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“Zach.” She elbows me harder, eliciting a small grunt. “Tell me you’re awake.”
I close my eyes, squeezing her closer to my chest. I have a good guess at what she’s about to say, and I don’t want to get out of bed for it.
In fact, I’d be happy to keep doing what we’ve been doing the past month. Not leaving the house.
Every time Dallas comes to drag Farrow to a girls’ night, I fight the urge to hook a donut to a fishing rod and shepherd her back onto the road like a sheep.
“Zach.” Octi swivels in my arms, tracing a fingertip down my nose. “Wake up.”
I keep my eyelids glued shut.
“This isn’t funny.”
No response.
“Let’s have sex.”
My eyes shoot open. I pounce on her, covering every inch of her face with kisses.
“You horn dog.” She giggles, wriggling away from my embrace. “Dallas is having the baby. We need to get to the hospital now.”
“Why? We weren’t the ones to get her pregnant.”
I kiss my way down her neck, cupping her breast and bringing the nipple to my mouth.
We sleep naked for obvious reasons. There hasn’t been a single night where we haven’t woken up—sweaty and needy—to have sex, just to remind each other that we can.
Now that I no longer fear touching, it’s my societal duty to make up for lost time.
Fae rolls away and leaps to her feet. “It’s an emergency meeting.”
I prop my head on my fist, watching her from our bed.
She plucks her underwear and bra from the floor, pausing to add, “Dallas said she wants everyone to be there, so we can finalize the name.”
“I couldn’t care less if she wants to name him after her favorite restaurant.” Farrow shoots me a warning glare. My smile drops. “No, she doesn’t.”
“She does.” She winces, striding to the walk-in closet, only to return with an oversized gray sweatshirt and a pair of mom jeans that still somehow make her look like a model. “In her defense, the restaurant’s name is Antonio’s.”
I stare at her, grinning. Just watching her exist is enough to get my rocks off.
She buttons her jeans and tilts her head sideways. “Zachary.”
“Ma’am?”
“Put your clothes on. We’re going to the hospital.”
“I don’t even like Dallas,” I lie.
She’s fine, I guess.
For a human.
Farrow grabs her backpack, flinging it over her shoulder. “You like me, though.”
“Idon’tlike you, Farrow Ballantine. I’m fucking obsessed with you.”
The steadybeep, beep, beepof the hospital machines echoes down the corridor of the maternity wing.
