“Yes. Um. I’m fine,” I managed and we sat in awkward silence for the rest of the drive.
I pulled into Tasty Burger; I knew that was her favourite. The line was fast, and soon we were sitting in a booth with two burger baskets, an order of onion rings and a pitcher of beer.
“Ohhhh, my God,” Mila said as she chewed her first bite of the burger. “If I have this, I don’t need sex.” She closed her eyes with a divine look on her face, moaning in pleasure. I watched jealously as she devoured every morsel. The grease from the burger made her plump lips glisten. God, those lips.
“Easy there, Tiger,” I said, talking to myself as much as her as I tried very fucking hard to will my hard-on away.
We finished dinner, me mostly with my head down, concentrating on my own food and not Mila’s lips and where I wanted them to be, as Mila told me about the doctor’s appointment.
“He said everything is good, that I’m a great age and in great health. He also told me that I should allow myself to eat what I want throughout my pregnancy, just not, like, a ton of tuna and stuff.”
I nodded in agreement. I was going to need to talk to Monique about all of this diet stuff. Mila was going to need to keep her energy up, and not letting her have the protein she was used to seemed like it spelled disaster.
“Do you want to go to a bar? One last hurrah?” I asked, not wanting the night to end. I hated myself for thinking it, but it’d been a long time since I’d had any kind of fun. Monique never wanted to go out… well, not with me anyway. And the beer had been good, but I wasn’t ready to go home to an empty house yet, and I got the feeling Mila wasn’t ready for the night to end, either.
Mila nodded and grinned as she blotted away any remaining trace of grease with a napkin that lingered on her lips.
There was a great bar just a few blocks away from Tasty Burger, so we decided to walk.
“Where’s Monique tonight?” Mila asked.
I felt a stabbing pain in my gut that was either too much burger and beer or something else entirely. “She said she had a work event or something tonight.”
Mila was quiet.
“She wanted to hear about the appointment, but she said it just came up and it was important.”
“Do you believe her?”
I looked sharply at Mila, wondering if it were possible she was reading my thoughts. For the last few months, I had suspected Monique of messing around with someone, another guy, but I hadn’t even allowed my suspicions to form fully in my own mind, never mind bringing them up to someone else.
“I… I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should mind my own business.”
“No, it’s okay. You’re family. And you live with us.”
We ducked into the bar, and I decided to throw sensibility out the window; I ordered us each a tequila shot. “To the future,” I said, and we drank.
We did that four times. Then I wisely switched to beer.
9
Mila
It was around the third shot that I knew I was going to have to really concentrate on walking once we left the bar.
“I think you should talk to Monique,” I shouted over the music.
“What?” Devan asked. His eyes had a gloss over them, and I knew he was feeling just as tipsy as I was.
“Talk to her!” I said. “About what you think is happening.”
Devan shook his head and looked away. “Maybe,” he yelled back, shrugging his toned, thick shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his shirt. “Or maybe I won’t say one word and will just let things go whatever way they’re meant to go. I want a simple and easy life. I’ve had enough action and drama to last five lifetimes, Mila. I don’t need anymore.”
Our eyes met as he delivered the last line, and I had a feeling we weren’t talking about him and Monique no more.
“…Like we used to say in the Navy: Don’t rock the boat unless you’re ready to get wet,” he continued, then looked away.
We did a fourth shot, the tequila went down so easily, and I was savouring every last drink I could have before the implantation took place. He ordered a beer, and I kept the cocktails going with a martini.
The bar was full, and it was incredibly loud; it was hard to talk. Devan and I yelled a few things at each other, but mostly we just watched the crowd. I felt the music and the beat take over me; the sounds of specific voices grew fuzzy, and pretty soon all I could see was the flashing lights on the dance floor, and all I could hear was the thrum thrum thrum of the bass.
I glanced down at his free hand; the other was wrapped around his beer bottle. I could’ve easily taken his hand in mine and pulled him onto the crowded dance-floor. It wouldn’t have to mean anything if we got lost amongst the gyrating, sweaty, bodies and danced. Would it?