pickles and ice cream really that important? Yes, yes they were.
Chapter Five
Trip
My cell vibrating on my chest woke me from a near perfect dream of Teeny riding me and screaming my name. My dick was hard as nails and I swear I was about ten seconds from making it a wet dream to remember.
“Shit,” I mumbled fumbling around as I came back to my senses. Without checking the screen, I hit the button and pulled the phone up to my ear.
“Lo,” I grumbled thinking it better be a house burning down or a zombie apocalypse to wake me from those fantasies.
“Trip.” The voice on the other end caught my attention; the sniffling behind it had me snapping upright in bed and my stomach dropping out.
“What’s wrong? What happened? “ I rushed out jumping up and pulling clothes on as fast as I could.
My adrenaline had kicked in; a two am phone call from my baby momma couldn’t be a good thing. Something was very, very wrong. Sending up a silent prayer, I focused on the sniffling and hiccupping words coming though the speaker.
“I wanted—“ More sniffling. "I wanted some. hic. But, there isn’t any. hic. And then I just started. hic—" Between her hiccupping and sobbing, that’s all I got before she burst into tears. Pulling my beanie on and slamming the front door, I rushed to the truck. I needed to get to her.
“Okay, Princess. You need to calm down. Tell me what’s wrong. Is something wrong with the baby?” I asked as calmly as I could jamming the truck into gear and taking off, tires squealing.
“No. sniffle I wanted pick—pickles hic There’s no pickles!” she wailed and started balling again. What the fuck? I was now thoroughly confused.
Pulling the truck off to the side of the road, I slumped in my seat relief washing over me. “You called me at two am crying because you’re out of pickles?” I clarified, the edges of my lips tipping up slightly.
“Y—Ye—yes! “ she howled in my ear. I burst out laughing at the hilarity of the whole situation. She’d called me. At two am. Teeny called me.
With a chuckle, I asked, “Tell me what you need and I’ll pick it up.” Pulling a pen and paper out of the dash, I waited.
“I—I don’t know,” she sniffed. “I want pickles and…stuff.”
“I got that, Princess. You really want pickles. I’ll get you pickles. Is there anything else you want while I’m at the store, so we don’t have you upset again tonight?” At the top of the paper, I wrote PICKLES in large print. I’d be fucked if I forgot them.
“Ice cream. I—I like chocolate ice cream with my pickles.” Scrunching my nose up at her strange food requests, I jotted it down.
“Okay, is that it then?” I drew a few thick lines under the two words on the paper in front of me.
“Y—yes,” she blubbered and blew her nose.
“Okay, Princess, hold tight. I’ll be there soon.” Throwing the paper and pen on the passenger’s seat, I pulled back onto the road looking for a twenty-four-hour store so I could ride in on a white horse bearing pickles and ice cream. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it and muttered, “Crying over freakin’ pickles.”
Pushing past her, I dumped the four bags full of food on the coffee table and flopped down onto the sofa. “Pickles, ice cream.” I pointed to the bags. ”Did you know there are twelve different kinds of chocolate ice cream?” I shook my head at the drama I’d had deciding what one was the right one. “There’s Skittles, choc chip cookies, Hershey bars, almost every kind of candy bar they stock, tissues, some kind of swollen foot cream thing and a lovey-dovey book with some long haired girly-boy on the front.”
Snuggling up in the corner of the sofa under a blanket, she stared at me red-rimmed eyes and quivering chin. Figuring I should explain, I blurted, “I told the chick at the store you were knocked up and crying about pickles. She helped.”
She instantly burst into tears a-freaking-gain. “What’d I do now?” I asked pulling her over to me.
She lay her head on my chest and sniffled, “You’re being nice to me. But I’m not nice, so you shouldn’t be nice.” Smiling to myself, I rubbed circles on her back and held her close. I would take whatever she was willing to give and maybe push for a little more.
Rubbing her head into my chest, she said, “Oh, yeah. That feels nice.” My ears peaked. I liked that she was letting me do something nice for her. She was usually a pain in my ass. Rubbing firmer into her back, she moaned and groaned a full minute before I realized I was harder than rock.
Shifting around, hoping my happy friend wouldn’t press into her, my eyes widened when she stopped me and snuggled into me. Shock wasn’t the right word for what I felt when she pressed even deeper into me, into my erection and said huskily, “I read in my pregnancy books that women who are expecting are hornier than usual.”
Eyes wide, I stilled waiting for her to go on. Pushing her perfect tits into my chest, she whispered, “It’s not even a regular type of horny either. It’s the crazy type of horny. You know? The type where you feel like if you don’t get some, you’ll just die.”
Holy shit! I was about to make a mess of myself. This was so unlike Teeny. I blinked rapidly ensuring I wasn’t hallucinating.
