Page 13 of Better Than Baby (Better Than Stories #9)

ten

“Okay, daddies, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Irene, our ultrasound technician, moved her wand across Lena’s swollen belly, and the blur of dark space took the obvious shape of a real live infant with fingers and toes, closed eyes, and a big head.

“Oh, my…geez, the baby is so much bigger.” Aaron’s reverent tone hitched as he pointed at the monitor.

“Sure is, and he’s growing like a weed!”

“He?”

“Or she,” Irene corrected. “I didn’t peek yet.

I promise! My default is boy, but that’s probably because I have three sons.

Let me take a few photos. The eighteenth-week ultrasound is important.

We call it the anatomy scan ’cause we’re accessing the baby’s growth and checking organ development, like the size of the heart, brain, stomach, spine, and—oh!

We’ve got a thumb-sucker. How cute is that? ”

I chuckled. “Very cute. So…does everything seem normal?”

Irene hummed as she paused the wand, zeroing in on what I thought might be the baby’s skull. It was a great picture, but she moved quickly so I wasn’t always sure what I was seeing.

“Yep. If this little one would turn, we could get a better look at their face. And oooh , ask and you shall receive.” Irene grinned. “Daddies, say hi to your little one.”

Holy shit.

My heart skittered and somersaulted. This was a much clearer glimpse than the original one two months ago. At ten weeks, we’d been looking at a peanut, but this was a baby. Our baby…with a tiny nose and itty-bitty lips. So freaking beautiful.

Aaron and I smiled at Lena as if silently thanking her for making this possible.

Irene did a thorough job of explaining what the doctor wanted to see, pausing to show us the baby kicking and losing their thumb and searching for it.

“I could stay here all day,” Aaron gushed. “This is for sure the cutest, most talented baby ever. Admit it, Irene. You know you want to.”

She draped a warm towel over Lena’s stomach with a snort. “Prettiest, most handsome baby I’ve seen all hour. How’s that?”

Aaron gave her a playful stink-eye. “ Hmph .”

Lena wiped the excess gel away and sat up. “Is it strange that I can’t feel him or her kicking yet?”

“Not at all. They still have a ton of room in there to wiggle around. In your final trimester, you’ll actually be able to see his elbows and feet pushing on your belly,” Irene replied.

“You said ‘he’ again,” Aaron singsonged.

“Sorry. Bad habit. But I do know what you’re having, so if you’re interested…”

“We’re not,” he said quickly. “Are we, Matty?”

“Nope.”

We’d debated the topic to death over the past two months and had ultimately decided we wanted to be surprised. We didn’t need or want a bunch of pink and blue things, and we had no intention of sharing the baby’s name even if we knew the sex, so…what difference did it make?

And speaking of names, that was a whole other conversation.

Aaron claimed he was easygoing and joked about naming our child after his favorite diva, but c’mon…I knew that guy inside and out. There was no way he didn’t have a solid top five nailed down that he weighed by meaning, syllables, and possibly how the monogram would look on custom towels.

“I think Lena knows what we’re having,” he commented, waving to her in the parking lot before sliding into the passenger seat of our BMW.

“Really? What makes you think so?” I fastened my seat belt, checked my rearview mirror, and put the car in reverse.

Aaron tapped his temple. “I see things. She gets quiet, and I could have sworn that she and Irene shared a knowing glance.”

I snickered. “Okay…and based on that look, what are we having?”

“A girl. I’m loving Hortense today. Thoughts?”

I steered toward the exit. “Hortense for a girl, Horton for a boy. I like it.”

“Oh, no. People will think we named him after Tim Hortons. That’s a no. If we were to have a caffeine-inspired moniker, why not just go with Frappuccino?”

“You don’t like Frappuccinos,” I reminded him. “And what’s the nickname? Frappy?”

We burst into laughter.

“That’s terrible.”

“Hey, you were the one who claimed nicknames matter.”

He shifted to face me. “That’s because I got cheated, and I refuse to do that to our kid.”

“Cheated?” I scoffed. “How?”

“Aaron is two-syllables that give you no wiggle room. Aar…that’s my only option. You, on the other hand, have Matt and Matty. Strong, virile, sexy choices.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you, but Matty is not a sexy nickname.” I veered around a slow-moving van, stealing a brief glance at my husband, who was practically hyperventilating next to me.

“What? Stop, halt, cease and desist! It’s the sexiest nickname ever,” he sputtered indignantly.

“It’s cute, baby. Not sexy. Big difference.”

More sputtering. “Cute? You think it’s cute when I say, ‘ Matty, mm, fuck me harder. Yes, right there ’? Nope, not cute. It’s hot.”

I guffawed. “Sure, but everything sounds different in the heat of the moment. You can make anything sound hot.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Except Horton. I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Oh, hold my beer, honey,” Aaron countered, clearing his throat.

“You don’t even drink beer.”

“I know, but hold my cosmo doesn’t flow off the tongue as easily. I’d offer to work on that, but since I’ve transitioned into my wine era, it might come across as trying too hard, and that’s never a good look.”

“Couldn’t you say, ‘Hold my Chardonnay’?” I offered, slowing at the traffic light.

“Oh, that’s a good one…although inaccurate. You know I’ve become a Pinot Grigio snob, Matty. I could shorten it to ‘Hold my Pinot,’ but if someone misunderstood and thought I was asking them to hold my penis, I would be oh so mortified.”

I made sure he saw my eye roll before the light turned green, but I couldn’t hide my grin. “How did we get to your penis?”

“Horton,” he replied matter-of-factly.

We lost it again and while it wouldn’t have been funny to anyone else, we couldn’t stop laughing. And when we finally regained composure, we invented a new game, giving a sexy spin to names we knew we’d never in a million years choose for our child. Archibald, Elmo, Dick, Bart…

We snickered like a couple of idiots all the way home.

Somehow it was the release we needed after walking on eggshells hoping this fragile new life would grow and thrive. And they were. We’d still worry and smother Lena with unintentional hovering, but today, in this moment, we gave ourselves permission to just be happy.

I dropped my keys into the bowl on the console table in the newly remodeled mudroom Aaron had insisted was a crucial element in our kitchen expansion and remodel project a few years ago.

A piece of that old conversation echoed in my head as I snaked my arm around his slim waist and leaned against the counter.

“Trust me, a larger mudroom makes sense, Matty. Someday we’re going to pull our minivan full of kids into the garage, and they’re going to trounce through my fabulous kitchen with muddy boots or get into huge fights because their sibling is in their way.

Happened all the time when I was a kid. Add a dog to the mix, and it’ll be sheer mayhem! ”

“You’re going to drive a minivan?”

“Ew, no, but…you get the idea.”

I glanced at the black-and-white tile in the adjoining space with the built-in bench to sit and remove shoes, the hooks above for coats, and the cubbies for miscellaneous things like hats and mittens.

I didn’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, but I could see it now…

the kids, the dog, the chaos. My heart suddenly felt too big for my chest.

I buried my nose in Aaron’s neck and breathed in his scent. “All right, husband, give me your best Horton.”

Aaron’s shoulders shook with laughter as he tried to wriggle away. “If you’re trying to get in my pants, that can never be your opening line. I thought you had to go back to the city anyway.”

“No, I’m going to work from home this afternoon.” I grabbed his ass and bent my knees to grind our cocks. Even with a few layers of clothing in between, he felt amazing. “What about you?”

He fiddled with the buttons of my oxford shirt and gazed up at me with half-hooded eyes. “I have an interview with a cranky old designer at three. And I have to pick up Murphy from the trainer’s by five.”

“I can do that for you,” I purred, nibbling his jaw as I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his khakis.

The sound of the zipper scraping in its grooves reverberated throughout the quiet kitchen. I palmed his growing erection through the cotton barrier and squeezed his length.

“ Mmm , yes.” Aaron pushed my shirt off my shoulders and tweaked my nipples. “Are you gonna fuck me…Horton?”

I snickered, nipping his bottom lip. “Okay, you win. Don’t say that name again…ever.”

“Yes, Daddy. Can I say that?”

“I…oh, yeah, that’s…okay.”

“Just okay?” he purred as I lowered his jeans, splaying my hands on his gorgeous ass.

“No, it’s so good. God, I love this ass. Mine.” I slid my tongue between his lips and devoured him.

“Yours.”

Aaron always gave as good as he got. His hands were everywhere now—one in my hair, the other trailing a teasing path down my chest to my dick.

Damn it, we were wearing far too many layers.

Aaron seemed to agree. We stripped out of shirts and kicked off our shoes while sucking face like a couple of horny teens on a tight timetable. In a matter of seconds, we stood in the middle of our kitchen in our boxer briefs, surrounded by the debris of our discarded clothing.

I slipped my hand under the elastic and kneaded his cheeks, parting them to trail a finger along his crease as I rasped in his ear. “Do you want to go to our room, or can I fuck you here…over the island?”

He spun in my arms and flattened his chest on the quartz surface in response. “Yes, do it. Fuck me, Hort?—”

“Don’t say it,” I warned, shoving his briefs out of the way to smack his bare ass.

Aaron snickered, swaying seductively. “Ow! Mean daddy.”

I wrapped him in my arms from behind, loving the feel of his warm skin as I kissed his shoulder. “You know it.”