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I shake my head. “Sure,” I concede, “But keep your hands to yourself,” I warn playfully.
“I promise I will only look and not touch.” Jay holds his hands out in front of himself and I swat them away.
“Thanks for coming,” I say to Peter, even though I’m sure it was because Jay made him.
Jay discreetly excuses himself and moves to the front of the crowd when he notices Wade, and the two of them begin to talk.
Cash clears his throat and his voice cracks as he addresses everyone in the store.
“He’s not very good at speeches, is he?” Peter jokes.
I shake my head. “He’s a much better bassist.”
“Jay lost his shit the other day at the studio and he’s been hounding me to get an introduction ever since,” he says, annoyed at his friend.
I laugh. Cash has never been comfortable with fame and he was always happy to fade into the background, overshadowed by Jack’s dominant front man persona. He just wanted to play the guitar, and he loved playing with Jack.
“I wanted to say thanks,” Peter says.
I tilt my head.
“You know, for everything.” Peter doesn’t need to say it, but I appreciate it.
“That’s what I get paid for.”
“You know is more than just collecting a paycheck,” Peter says as he kicks at the ground.
“I know,” I say quietly, and the space between us becomes too heavy.
Peter shoves his hands in his pockets. Once the album is mixed, they will be heading out on tour to promote it.
“I’ll be glad when I don’t have to see your face every day,” I say sarcastically.
Peter scoffs. “I’ll be glad when I don’t have to listen to you yell at me anymore.” He rolls his eyes, both of us knowing this is probably the last time we will see each other for a while.
We both turn toward Cash whose voice suddenly exhibits a pubescent croak in the middle of a sentence. I place my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. Someone really should put him out of his misery. Peter laughs as he watches Jay hang on every word.
“Should I pull the fire alarm to put him out of his misery?” Peter asks.
“Too disruptive.”
“Fake a fall?” he asks.
“Only if I can push you.”
“HAND OVER THE broom,” Cash says sternly.
I give him an annoyed look and hold the handle firmly in place.
“I’m pregnant, not injured,” I say defiantly.
“Mia,” he warns. The timbre causes the muscles between my legs to tighten. Cash is a gentle man, but when he uses that commanding tone, my body responds to him. Cash was a gentle boy who turned into an even gentler man, but there is a fire inside of him that I love to stoke.
Pregnancy has changed me in ways I never knew it could, but I am still me, just trapped inside of a body that is not my own anymore. I still want the same things, desire the same things, but now there are limitations. I was never the kind of woman that was meant to be restrained, but that is how it feels.
Lately, my hormones are all over the place. If it’s not morning sickness, it’s my body betraying me with urges that consume me.
When Cash holds out his hand for me to give him the broom, I hesitate for a second, wondering if I can get him to forget about the fact that I’m pregnant and see the woman who is standing before him.
