Page 25 of Crazy In Love

“I’m here,” Chris rumbles, stalking to the end of the counter. He bends and rests his elbows on the faux-granite top, running a hand through his hair before he cracks the seal on his soda. “I was helping her bring her suitcases upstairs when you texted. So she called to check in.”

“Called to give the man-boy a taste of home,” I murmur under my breath, earning a side glare from said man-boy.

“Are you…” Hesitant, Tommy pauses. “You guys are getting along now?”

“We neverdon’tget along.”Lie, lie, big fat pumpkin pie. But I sip my soda and smirk behind the lip of the can. “Alana needs us to be friends. Thus, we’re friends. I have no clue why you’re so pressed about it.”

“How’s she doing?” Chris counters.Change the subject, man-boy. It’s okay. You miss your momma. “She in pain?”

“She’s frustrated and tired. And sweating a little bit.”

Tommy mustn’t bewithher, since he wouldn’t dare mention the sweat where she can hear.

Which, I suppose, is something Chris notices, too. “Where is she? Where are you?”

“I’m in the hall, Lana’s in her room having her blood pressure taken. I saw Fox’s name on my screen and figured she’d either lost Franky or killed my brother. Neither of which is something the mother of my child needs to overhear right now.”

“Ye, of such little faith. In fact, Chris and I are basically best friends at this point.” I glance across and beam because, of course, his eyes narrow to slits.Something about lying really pisses him off. “He helped me with my suitcases, and now we’re having sodas. We’re heading back downstairs in a sec, to make sure Franky hasn’t been tempted by a pedo-van filled with puppies. Oh, and Barbara needs to have her bookstore membership revoked. She comes in here, reads books she didn’t pay for, consumes the free coffee, and counts out her pennies for the pastry she wishes she could haveat a five-finger discount. Who needs judgy, narcissistic mothers when you have customers like that?”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Tommy drawls. “Are you pissing people off, Fox? Because I’d really like the store to still be operational by the time Alana gets back.”

“I could light the old twat on fire, and the shop would still be functional. They come here for the gossip, Thomas, not the books.” I set my soda on the counter and scrunch my nose, because Chris’ controlling gaze follows my every move. Every breath. Every single word I utter. Sliding off my stool, I head back to the apartment door and cup my mouth. “Franklin? You okay?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls. “This is how she parents, Tommy. Marco Polo is the extent of her protective measures.”

“I’m okay!” Franky calls back.

Smug, I turn on my heels and enjoy that extra buzz of satisfaction when I find Chris’s eyes glued to my legs.

Lord knows he doesn’t mean for them to be.

“You sure whine a lot for a guynotparenting that kid. You could be downstairs right now, watching over him and beating child services off with a stick. Instead, you’re up here, crawling out of your skin because you need your big brother to pat your head.”

“This is gonna be a wild six weeks,” Tommy sighs. “I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!” Chris snatches my phone and holds it near his mouth. “She’s okay? Does she need anything? Doyouneed anything?”

“I need to get back in there so I can take care of Alana and my baby girl, but I can’t do that till you two knuckleheads stop bickering. Are we good?”

“We’re good.” I slide past Chris, brushing obnoxiously close purely to annoy him, and steal my phone and soda, walking away again. My suitcases are upstairs, and my favorite little guy is downstairs. Thus, it’s time for relocation. “I’ll keep the guys on a tight leash and the external stimuli to a minimum, lest we have a meltdown.”

“You mean Franky?”

I saunter through the door and smirk at the thunder of Chris’ stomping footsteps. “Sure. You go do the Alana stuff. Tell her I love her to bits, and I need her to bake me banana bread just as soon as she’s up to it.”

“Not gonna tell her that last bit.”

“Bummer.” I don’t bother checking that Chris locks up behind him—despite my expensive laptop and the horde of snacks I packed—because Iknowhe’s that kind of guy. He wouldn’t dare leave someone’s living quarters exposed to the public. “Make sure you mention the love then, and sendprogress texts whenever you have time to breathe. If she’s only at three centimeters, I expect that baby will be here somewhere between dinnertime and next Christmas.”

“Helpful,” Tommy grumbles. “Doctor said we still have a while.”

“Like I said. We’ll hang out here and lock up at five, then we’ll get Franky fed and settled in or whatever. When it’s time, it’s time. You’ll call when she’s up for visitors.”

“Yeah, I guess?—”

“Oh! I meant to ask. Chris wants to know if he can be in the birthing suite? He wants to see Alana poop.”

“What?”