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So my girls are definitely in love with him.
And although I wouldn’t ever say that my brothers are in love with him, they too have somewhat warmed up. Stellan doesn’t glare at him all that much and Shepard doesn’t respond to everything that Reed does with sarcasm.
Last week Conrad even gave him a short nod through the black gates when Reed came to pick me up after school.
Even Ledger isn’t always biting Reed’s head off. And vice versa.
Last weekend it was my brothers’ turn to bring groceries and Ledger brought tons.
Reed was also there because he came around to fix the gutter up on the roof. Because when it had rained a couple of days ago, the water didn’t go down smoothly, whatever that meant.
When I told him that I didn’t notice anything and that he was crazy to worry about the littlest things and that he should relax and enjoy things like rain because it’s pretty and cozy to watch from the glass house, he shot me a flat look. Then he said that I should let him handle things beyond my ken.
“Beyond my ken. That’s offensive, Reed.”
He set the ladder against the siding of the house and murmured, without glancing at me, “Yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”
I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not only offensive, it’s also misogynistic to imply that women don’t know anything about house maintenance.”
“Well, they don’t if they think rainwater clogging on the roof is cause for celebration.”
“You’re —”
“Are you bothering my sister?” Ledger asked, appearing out of nowhere.
Reed threw him an irritated look. “I’d be happy to start something with you but I’m a little busy here.”
“Yeah, with what?”
I jumped in before Reed could make matters worse. “He’s cleaning the gutters or whatever. And when I told him he shouldn’t bother because everything was fine and that he should enjoy things in life like pretty rain instead of worrying about everything, he said I didn’t know anything about house maintenance.”
Ledger turned to me. “Pretty?”
“Yes. That’s all. Relax.”
Ledger frowned at me before turning to Reed. “She tell you that it was pretty?”
“Also cozy.”
They both looked at each other, sporting the same look. The look that said I was crazy, that all women in the world are crazy for suggesting that rain is pretty.
Ledger turned back to me. “Callie, it’s not going to be pretty or cozy or whatever the fuck when your roof starts leaking and there’s water damage. Let him do his thing.” And then, just to annoy me — I know it — he added, “You should go inside and bake cookies instead and see if the purple leprechauns that live under your bed want some.”
My eyes went wide. “You moron. I can’t believe you said that. Especially when you know that I’m pregnant and my hormones are all messed up.”
They are.
Along with making me cry, they make me angry and hot and just… so irritated.
So much so that I punched my brother in the chest that day, which only made him snicker. And when I noticed that Reed’s lips were twitching, I punched him too.
“You know what, I am going to make cookies. Oatmeal raisin, Ledger. But you don’t get any.”
“Hey!” Ledger protested. “Now, that’s a little hasty. Who loves you the most, huh?”
“Not you.” Then I turned to Reed who was watching me with amused eyes and declared, “You too. I know you like them too. But you don’t get to have any either.”
So yeah.
Apparently, ever since Reed and Ledger ganged up on me, Ledge doesn’t openly glare at Reed anymore either.
Which is great but I hate that there’s so much testosterone around me.
The only person that I know who does glare at him is my ballet teacher, Miss Petrova.
Aside from forcing her to apologize to me all those months ago, Reed gets on her nerves. Because he likes to watch my lessons and Miss Petrova thinks it’s disruptive.
But of course Reed doesn’t listen.
He still sits there and still watches me awkwardly hold my poses and heave and pant as my pregnancy progresses and my bigger belly messes with my balance. But my doctor has said that as long as I don’t exert myself too much and do it all under professional supervision, it should be fine.
“You know, you’re starting to creep out other girls too. That you sit there and watch me and don’t even listen to our teacher,” I tell him when he opens the door to his Mustang to drive me back home after class one evening.
“And I should care about that why?”
“Because they might call the cops on you,” I reply, raising my eyebrows. “Because you’re acting like a stalker.”
He narrows his predator animal eyes. “I know all the cops, remember?”
“So what, you’re going to keep stalking me then? Like a criminal.”
“No, like a villain. And you’re pregnant with my baby.” He flicks his eyes over me, over my bun and sweaty neck, my white leotard and ice blue tutu that hides my pregnant belly. “It’s my fucking job to stalk you.”
