More Than a Hotline Fling

-35-

Celia's POV

Oh Mylanta, my nerves are going to send me into early labor.

What the hell is Jason thinking!? Are we that desperate?

My insane, overworked, insane, driven, insane boyfriend blinked at me, one flash of his enviable thick lashes after another. "Two more transports, Cee."

Two more, my swollen ass.

"You said that - ahh."

A sharp pain in my ribs, this future soccer player's favorite target, released a grunt from between my lips. Another one left me as I palmed the edge of the sofa, black, leather, and ugly as I fought gravity.

I didn't know I'd taken gravity for granted until I wobbled, blind-footed on swollen ankles, with a constant forward pull on my lower back and a bowling ball pressing on my pelvis. Correction: It was a well-positioned head, leaving my ribs as prime kicking targets. My stomach stretched in dimensions I didn't know possible, I popped antacids like a garlic lover's breath mints, and I was fairly sure my organs were permanently displaced from their previous locations.

Thirty-two pounds gained and swelling fast, until now I lived on borrowed time. I wanted this pregnancy to last as long as possible. I needed more time, evidenced by the hurried way I rushed through a medical billing and coding certification instead of my BSN program.

So far, baby Rivera - since he or she would have Jason's last name - cooperated. Every ultrasound, despite a couple 'oops' moments that ended up being Braxton-Hicks, showed the baby was head down and my cervix nowhere dilated.

Thanks to Juneau's help and studying support, I passed my MBC certification. While nowhere near the nursing dream future I started out my BSN program with, my uterus had other plans. I was able to work part-time from home, which was adequate for the short-term.

At thirty-nine weeks and four days, I was one rib kick away from reaching inside myself with an eviction notice to jumpstart the labor process until Jason dropped one last-minute bomb on me.

Now I'm ready to sew myself shut until Jason gets back here and I can glue him to my side.

My breath wheezed, drawing Jason's concerned eyes. "Sit down," he cooed in such a soft, gentle voice, my shoulders scrunched up. I wanted to punch him.

Nuts or face work.

"I don't want to sit down!" I threw my hands up, shoving away the sewing basket he offered me, my go-to relaxant. "I want to clean the baseboards and shower tile grout and fuck, those crumbs in the back of the freezer are making my heart palpitate -"

"If it bothers you that much." His lips rolled inward, twitching up at the corners with a suppressed smile. "I'll get Damian to do them."

I huffed because of course Damian was in no position to do my nesting. We shared an OCD-level of cleanliness, but the man barely functioned on his own, understandably. "He's dealing with enough."

If I squinted my eyes closed enough, those two tall, handsome men looked very similar. With dark brown hair cropped into the same, boring high and tight style that was best suited for public service, stacked muscles, golden highlights in their brown eyes, and beautifully bronzed skin, many gaping mouths were left dry.

The one obvious difference between the cousins being my boyfriend actually smiles.

Personality-wise, they were drastically different. Dark and broody, Damian was the adult male version of the 'bad boy' romance novels I read as a teenager. His standoffish, rude demeanor intimidated me the first time Jason introduced us, but I also felt sorry for the lonely man behind his Grumpus Maximus front.