We devoured our Chipotle, the girls actually finishing their meals first. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Lottie was pregnant from the way she unapologetically matched Ellie’s ravenous appetite. Now we’re sitting out back, a fire pit burning between us, Lottie and me in one loveseat, Dave and Ellie in another. Lottie is curled against my side with her hair tickling my cheek and her hand resting on my chest. She really is such a little thing; she fits perfectly plastered against me. Not that I’d ever admit this to her—because talk about the world of fucking pain it would be to hear her boast—but she feels good curled against me.

Apparently, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a female companion, not that I’ve really ever had one, but I’ve dated here and there, and having that feminine touch, the attention, yeah . . . it’s nice.

“I had a hard time keeping the news quiet too,” Dave says. “When you find out your girl is pregnant, it’s hard not to shout it from the rooftops.”

“Same,” I say. “I just can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.”

“Have you bought anything for the baby?” Ellie asks.

“Not yet. But I’ve looked at a few cribs from Pottery Barn that caught my attention. My sister is all about sustainability, and Pottery Barn makes a lot of their furniture from repurposed wood.”

“Oh, wow, I love that. Dave, we should look at Pottery Barn.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Dave is such a yes-man when it comes to Ellie. Wish he was a yes-man with business too. Maybe I should butter him up with some of Ellie’s tactics.

What my brothers would fucking do if they saw me curled up against Dave’s armpit, slowly stroking his thigh while nuzzling my head into him.

Also . . . was Lottie really looking at cribs? I doubt she’d say anything that isn’t true out of fear of being called out. So, how the hell does she know about repurposed-wood cribs?

“Did you hear that?” Lottie asks me. “Dave is going to give Ellie anything she wants. Is it the same with us?” Lottie pats my chest with her hand and looks up at me. She’s inches away, and I know if I were an outsider looking in, we would 100% look like a couple. All because of Lottie.

“You know you can have whatever you want,” I respond. “When do I ever say no?”

Her finger plays with the buttons on my shirt. “Just last night, when I asked for—”

“Not around company,” I say, not sure what she was going to say, but wanting to cut it off before it becomes something it shouldn’t. Lottie is a wild card and she’s been on her best behavior all night; I could see the potential of her slipping soon.

Dave chuckles. “Best we go grab dessert while Lottie convinces Huxley to perform . . . whatever it is she wants.”

“Might be best,” Lottie says with a wink.

Dave and Ellie retreat inside the house. When the door clicks shut, Lottie stays in place, but the sweetness in her tone dissipates as she says, “I don’t appreciate you squeezing my leg when you think I’m about to say something wrong. I’m going to have bruises.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

Her finger plays with the side of my cheek, her nail scraping against my scruff. “I’m really carrying the team over here. No wonder Dave doesn’t want to do business with you. You’re like a dead fish in a button-up shirt.”

My brows narrow. “I’m not a dead fish.”

“Uh, it’s like pulling teeth to get you to show some personality. Seriously, where’s Chipotle guy? He was way more fun than the one I’ve been petting all night.”

“You haven’t been petting me.”

“Feels like it.” Her finger tugs on my lower lip. “Are we going to have to kiss at some point? Because I’m really not interested in that. Kissing a dead fish is really not an activity I’d care to partake in.”

“I’m not a goddamn dead fish,” I seethe.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says. “You barely even laugh. That helps, you know—laughing, interacting. Making a joke on occasion. I know he’s a business associate, but lighten up, man. Sheesh.”

“How about we leave the business interactions to me, and you just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Oh, making you look more likeable because you had enough sense in that pea-sized brain of yours to ask me to fake marry you?”

“You’re foul to be around,” I say.

Her eyebrows shoot up and then her eyes grow round with anger. “I’m foul to be around? Uh, hello pot, it’s kettle . . . you’re black. Also, I’m not sure how I could be foul to be around when clearly I’m the life of this borderline Hallmark movie we’ve been living in the past two hours.” Still whispering, she says, “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m having to talk about marriage, babies, and what kind of linens I like to use on my bed. Shoot. Me. Now.”

“Then talk about something you like,” I say.

“Oh, you want me to do that? Shall I discuss the latest dildo I purchased from an exotic website? Because it has a suction cup and I love using it in the shower.”

Jesus.

Christ.

I shift in my seat and turn more toward her. “Do not bring that up.”

She smirks. “But I thought you wanted me to talk about what I wanted to talk about.”

“This is why you’re foul to be around.”

“Coming from the one with the stick up their ass.” Her eyes travel to my lips and then back up. “You’re unpleasant.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“You open your mouth and put people to sleep,” she snaps back.

“You’re obnoxious.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re bawdy.”

“You’re imperious.”

“Aww, look at them,” Ellie says, coming back outside. “They’re so cute, aren’t they, Dave?”

“They do look quite perfect for each other.”

If only they knew.

I smile at Lottie and stroke the side of her face lovingly before turning toward Ellie and Dave and the tray of mini trifle cups they’re carrying.

“I meant to make peach cobbler, but just yesterday peaches started to make me sick to my stomach, so I hope everyone likes strawberry shortcake.” Ellie turns to Lottie. “Lottie, I’ll have to share the recipe with you. It’s to die for.”

Lottie lifts off me, but still keeps her hand touching my leg. “I’d absolutely love that, Ellie.” Lottie squeezes my leg tightly as she sits up, and I know exactly what that squeeze means.

She’d rather be caught dead than trade recipes with Ellie.

Do you know what’s been the worst part of this evening?

Not having to dodge couples’ questions from Ellie left and right.

Not having to pretend to touch Lottie’s flat stomach on occasion, like Dave does to Ellie’s slightly rounded one.

And not having to see a man I respected in the boardroom shrink to a shell of a man who falls in line with everything Ellie has to say.

Nor is it the idea that Lottie has a goddamn suction-cup dildo that she uses in the shower floating around in my head.

I can handle all of that.

What I can’t handle is not being able to cash in on one minute of alone time with Dave. I haven’t been able to talk about the deal once. I haven’t even been able to mention it, because it’s not something I’d do around Ellie and Lottie. Business should be kept separate from “family time,” but I thought I would’ve been able to sneak away with Dave at some point. But everywhere I look, Ellie has her claws dug into Dave, and he’s the happiest motherfucker about it.

Ellie yawns. “Oh, what a night. I’ve had such a wonderful time.”

“Me too.” Lottie yawns as well and then pats my chest. “But we should probably get going. We don’t want to keep you from getting that important beauty rest . . . right, Dave?”

Dave laughs and nods. “Oh yes, Lottie, you know I need that beauty rest or I’ll be a nightmare to look at in the morning.”

“I’d say intimidation is never a bad thing for a man in your position,” Lottie says, “but after spending the evening with you, I’m going to assume that’s not your MO.”