One Night Standards

I’ve woken up every day of my life thus far without Lyle beside me, apart from the last two, and already it feels like this huge piece of me is missing.

I clutch the pillow he slept on last night to my chest and bury my face in it, engulfing myself in his scent.

I was half-asleep when he left this morning, but the skin on my forehead still tingles in the spot where he kissed me. The warmth of his hand where he slept with it pressed to my belly all night lingers like a shield protecting our precious cargo. And the memory of his whispered, “See you in a few days,” to our little one has been running through my head nonstop.

Yep, I’ve got it bad…

“Intruder alert! Intruder alert!”

“Maui!” I screech, laughing at the obnoxious green and yellow parrot running back and forth along his perch like a guard dog.

“Keep it up, asshole,” Darci warns, wagging a finger at his cage as she slips into the room. “I’ll throw you on the pit, and we’ll have grilled ringneck for dinner!”

“I’m a demigod,” he announces, proudly fluffing out his feathers.

“You’re a jerk’s what you are.”

“Stop it,” I growl, crawling to the foot of my bed where I can get to his cage and let him out. “You’re gonna have him saying all kinds of not-nice things.”

“Not nice,” he chirps, stepping up onto my finger. “Not nice, bird.”

“You’re so right. Darci is not a nice bird.” I place him on my shoulder and turn to face him. “Gimme a kiss,” I say, puckering my lips.

He presses his little orange beak to my mouth and makes a loud kissing nose. “Thank you, baby,” he responds, as is our usual routine.

“I love you,” I say, giving his noggin a few smooches.

“Ugh, get a room,” my best friend groans with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“I have one…you’re in it.”

“Oh, yeah.” She pulls out my desk chair and plops her ass down, apparently intent on sticking around.

“Can I help you?” I ask, but it’s just a formality. There is no mistaking the way she’s frothing at the mouth for the tea.

“Girl, you know I need details.” She rocks back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, making herself nice and comfy.

I expel a long, dreamy sigh. “Gosh. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“His package,” she encourages. “Start there.”

I flush from the tops of my breasts all the way up to my cheeks. “Huge.”

She nods. “I knew it. That dude gives off some major big dick energy.”

You have no idea… “It’s uhh… It’s pierced.”

“What?” she shrieks, before leaning in close. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a pierced dude. How was it?”

“Hold the fucking phone, bitches,” Margo hollers, storming down the hall from her room to mine. “I know y’all were not about to have this conversation without me.” Her usually pale cheeks are a rosy hue in her righteous indignation.

“Calm your tits, she-devil,” Darci barks, motioning for our redheaded darling to have a seat at the foot of the bed. “All she said so far was Lyle’s got a huge, bedazzled bologna pony.”

“Who’s got a huge, bedazzled bologna pony?” Liz’s curious voice probes from the living room. “Wait. We better not be discussing my baby brother,” she adds, realizing her mistake as her socked feet skid to a stop in the doorway.

“Hey,” Margo shrugs with her arms crossed over her chest. “No one invited you.”

Squawk! “Intruder alert!” Maui bellows right into my ear.

“Shh,” I admonish. “It’s just Liz.”

“It’s just Liz,” she mimics. “Thanks a lot.” The willowy brunette feigns offense. “I don’t know what endears you to that thing,” she says, referring to my pet. “He’s so rude.”

“He’s a sweet, sweet baby,” I coo, scruffing the feathers behind his neck. “And your nephew now, so be nice.”

“I’m a demigod,” he declares.

“Yes, well, you are that too,” I agree as I stretch to place him on his play perch on the opposite side of the bed and away from my guests, where he’ll be more comfortable.

“Back to the man meat. Focus, woman!” Darci snaps her fingers. “What kind of piercing? Let we who are cursed with plain peckers live vicariously through you.”

“Stop!” Liz holds up a hand. “Come on guys…he’s my little brother. Can y’all do this later when I’m not around?”

“Yep,” I say, thankful for the reprieve. “What’re you doing here anyway?” I realize how badly that could be interpreted and follow it quickly with, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, of course!”

“Lyle asked me to pick you and the girls up so we could keep you company while running errands today.”

“He did, did he?” He must be really worried I’ll forget to pick up that license. I can’t deny that his enthusiasm has my heart skipping a beat.

“He did.” She nods. “He also sent Frank.”

“Frank? His security guy?”

“Yep.” She beams. “That’s the one.”

I’ve met Frank a few times when our families have gone out to dinner together over the years. He’s usually somewhere in the background keeping fans at bay. “Does he really think I need a bodyguard?”

“Apparently.” She shrugs. “Get dressed. The poor guy’s waiting in the car outside your apartment.” Her head shakes. “I invited him in, but he insisted he could serve you better by keeping surveillance out there.”

“Give me a few minutes.” I hold out a finger before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. I throw on a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a thin mauve sweater, wedged booties, and a few chunky bracelets. After spraying my roots with dry shampoo, I use the flat iron to freshen up my curls and artfully apply a full face of makeup.

Never have I been so grateful I chose to go to cosmetology school, despite my parents lobbying hard for a four-year degree.

If Lyle thinks I need Frank following me around, odds are I’ll find my face plastered all over the internet and littering magazine racks. At least I have the skill required to look reasonably presentable while having my privacy violated.

I’m not fooling myself for a minute into believing that a great majority of his fans won’t be looking for any and everything they can use to rip me apart. I follow the media. I saw what they did to Rhett and Nick’s wives in the beginning. The public can be fucking brutal.

By the time I come out, Darci and Margo—along with Liz, who came ready—look like they’ve been waiting on me for a while.

“What?” I ask, grabbing my purse from the kitchen counter.

“That man’s been waiting in the car for over an hour!” Margo looks ready to pummel me.

“Chill.” With a roll of my eyes, I head for the door. “He has air conditioning.”

They follow me out, still rambling about how inconsiderate I am. “It’s his job to wait in the car,” I snap, not realizing he’s standing right outside the door waiting to let us in.

“Hello there, ladies,” the enormous muscled man in question greets, biting back a laugh as he tips his hat to reveal a mass of salt and pepper hair. He opens the door to the blacked-out Navigator, ushering us inside like a proper gentleman.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Frank,” I say when he climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door behind himself.

“Don’t be,” he says, looking back over his shoulder to face me. “It’s my job to look out for you, be it from the car, a table across the bar, or a few paces behind you on the sidewalk.”

My cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so rudely.”

He smirks. “I know what you meant.” Frank glances to each of my friends before quirking a brow, and I swear I can smell Vag-agra Falls gushing all around me. “Ladies, stop giving Mrs. Livingston a hard time.”

I’m surprised they don’t moan in unison at the flirty wink he leaves them with before spinning back to face the front.

“Shameless hussies,” I whisper, just loud enough for the girls to hear.

The giggling is nonstop as he chauffeurs us around town. First to the courthouse, of course, where I secure the coveted license and an appointment with a judge at noon on Friday. We follow that up with a swanky lunch at the country club.

And now we’re walking into Mirabel’s, our favorite high-end boutique.

“He’s like a superhero,” Margo purrs, watching Frank fend off reporters.

Turns out Lyle was wise to send a chaperone on today’s excursion. I don’t know how smart it was to send one with the build and charisma of The Rock, but my girls certainly are entertained.

“Hello ladies.” A young sales associate who looks like she could walk the runway with her long, lean legs and rail thin figure greets us with a smile. “My name’s Misha, and I’ll be happy to take care of you today.”

“Thanks.” I smile back, trying to read her face to see if she knows who I am. Or who my husband, is rather. If she does, she’s not giving anything away. “I’m looking for something to wear to a courthouse wedding.”

“I see,” she says, tapping a pen to her lip. “And who’s the lucky bride?” Her crystal blue eyes pause on each of us curiously.

“A friend,” Lizzie rushes to answer, giving us all a warning glare that has us shutting our traps on impact.

I wonder if that momma look comes naturally once you pop a kid out. It’s quite impressive, and I sure hope I get one even half as intimidating as hers.

Hear that? You’re gonna walk a chalk line, little bean.

I fight the urge to cup my tiny baby bump while giggling to myself, remembering not to draw attention to this pregnancy that is still very much a secret. Because I know damn well I’ll be the biggest pushover, and if anyone’s gonna be walking any line, it’ll be me.

Once we’ve been directed to an area filled with everything from formal to semi-formal dresses, and Misha’s become occupied elsewhere, Lizzie explains herself.

“As far as the public is concerned, you’re already married, Sammi.”

Of course. “Right.”

“Just don’t give them anything else to print. From now on everyone is a potential source. From the sweet sales associate at your favorite boutique to the woman giving you a pedicure. You can’t trust anyone.”

“Well that’s depressing,” Darci grumbles, flipping through a rack of pink dresses in varied styles and cuts like she’s on a mission.

“People are vicious, and the media will go to any lengths for a story. For the foreseeable future, consider yourself under a microscope.”

“Just ’til they move on to the next big thing,” Margo offers. “Right?”

Lizzie shrugs. “Best to get in the habit of erring on the side of caution.”

“I think you should go for something like this,” Darci says, pulling a blush, lace and tulle dress from the rack. “The deep V neckline is perfect to accentuate those temporary titties.”

“Shhh,” I say, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Lizzie sighs dramatically. “These bitches are gonna have you in the paper daily.”

“Yeah, well…your brother’s got a…” She tosses the dress over her shoulder, then with two hands molds a ridiculously enormous cock in her pelvic region and thrusts a few times to really drive it home. “Dickpedo.”

Shaking her head, Lizzie snatches the gown in question from her and holds it up to my body. “Try it on,” she says, nudging her chin toward the dressing room.

She can’t get away from Darci’s immature ass fast enough.

“What do we think?” I ask, stepping out to model for the girls.

“Dayum,” Margo growls. “Can I touch ’em?” She makes grabby hands at my ample cleavage.

“No,” I laugh, turning this way and that, admiring the way my new figure fills out this dress in a way I never could have before. What are the odds that the first thing I’d try on would be the one? “Should I try a few more?” I ask, dying inside at the thought of considering anything but this one.

“No,” my three friends all answer in unison, finally agreeing on something.

“This dress was made for you,” Lizzie gushes. “Lyle is going to flip.”

The mention of my husband brings a smile to my face. “All right,” I say. “So, we’re done?”

“Not so fast…” Darci whips something white and skimpy from behind her back. “Can’t forget the wedding undergarments.”

She holds it out for our approval. The top is a sheer balconette bra with rose details embroidered in the lace. The thong has similar detail to the bra and the garter belt has a dainty miniskirt attached that sits just below the navel, extending about three inches and ending right above the pubic bone.

“That’s incredible,” I say, taking it from her hands and examining it more closely.

“I have my moments,” Darci beams, proud of her find.

“We also found these,” Margo says, tossing me a string of pearls.

“I have real ones at home…don’t need costume ones. And what kind of closure is this?” The clasps are huge. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Lizzie rolls her eyes. “It’s nipple clamps.” She takes it from my hand and opens the pinchers at either end a few times to demonstrate. “See?”

“Oh.” I clear my throat and my nips start to tingle. “I don’t know about this,” I hedge, sucking air through my teeth. “They are really sensitive lately.”

“Listen, Linda,” Margo sasses. “That boy pierced his damn ding-a-ling. You can give him something fun to play with, too.”

“Annnnd, we’re done here,” Lizzie snaps. “Misha!” she calls, waving at our sales associate and motioning for her to meet her at the register. Lizzie passes her a card before I can even get mine out of my wallet. “It’s on your husband.”

“I have my own money,” I argue, holding out a finger for Misha to wait before swiping.

“Let the man spoil you,” my sister-in-law insists. “He spent all morning lining up every detail of today to make sure you were able to get around without being harassed.” She rolls a finger toward the ever-patient woman waiting on us to sort our shit, encouraging her to go ahead and run it. “Leaving you so soon after the wedding is really messing with him. If this is what it takes to make him feel like he’s taking care of his wife, then you’re just gonna have to damsel a little for him, mmmkay?”

“Fine,” I agree, dropping my wallet back into my purse just as my phone starts to ring. My stomach drops when dad’s name flashes across the screen. “I’m gonna take this…”

“Sure, go ’head. I’ll finish up here.”

“Hello?” I answer, moving to an empty corner of the shop in search of a bit of privacy.

“Hey, Sweet Pea. It’s Dad.”

“I know,” I say, grinning through my nerves. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell the man he doesn’t need to name himself when he calls, he still does it every single time.

I file it away as something to remember when he’s gone—one of the many little things I hope to never forget.

“How’s your day with the girls going?”

“Good. How was your appointment?”

“Well, that’s what I’m calling about,” he says. “I have some news I’d rather deliver in person. Think you could swing by for dinner?”

“Sure.” My pulse takes off at a dizzying pace, as I try not to think the worst, reasoning with myself that truly, it can’t get much worse than a few weeks. “I’ll be there soon.”

“See you then. Daddy loves you.”

My heart clenches as I fight to rein in my emotions enough to respond. “Love you too.”

I slip the phone into my back pocket before scrubbing my clammy hands on the front of my jeans.

“Come on,” Margo says, lacing an arm through mine. I didn’t even notice when she got here, but I’m grateful for her presence. “We’ll have Frank drop you at your parents’ house first.”

“Okay,” I say, unmoving. I can’t seem to remember how to put one foot in front of the other.

“Want us to come with you?” Darci offers, her face tight with concern.

“Nah.” As tempting as it would be to have them there for moral support, my father doesn’t need an audience when he shares his news. “But thanks for offering.”

“We love you,” Lizzie says shifting the shopping bags from one wrist to the other. “And we’re just a phone call away if you need us.”

I give an appreciative nod, not trusting myself to speak without falling apart in public. I’m lucky to have the amazing support system I do, to know I can call on them any time and they’ll drop everything and come running.

But, oh, how I pray I don’t need to…