"I have a pregnancy test in my suitcase."
"What?" he yelped, pulling her down and tackling her against the pillows. "You were holding out on me this whole time?"
"Maybe if you weren't so pushy."
Cupping the back of her head, he leaned forward until she tipped all the way onto her back. He spread his body out on top of hers, pinning her hands over her head. Then he kissed her again, deep and slow. "You like it when I'm pushy," he said a couple of minutes later when they were both breathing heavily.
"If you add ‘when we're naked' to that sentence, then yes."
"Go pee on the stick, woman, and I'll show you my best pushy naked game."
She gave him a shove and he rolled off her. Then she got up and fished a slender box out of her carry-on bag. He hopped up to follow her, but she gave him a stern look at the door. "You don't get to watch me pee."
"Just don't leave me hanging. How long does it take to show us the love?"
She slipped the test stick out of the box then handed him the documentation. Then she shut the door in his face.
• • •
In the bathroom, Lauren kicked her underwear off and took a shaky breath. He's right, she told herself. Either way, it's okay.
It was surprisingly hard to pee on a stick without peeing on your own hand, but Lauren managed it.
Then, taking care not to glance at the display window on the plastic stick, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands. This day would live forever in her memory as the Day of Bathroom Drama. First Elsa, and now this. The cycle of life was getting a full workout, here. Hakuna matata.
"Nine, ten, eleven," Mike counted from outside the bathroom door.
"What are you doing?"
"The instructions say to wait thirty seconds. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . ."
Lauren's heart shimmied. "This is going to be very anticlimactic if it's negative. And we won't even know, because false negatives are common early on."
She opened the door to find him standing there, gloriously naked, leaning on the doorframe. "Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen," he counted quietly. His big, kind eyes looked down on her. "Nineteen . . ."
Lauren stood up on her toes and kissed him.
"Mmm . . ." He kissed her, too, pulling her against his hard body, his erection poking her in the belly. Damn, this man. If the test was negative, she'd be crushed. But she knew he'd kiss her and love her until it hurt a little less.
He broke their kiss. "Twenty-nine, thirty! Let me see it."
She lingered in his arms a moment longer, prolonging her moment of truth. "You're insane."
"So? It's probably not hereditary." He ducked around her using his smoothest defensive maneuvers and grabbed the plastic stick off the counter. "Yesss!" He pumped his fist.
"Really?" Lauren gasped. "Let me see." She grabbed the stick out of his hand. The display very clearly read +. "Wow. That's a plus sign!"
"Of course it is." He took the stick out of her hand and tossed it onto the bathroom counter. Then he shut off the light, grabbed Lauren by the hips and lifted her into the air.
Two seconds later her butt landed on the bed, and big hands lifted her nightgown over her head. "Time for my victory lap," he said, pushing her back on the mattress. His warm weight landed on her thighs, and he attacked her neck with hungry kisses.
"I can't believe it," she murmured, her hands running through his hair. Their baby might have his dark, wavy locks.
Their baby. Holy cow. What a crazy, wonderful idea.
"Believe it, honey." He grabbed one of her hands and attached it to his erection. He was hot and hard in her hand, and her body didn't fail to notice. He tongued the valley between her breasts, and goose bumps broke out all over her body.
She stroked his cock and let out a happy sigh. "Can't believe it worked on the first try." She hooked her heels on his hips and drew him closer.
"I should have been a forward, you know?" he said, tonging her nipple. "I'm a really good shot."
Her answering giggle died away as he kissed his way down her body. He nudged her thighs apart and placed a very soft kiss right where it counted. "Oh," she gasped. And when his tongue came out to play, she clapped a hand over her mouth and bit back a moan.
"I know," he said softly. "We have to be a little quiet."
But the brush of his play-off beard against her thighs was making her crazy. "Come up here," she demanded.
"Now who's pushy?" He gave her a long, lingering lick that made her see stars.
"Please," she panted.
One second later, his big, beautiful body rose up over hers. He grasped one of her knees, lifted it and filled her completely. "Oh yeah," he said, thrusting his hips right away. "I do good work. First rate. Pro level."
She arched her back and tried not to make any noise, but that was hard to do when you were as full of joy as she was. The things coming out of Mike's mouth were cocky, macho boasts. Yet this man knew exactly how it changed your life to have a baby, and he'd wanted one with her anyway.
"Kiss me," she demanded, her eyes wet with happy tears.
Without further comment, he did.
TWENTY-EIGHT
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
JUNE 2016
Mike had been right to celebrate when he had the chance, because the Stanley Cup finals against Dallas were a serious challenge to both his sanity and his body.
Three days after their Detroit victory, they lost game one in Dallas. Then, forty-eight hours later, they won the second game. But veteran Beringer sustained a knee injury during the overtime period and wasn't expected to play again until next season.
The team flew back to Brooklyn feeling low. By the time they landed at La Guardia, they had just over forty-eight hours to get ready for game three.
Beacon called home and asked Hans to pick up four steaks and a bag of charcoal for the grill out in back of the townhouse.
"Four?"
"I want Lauren to join us. Make it five if Justin is free. And pick up a bottle of whatever you feel like drinking."
"What does Lauren drink?" Hans asked.
These days? Water. "Anything. You pick."
"Sounds like fun," Hans agreed. "I'll make that pasta salad that Elsa likes, with the olives in it. She's a little blue today."
"She is?" He rubbed his temple, where a headache threatened to develop. "Any idea why?"
"I asked, but she would not say. Even my offer to play Bach duets at twice the normal speed did not cheer her."
"Shit."
"You're coming home, though. She'll like that. I'll tell her to finish up the math homework now."
"Thanks, man. See you soon." Beacon tossed his duffel bag onto the back seat of a yellow cab and slid in after it. "Willow Street in Brooklyn Heights," he told the driver.
His next move was to dial Lauren. "Team huddle," he said when she answered.
"What's the play, Coach?" she asked immediately.
"Any chance you can come to dinner at my place? I would have asked sooner but this was a plan I hatched at thirty-thousand feet."
"I could probably make a little room in my busy social calendar."
"Then I'm honored. Bring a change of clothes, maybe? I'd like to keep you overnight."
She was quiet a moment. "If you think Elsa's ready for that."
"I love that kid so hard, Lo. If she hasn't figured that out by now, I don't think another couple weeks of easing her into it is going to help."
"Okay. If I have to stop at home, it will take me until six thirty to get to your place, though."
"That's fine. I'll light the grill at six."
"Do you cook other things these days, too?"
"Nope. Just steak and pancakes. Same as always. You'll have to be the one who teaches the twins to cook."
"You think you're so funny. Until the doctor says I'm having twins."
"Bring it, woman. Now go back to work so I can make you a steak at six thirty."
They hung up, and just like that he was feeling upbeat again.
• • •
The first thing he did upon reaching home was to run up the stairs and knock on Elsa's door. "Sweetie, I'm home. Can I come in?"
There was no reply.
"Els?" He turned the doorknob. She was sitting in the center of the bed, her index fingers pushed into the corners of her eyes. "Hey-are you okay?"
She nodded, but tears leaked down her face.
"What happened?" He was across the room in three paces, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I . . . read Mom's letter."
It actually took him a minute to remember what she meant. "Oh," he said stupidly. That freaking letter. Of course it would make her sad. "I'll bet she said some nice things."