Page 115 of Double or Nothing

“Thanks, Cal,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him tightly.

Sutton may not be a fan, and yes, he still has a jealous streak a mile long, but he’s learned to accept Callum and vice-versa. They’ll never be friends, but I’m thankful they peacefully co-exist for my sake.

After Callum leaves, I remain rooted in my spot, watching my gorgeous husband do what he does best. Like after every show, the moment the concert ends, he runs off stage, takes me in his arms, and kisses the breath out of me.

“You were amazing.” It’s the same thing I say after every show, but it’s still the truth.

“Thanks, Kitty Kat. Happy Anniversary.” His lips press against mine.

“Happy Anniversary,” I reply before kissing him back. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh? Not wearing anything under that dress?” he asks, his hand sliding up my thigh.

I swat his hand away with a laugh.

“Of course not, but that’s not really a surprise anymore, is it?”

“I can pretend.”

“I got us a room here for the night, your old suite.”

“Fancy.”

“You have no idea.”

“Lead the way, baby,” he says, taking my hand.

Usually, after a show, Sutton is more than happy to spend hours signing autographs and taking pictures. His appreciation for his fans runs deep. Tonight, though, he presigned a bunch of stuff and has his team handing them out to everyone in attendance.

Mac gets us to our room undetected by the masses. I always knew he was good at his job, but the man is truly a master.

“Happy Anniversary.” He tosses us a smile, then closes the door behind him.

The room is decorated with flowers and candles everywhere, just like our first date last year, but Sutton doesn’t care about any of it. I don’t even think he sees it. The way he’s looking at me is as if I’m the only thing in the world.

“Oh, no.” He’s stalking toward me, his intentions written all over his face. I stick my arm out in front of me as if that’s going to stop him. “I have a present for you.”

“I know that, Kitty Kat. I’m coming to claim it.”

“Not that, you perv.”

“What you got?” he asks, stopping just short of reaching me.

“This,” I say as I hand him a box wrapped in baby blue paper.

He tears at the paper, eyeing me curiously, then lifts the lid and takes out the tiny shirt.

“My dad’s a rock star.” He repeats the phrase again. “Dad?”

I nod.

“You’re pregnant?”

I nod again, not wanting to disturb his ability to process. I know this is a lot for him to take in. In fact, I know there’s a good chance he won’t be thrilled. What I do know is no matter how he’s feeling, we’ll get through it together, just like we do the random visits from his father when he’s drunk. Just like we do when crazy groupies throw themselves at him. Or the news articles that are less fact and more fiction. We get through it because that’s who we are. It’s what we do.

“I’m going to be a dad?”

“And I’m going to be a mom.” Saying the words out loud feels so unreal.

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