Page 42 of Love Bitters

Imogene

There's no shame to my game when Ollie and Evan stroll back in to find me still in Thatcher's lap. After such a long period without any kind of affection, it's nice to bask in the comfort of his attention for a little while longer. It helps that I'm clearly not the only one who feels this way. I'd tried shifting over to the empty seat beside him, but his grip had just tightened around my body. Now, his left hand rests high at the top of my left thigh while the right rubs up and down my back. It's enough to tempt me to fall asleep in his lap like a baby, but that thought is out the window the second Ollie walks in with an armful of bags.

"Okay," he starts, reaching into one of the bags to pull out a stack of books then passing each of the guys one. “We got everyone their own daddy baby book, so no one would have to share."

Thatcher sucks in a lungful of air like he's getting ready to protest, but Ollie sees it coming and shuts him down with a glare. It's hard not to laugh, but I just manage. We've only been back on good terms for a short minute, and I don't want to be getting on any bad sides again this soon.

As Ollie hands Wes his copy, the latter looks to Thatcher with a grin. "Do you even remember how to read, dude? You probably should've got him the one with pop-up pictures, Oll."

"Count yourself lucky Im is holding me back," Thatch warns him.

The last thing I want them to do is to start fighting, even if it's just playful, with me in the middle. Throwing most of my weight into it, I manage to break free of his one arm while Ollie hands him the book, landing in the open seat beside him. It's amazing that I had to even put that much effort into it. Appearance-wise, he's really filled out in the muscle department, and they're definitely not for show. He's stronger than I remember, too. It brings a whole series of questions to mind, but my gut tells me it's going to be something we need to chat about while the others aren't hovering.

"Before we get to whatever else you have in that bag," Wes starts, standing to walk toward the kitchen, "we should probably go ahead and eat dinner. You hungry, Im?"

"Maybe," I tell him honestly with a small shrug. My stomach is still a little achy from all the stress of the afternoon, but it'll be embarrassing if I don't go ahead and try to eat something because I'll end up having to puke if I don't. Slipping the rest of the way from Thatcher's grip on my leg, I follow Wes into the kitchen.

Ollie, who is right on my heels, holds up a brown container labeled as rocky road. Feeling like a complete asshole, I jerk my eyes up to his and try my best to not think of what's in the box while giving him a grateful smile.

"It's still your favorite, right?" he asks, reaching into the cabinet for a bowl. "You want dessert before dinner?"

His eyebrows raise suggestively, making me laugh. However, it's abruptly cut off when I see him tearing at the plastic on the container to open it, not waiting for my reply. Laying a hand over his where he's battling the sliver of plastic, I feel like the biggest jerk when I admit, "I can't eat that, Red."

"What?" he asks confused. "You can't have ice cream when you're pregnant?"

We've now garnered the attention of the others, and I have to spill even more secrets. "No, we can have ice cream. It's just the same day I found out, I'd eaten some and rocky road, and it came back up. Since then, the thought of it makes my stomach queasy."

He palms the side of my face before leaning down to press a soft kiss against my lips. When he pulls away, he's still close enough for me to get a front row seat to the freckles splattered across his cheeks. It's a strange urge, but I find myself wanting to kiss each and every one of them. Unfortunately, that'll have to wait until later seeing as he moves away completely.

"Turn away so I can dump in down the drain," he tells me.

"Hey!" Thatcher barks. "Don't dump a perfectly good container of icecream."

"Yeah," Wes says, "you can always just trash it."

"Dude, you're a savage," Thatcher retorts.

I hear Murphy chuckle from where he sits in the chair. "It'll leak and get all in the trash can if you toss it. Just put it in the freezer. I'm sure someone will eat it when Imma isn't here."

Ollie rolls his eyes but does as Murphy says before raising his voice to reach Thatcher. "Don't blame me if you eat it and Imma won't kiss you afterward."

There's a moment of silence, then Thatcher vollies, "Yeah, on second thought, just dump it."

The three of us snicker in the kitchen as Ollie pulls me to him for another kiss. Clearly, I'm not the only one who's missed it, but because life is so grand and going more perfectly than I ever could've hoped, Wes just happens to bring it all to a screeching halt. Opening the oven, he releases a smell that would be mouth-watering to any normal, non-pregnant woman. Unfortunately, mine waters for a different reason, so I make a beeline for the bathroom almost running straight into Evan as he comes around the corner. In the back of my mind, I can hear the alarm from the others, especially Ollie since he'd been the closest when I took off, but I can't do a thing to reassure them. As it is, I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach clenches hard. Someone grabs the loose strands of my hair to pull them out of the way, but I'm not sure who it is since I can't keep from dry heaving into the damn toilet bowl.

"I'm sorry," I say out loud once I've managed to get my stomach under control.

A drink is pressed into my hand on one side as from my other, Evan replies, "There's no reason to be. It happens."

"Are you okay?" Wes's voice asks from somewhere behind me.

Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I can only hope that they didn't all follow me in here. How ridiculously mortifying if they did. Trying to play it cool, I answer him without turning around. "I'm fine. Certain smells tend to hit me funny these days. It's been like that for months. It's actually kind of how I first knew something was up. Well, that and the peanut butter."

"You hate peanut butter," Evan says softly with a smile in his voice.

I nod as I reply, "I most certainly do. The bean doesn't, though. It'd probably floor you...if you weren't already sitting on the floor…if you knew how much of that I’ve eaten lately."

He chuckles, as does Wes. Not wanting to be the dramatic center of attention any longer, I shift to get to my feet, and they both reach out a hand to help me up.

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