smirk turns into all-out laughter. "You think underwear celery is bad, you haven't seen nothing." He lifts the front of his thick, wavy hair and points to a small scar at the base of his temple. Then he holds out his right hand and taps the scar running down his thumb. Finally, he cranes his neck, showing me the little nick on his beautiful bronze skin.
"These are from my cousins," he says with a knowing look in his dark eyes. "Rusty screwdriver, sharp pencil, and broken glass."
My hands fly to my mouth. "Shit, Andrés!" Why would kids do that to each other?"
"Don't worry." He flashes a mischievous grin. "They've got bigger scars."
I slowly sit back down on the sofa as I gape at the scar on his hand. It's the worst of the three, raised and jagged. I wonder if it was caused by the screwdriver, pencil, or glass. Either way, it had to have hurt. I don't know why I'd never asked him. I assumed he'd gotten his scars during his tours in Afghanistan.
A sinking feeling twists a knot in my stomach. After this baby, Andrés will probably want more. In fact, I know he will. He's always said he wanted a big family. I hope our kids don't turn out like Andrés and his cousins. I don't think I could handle them.
"I hope we have a girl," I say through a shaky breath.
Andrés snickers while turning over his hand. "My cousin Marie gave me this one."
My stomach sours, and my chest tightens, and I try my best to keep my expression impassive. I don't want Andrés to see me on the verge of a meltdown, because I'm not ready to have a baby.
***
After playing all day with my brothers, I'm exhausted by the time we get home that night, although I shouldn't be, considering I slept most of the way. We were supposed to drive to his aunt and uncle's house tonight and tell them about the wedding, but we've decided to hold off until Christmas Eve in two more days. I can tell Andrés is tired by the slump of his shoulders, and I wonder how well he slept on that couch. Andrés helps me out of the car and refuses to let go of my elbow until I'm lying on the sofa.
Even though my head feels fuzzy, it's not nearly as bad as it was this morning. When I see Andrés come inside with our bags, I rise on shaky legs. I need to help him unpack.
He comes over to the sofa and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Relax , mija. Those bags can wait until tomorrow. I'll make you a virgin sangria."
I reach for him before he can turn away. "I don't want anything to drink. I want you." I nuzzle his hand, kissing his palms and the tips of his fingers.
Andrés responds with a groan and then he sits on the sofa, pulling me into his lap.
I sigh into his warm embrace. "I love it when you hold me."
His lips linger on my forehead. "I love holding you."
I run my fingers through his thick hair. I pull his head down to mine until our mouths are nearly touching. "Then sleep with me tonight."
Andrés pushes me back with a hand on my collarbone. The softness in his gaze is gone, replaced by a look as hard as granite. "I'm not arguing with you on this. I'm not hurting you again."
I don't know why, but my throat constricts, and my eyes water. I swear my hormones turn me into a crying baby for the stupidest reasons. I'm not normally so weepy, and I can't stand myself for it, which, unfortunately, makes me even sadder.
"Don't cry, mija." Andrés strokes the side of my face with the tips of his fingers. "Please don't do this."
I want to tell him I can't help it, that my body is changing, and I have no control over these unruly pregnancy outbursts. But at the feeling of his heated skin on mine, desire shifts my body in the opposite direction, and I feel like a ship being tossed about in a hormonal storm.
Damn. I'm turned on, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I come up on my knees and lower myself onto him, straddling his waist as he wraps his hands around my hips. I reach between us, stroking my hand up the length of his erection. Just the feel of his desire causes the
"These are from my cousins," he says with a knowing look in his dark eyes. "Rusty screwdriver, sharp pencil, and broken glass."
My hands fly to my mouth. "Shit, Andrés!" Why would kids do that to each other?"
"Don't worry." He flashes a mischievous grin. "They've got bigger scars."
I slowly sit back down on the sofa as I gape at the scar on his hand. It's the worst of the three, raised and jagged. I wonder if it was caused by the screwdriver, pencil, or glass. Either way, it had to have hurt. I don't know why I'd never asked him. I assumed he'd gotten his scars during his tours in Afghanistan.
A sinking feeling twists a knot in my stomach. After this baby, Andrés will probably want more. In fact, I know he will. He's always said he wanted a big family. I hope our kids don't turn out like Andrés and his cousins. I don't think I could handle them.
"I hope we have a girl," I say through a shaky breath.
Andrés snickers while turning over his hand. "My cousin Marie gave me this one."
My stomach sours, and my chest tightens, and I try my best to keep my expression impassive. I don't want Andrés to see me on the verge of a meltdown, because I'm not ready to have a baby.
***
After playing all day with my brothers, I'm exhausted by the time we get home that night, although I shouldn't be, considering I slept most of the way. We were supposed to drive to his aunt and uncle's house tonight and tell them about the wedding, but we've decided to hold off until Christmas Eve in two more days. I can tell Andrés is tired by the slump of his shoulders, and I wonder how well he slept on that couch. Andrés helps me out of the car and refuses to let go of my elbow until I'm lying on the sofa.
Even though my head feels fuzzy, it's not nearly as bad as it was this morning. When I see Andrés come inside with our bags, I rise on shaky legs. I need to help him unpack.
He comes over to the sofa and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Relax , mija. Those bags can wait until tomorrow. I'll make you a virgin sangria."
I reach for him before he can turn away. "I don't want anything to drink. I want you." I nuzzle his hand, kissing his palms and the tips of his fingers.
Andrés responds with a groan and then he sits on the sofa, pulling me into his lap.
I sigh into his warm embrace. "I love it when you hold me."
His lips linger on my forehead. "I love holding you."
I run my fingers through his thick hair. I pull his head down to mine until our mouths are nearly touching. "Then sleep with me tonight."
Andrés pushes me back with a hand on my collarbone. The softness in his gaze is gone, replaced by a look as hard as granite. "I'm not arguing with you on this. I'm not hurting you again."
I don't know why, but my throat constricts, and my eyes water. I swear my hormones turn me into a crying baby for the stupidest reasons. I'm not normally so weepy, and I can't stand myself for it, which, unfortunately, makes me even sadder.
"Don't cry, mija." Andrés strokes the side of my face with the tips of his fingers. "Please don't do this."
I want to tell him I can't help it, that my body is changing, and I have no control over these unruly pregnancy outbursts. But at the feeling of his heated skin on mine, desire shifts my body in the opposite direction, and I feel like a ship being tossed about in a hormonal storm.
Damn. I'm turned on, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I come up on my knees and lower myself onto him, straddling his waist as he wraps his hands around my hips. I reach between us, stroking my hand up the length of his erection. Just the feel of his desire causes the
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