More of You: The Home Series, Book Two Read online

  “God, Bennett, why do you always have to be the voice of reason?”

  “Someone around here has to keep you two girls in line.”

  “Fine, but when I come banging on your door tonight because it blew up in my face, don’t bitch about it,” I tell them.

  I wish Luce was still at the apartment with me. I miss my sister and Miller being there. When Miller took off to nurse his broken heart, Lucy decided to move in with Bennett so she could focus on their relationship. Now I’m in our apartment by myself. If they don’t have any smaller units for rent, I’m gonna move back home with Momma and Ava. It’s probably the smartest thing for me to do. I can save money for the baby, and I’ll have help when it gets here. Lord knows I’ll probably be doing this whole parenting thing on my own. I guess we will find out soon enough.

  ***

  Finn

  I stare off into nothing, letting the quiet night occupy my mind while the smoke invades my lungs. Work just hasn’t been the same lately without a certain feisty, foul-mouthed waitress here to keep it interesting.

  I’m snapped back to the present when I see that familiar blonde walking into The Red Magnolia, the gastropub where we both work. Maggie Brennan. Shit. She’s a sight for sore eyes. It’s like I summoned her from my thoughts. That hair is messy and wild, blowing around her face. She doesn’t look too happy, but that’s the norm lately. That body, though, still as hot as ever. I can’t peel my eyes away from her curves. Knowing what they look like under her clothes doesn’t help the situation. I can feel myself getting hard at the mere thought of it.

  I haven’t seen her around too much. Talk around work is that her dad got killed on duty one night. He ended up saving both of her sisters when he died with kidney donations. Sounds a little farfetched, and I’m not even sure if it’s true. You never can tell if the shit flying around here is true or not. Most of the time it’s not. I do buy the part about her dad, though. That would explain why I haven’t seen her. I know she’s tight with her family. I’ve seen them in here countless times.

  I don’t think it would make a difference if Maggie had been here lately, though. She avoids me like the plague these days. We had a fling, and I thought we were cool. No strings, no expectations. We would go out, drink, smoke some weed, and hook up. That’s how I heard hot little Maggie Brennan likes to do things. I’m all for that. I had just shaken off that bitch of a girlfriend, Stephanie, so no strings sounded perfect to me. Maggie was always the perfect way to let off some steam and have a little fun. I never got any complaints from her.

  Except she decided to show up at my apartment one morning after a lapse in judgment on my part, and I guess I pissed her off. She didn’t like seeing my ex wrapped around me, fresh from the shower. After that, total avoidance.

  Well, except for that supply closet incident. I knew she couldn’t stay away forever. Maggie and I were explosive together. That closet sex was off the charts. I may have to work on getting Maggie into bed again, now that she’s back. It’s been way too long since I had a taste of my favorite sassy-mouthed blonde.

  Maggie isn’t herself tonight. Not that she’s even speaking to me, but I can see that something’s off. She’s quiet and is keeping to herself. She’s usually loud, sarcastic and obnoxious, keeping everyone entertained and on their toes. Everyone is making plans to go out after work and she hasn’t said a word. She must be taking her dad’s death pretty hard. I’ve never seen her turn down the chance to party.

  The night drags on and I try several times to catch her attention. I even pick up a table in the section next to hers so I can get close to her, maybe piss her off. She’ll talk to me if I get her all riled up. Nope. Nothing works. Towards the end of the night, a four-top of preppy college douche bags sit down in her section. Maggie’s gonna eat that shit up. Always the flirt, this should perk her ass right up. They hit on her, breaking out every cheesy pick-up line they can, but she’s not havin’ it. The Maggie I know would be all over that.

  Before I cash out for the night, I go out to my Bronco to smoke. I know I shouldn’t, but a few hits off a joint won’t do any harm. Besides, closing my tickets isn’t rocket science. I’ve been on edge all night. It’s not hard to figure out that it’s because a curvy little blonde is back. She’s got me in knots.

  A knock on my window jolts me from my thoughts. Well, fuck me, there she is. I roll down my window and hold out the joint to her. She shakes her head and steps back. Not wanting to run her off, I pinch the tip off and put the roach in my pack of cigarettes.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, looking at her feet, pushing the left one back and forth through the gravel. Is she being shy? Maggie should know that she doesn’t have to put on an act with me.

  “Get in.” I want her so bad I’ll fuck her in my backseat. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Not after you just smoked. Come out here.”

  I light a cigarette and step outside. I lean against my old truck, and she steps back. I offer one, but again, she shakes her head. Maggie always used to smoke with me. Well, it was usually after I gave her a few orgasms, but still.

  “What’s up?” I ask. She wants to talk, but she’s not saying anything. As I’m waiting, I feel the familiar haze of the weed I just smoked sinking in. Either she’s taking a really long time, or I’m more stoned that I thought.

  “Come on Magpie, I still have to go in and close,” I say, and I notice her flinch.

  “Don’t call me that,” she whispers, venom in her voice, fire in those piercing blue eyes. Christ, she’s really mad about something.

  I reach for her arm. “I always call you that.”

  “Yeah, when you’re trying to get me in bed. That’s not what this is about.” She looks down at her feet, then back up at me. Her chest is getting red. The color is seeping up into her face. “Well, I guess it is,” she says, and I stand up a little taller as she keeps talking. “Fuck, Finn. I’m just gonna say it. I’m pregnant.”

  My cigarette falls from my mouth when my jaw drops open.

  “What did you just say?” I ask, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. What the fuck is going on?

  “I’m pregnant.” She says it nice and slow, like I’m an idiot. I heard her the first time, but I don’t know why she’s sharing this information with me.

  “And you’re telling me this because…”

  “Fuck you, Finn O’Leary,” she says, jabbing her finger into my chest. The redness in her face is getting darker as she talks. “I thought you would want to know that you’re gonna be a father.”

  I’ve really pissed her off now.

  “There’s no way. How did this even happen?” I’m pacing back and forth on the asphalt, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Any residual calm from the weed I just smoked is long gone.

  “Well, Finn, when you shoved me in a closet and then shoved your dick in my-”

  “Christ, Maggie, you and that damn mouth. I know how it happens. I just don’t know how it happened to us. I used a condom, every single time I fucked you.”

  She shakes her head back and forth, her voice finally getting quiet. “Not in that closet, Finn.”

  I don’t know what to say to her. She’s right. I remember that night quite well, despite the booze in my system. We were all drinking after work at the bar, which is usually how things started with the two of us. We were completely plastered. She got up to go to the bathroom and I decided to follow. It had been so long since I had a piece of her, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to follow her into the bathroom, but we didn’t even make it that far. We attacked each other as soon as she saw me round the corner of the hallway. The closest door was a closet for cleaning supplies, and we shoved ourselves in it. I didn’t have a condom, but we were too drunk and too horny to care. It was quick, but the hottest fuck I’ve ever had.

  She runs her hands through that messy blonde hair, looking completely beat down and exhausted. “Look, Finn, do what you want,” she says, throwing her hands
to the sides in defeat. “It’s your baby, so you have a right to know. I’m not asking for anything. I just thought you should know about it.”

  After dropping that bomb, Maggie Brennan turns around, gets in her car, and drives off.

  I walk inside, pretend like my world didn’t just get turned upside down, and get shit-faced.

  ***

  I warned Goose and Bennett that I would go back over there after work, but I don’t want to do it. I don’t want their perfect little love life rubbed in my face. I’m happy things worked out for them, but I’m so jealous of it that sometimes they’re hard to be around. I want to wallow in my sorrows alone.

  I guess telling Finn about my pregnancy could have gone worse. He must be in shock. I don’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but he didn’t even say anything. We’ll see what he has to say when it sinks in after a few days of rolling around in that brain of his. Or, maybe it will be the same. Indifference. Irish Bastard.

  I pull up at my empty apartment and just want to crash. Sleeping and puking seems to be all I’m good for these days. The joys of pregnancy.

  I see my neighbors outside drinking wine as soon as I pull up and it’s an instant upper. I love these two. Troy and Landon moved in several months ago and I vowed that they would become my new best friends. I mean, who wouldn’t want two ridiculously handsome gay best friends?

  When they see me coming, Troy darts inside and Landon pulls a chair up for me. See? Awesome. Troy comes back out a few minutes later with a piece of toast and some ginger ale.

  “A man after my heart,” I tell him, giving him a kiss in exchange for my treats. Toast and ginger ale are about the extent of what my stomach can handle.

  “Sorry, honey, but that ship has sailed,” he says back.

  “Why do you look like someone kicked your puppy, Mags?

  “Well, my sweet Landon, I decided that I would tell our favorite baby daddy about his upcoming little bundle of joy.”

  Their mouths drop open and squeals ensue. Troy and Landon are the only people who know the whole story and are Team Finn. They think that I need to give him another chance and that we just started off on the wrong foot. Pre-pregnancy, I had a glass or six of wine and spilled every dirty, sordid, raunchy detail of my ‘relationship’ with Finn, with a side of some Facebook stalking to accompany the story. I mean, one look at him and who wouldn’t be Team Finn? He’s a living, breathing work of art.

  “And how did dear old dad take the news of his impending fatherhood?” Troy asks, taking my hand. All excitement aside, he’s genuinely concerned about what happened.

  “Well, considering he was getting high in his truck when I did it, I’m not completely sure he will even remember the conversation come morning.”

  “Really, Maggie? That’s when you thought it was appropriate to tell him?” Landon shakes his head at me. God, he always has to be the responsible one. Sometimes I feel like he’s babysitting me and Troy.

  “Sure. I mean, our whole relationship has taken place either drunk or stoned, so why not?”

  Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever really had a conversation with Finn when we were both sober. We might hate each other.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “Alright boys, as much as I’d love to sit out here with y’all, I’m going to bed. Unless, of course, you’d like to join me?” I ask with a wink. I look at my handsome friends, still half-dressed from work, their suit jackets thrown over the backs of their chairs, ties skewed, sleeves rolled back. They really are beautiful.

  “Goodnight, Doll. Sweet dreams,” Landon calls.

  “Love you Maggie,” Troy tells me, kissing my nose. “Call us if you need anything.”

  I let myself into my too-empty apartment and muster up enough energy to wash the restaurant funk off my skin and hair. I take my vitamins and crash.

  Pounding on my door jolts me awake. I shoot up in a panic. Pounding on doors is never good, especially in the middle of the night. I grab my cell phone and tip-toe to the door, pulling up Troy’s number in case I need him. I look out my peep hole to see who is relentlessly beating on my door at three o’clock in the morning.

  It’s Finn O’Leary, in all his tattooed glory.

  Chapter Three

  I throw open the door, and Finn practically falls in. Jesus, he’s hammered. I look past him into the parking lot and I see his Bronco, parked cockeyed, taking up a few parking spaces.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk about this,” he says, his hands moving to latch onto my stomach.

  I slap them away and he sways on his feet. I can’t handle Finn touching me. I grab his arms to brace him against a fall. He can barely stand, so I steer him to the couch. The smells of pot, cigarettes, and liquor almost leave a visible cloud in his wake.

  “I can’t believe you drove over here. You’re lit. I’m not talking to you like this.”

  Finn gets a devilish look in his eyes, runs his fingers lightly down my arm, and moves his mouth to my ear.

  “We don’t have to talk, Magpie. I can think of something far better for you to do with that mouth. I remember exactly what it’s capable of.”

  My stomach clenches at his declaration. Finn’s mouth gets me every time. When he drinks, a hint of his brogue comes out. Finn’s Irish, but hasn’t lived there since he was a kid. The drunker he gets, the more Irish he sounds. Between the accent, the tattoos, and that lip ring resting in the left corner of his mouth, I don’t have much resistance when it comes to him. I turn my head slightly, moving my mouth close to his, ready to give in to Finn and let him have me, right here on the couch. Our mouths are a hair’s width apart, our breath mingling together from our heavy panting. He barely has to move his head for his lips to be on mine.

  “Come on, Magpie,” he whispers in that orgasm-inducing accent, “the damage has already been done.”

  Dousing me with ice water would have been less effective in killing the mood. I pull away from him, my back stiffening.

  “Don’t you ever refer to my child as damage, you fucking prick.”

  His eyes focus a bit, and he stills his hand.

  “Put your claws away, mama bear, that’s not what I meant.” He looks at me for a beat and runs his hand through his inky black hair, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. And it’s ‘our’, not ‘my’.”

  “What?” I say on an exhale. My heart stammers in my chest, then starts beating double time. Does he mean what I think he means?

  “You said ‘my child’, Magpie, but it’s ours,” he whispers as he closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the couch, passing out cold.

  I guess Finn is spending the night.

  I grab a pillow and blanket for him out of the closet in Lucy’s old room, put them on the couch in case he wakes up and wants them, and head to my bed.

  The familiar wave of nausea that acts like my alarm clock pulls me from sleep. I run to the bathroom without a second to spare. There’s nothing in my stomach, but my body still likes to put me through this torture. This kid is gonna kill me before it even gets here.

  “Christ, are you alright?” Finn asks, his hand resting on my back.

  Fuck. I forgot he was here. I didn’t close the door behind me.

  “I’m fine, please, just go,” I answer, unable to lift my head from the toilet seat.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  I laugh weakly. “I’m pregnant.” Why won’t he get out? This is so embarrassing. A fresh wave of nausea hits and I’m throwing up again.

  I feel Finn leave, but he only goes to the sink to wet a cool cloth to put on the back of my neck.

  “Better?” he asks, plopping down on the floor behind me.

  I nod, but don’t say anything. I just lay there, head in the toilet, cloth on my neck, Finn at my back.

  When I feel like I’m finally finished, I move to get up. Finn slips one arm behind my knees and the other around my back and lifts me up off the floor. I go to prot
est, but he stops me by pushing my head into his neck.

  “Hush, Maggie. I told you about that mouth. I know how to make you stop talking.”

  He carries me to the couch and places me down gently. He gets the blanket that I got for him the night before and places it over me, warding off the chill.

  “What do you need?”

  I’m staring at him, noticing for the first time that he’s only in his boxers. I’m drinking in the sight when he clears his throat and grins.

  “Maggie, you’re sick. What do you need?”

  “Umm, some ginger ale and crackers.” My voice is raspy and hoarse from my new morning routine.

  I can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, searching through the bare pantry. He comes back a minute later with my food, sitting right next to me on the couch, our thighs touching.

  He motions towards the bathroom. “What was all that about?”

  “I told you, I’m pregnant.”

  “That’s every morning?”

  “That’s all the time. It’s nonstop,” I tell him, drinking more ginger ale. I can feel it kicking in. I’m starting to feel human again.

  “What are you gonna do about it? That can’t be good.”

  I shoot him a look. “Well, in about 30 weeks, I’m gonna push this baby out of my vagina and it will all go away.”

  “Watch that damn mouth.”

  I finish my crackers and ginger ale and move to get off the couch. Finn stops me, a serious look crossing his face.

  “I came over last night so we could talk about this. Can we?”

  “I need to go shower. I have an appointment.”

  “What kind of appointment?”

  I hesitate for a minute before I tell him. I think about keeping it from him, but I know it’s wrong. “I’m going to the doctor.”

  “The baby doctor?”

  “She’s called an OB/GYN, but yes. And I need to go get dressed. I’ll see you after work. We can talk then.”