The Real

“You ass,” I said as I smacked him on his mesh-covered butt. “You could’ve just gone.”

“You guys decent?” Bree called from the hall.

“You may enter,” I said as Cameron stood.

“That’s what she said,” both Cameron and Bree spoke at the same time as she ended our call. I rolled my eyes at the two of them.

Cameron had made it his mission to beat her to the punch. He was getting good at it. Annoyingly good.

“Congrats on your winning sperm!” Bree said to Cameron.

“Thank you,” Cameron cooed back as he finished tying his Nikes and gave her a celebratory hug.

“We have dinner plans at eight,” I reminded him as he pulled away from kissing me goodbye.

“Nag, nag. Jeesh,” Cameron said with the wave of his hand. “I’ll be back in time.”

“Did you just say ‘nag, nag’ to me?” I shrieked.

Bree let out a belly laugh as she hugged me, and I glared at Cameron over her shoulder.

“I’ll be here beautiful. It’s not like I want to miss a date with that rounding ass of yours. From behind baby, it’s perfection.”

He kissed his fingers and let them go as if he were giving the best of Italian food compliments before he hauled ass out the door.

I stood stunned mouth gaping, but Bree read him easily. “Oh, he’s so trying to push your buttons. Did you guys have hot angry preggo sex recently?”

“Did he just call me a fat ass?!”

“Noooo, he said your ass was getting bigger. A sure-fire way to land himself in a good fight.”

“He better—”

“Forgot my keys,” he called from the hallway, his eyes full of mischief as he gave me a once over, licked his lips and walked back out the door. I narrowed my eyes. “It would seem so.”

“Yep,” she said with a knowing smile. “Yeah, he’s feeling the pregger sex, and the angry pregger sex. You will have no issue being worked over by that man. That’s a good sign.”

I was already in front of a mirror doing my best to look at my ass.

“God, what a punk. I’m going to kick his butt for saying that!” I winced. “I meant that figuratively.”

“I know that, babe,” she said looking on at me. “And so would he if he heard you.”

“I still get worried I go too far sometimes,” I said carefully. “I swear every time I hit him in jest, I realize what I did, and I end up crying in a closet. He busted me the other day and we had an argument about it.”

“Because those aren’t your mistakes to pay for,” Bree pointed out.

“That’s what he said.”

“You’re just being yourself. Cameron’s man enough to realize that. It’s not your fault. Don’t beat yourself up for shit like that.”

“I’m trying not to,” I said with a sigh. “He went to therapy when his marriage fell apart, but I feel like I’m out of my element.”

“Because he got the help he needed and if he says he’s okay you have to trust that. There’s nothing you can do but listen, and only if he wants to talk.”

“He doesn’t. I don’t think he ever will. I told him I told you about Kat before he had a chance to stop me. It took him almost a day to talk to me after that. I don’t think it will ever be something he’ll be open about. He says he did his time in therapy and he’s not going back. Not when it’s about Kat. All I can do is read up and it’s horrifying.”

Bree nodded. “I stitched up a seventy-four-year-old man the other night whose wife hit him with a lamp. He begged me not to turn her in because she’d taken his social security check before he was admitted.”