Dashing Through the No (Summersweet Island 3)

I knew the first time I threw up. And the second time. And third, and fourth, and fifth. And I knew when I cried at a goddamn Hallmark movie, and when my mood swings almost made me light an entire rental car on fire when Taco Bell didn’t have what I wanted. I know what all of this bullshit is about, because…

“You’re pregnant,” Bodhi whispers, the phone slipping from his ear as his arm drops down to his side.

“I’m pregnant.” I shrug.

And all of a sudden, my heart starts beating normally again, the butterflies stop flapping, and I feel like I can breathe again when I say it out loud.

But now I can’t fucking see, because I’m crying so hard, and before I can complain about what a sissy I am, Bodhi’s hands are on my face, and he’s crashing his lips against mine. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist as he worships my mouth for a few minutes before taking his time making a trail with his lips up both my cheeks, kissing away the tears until he pulls back to look down at me.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you a knife?”

“I have a black soul, but it’s not that dark.”

“Not for you!” Bodhi laughs, shaking his head at me while he still holds my face in his hands. “I meant for me. You’re totally gonna kill me now for knocking you up, and I get it; I do. I just ask that you please refrain from using fire just this once, because honestly, that sounds like a really slow, agonizing way to die. If you love me, you’ll make it quick and painless.”

“If we’re being technical here, it’s super-fast and mostly painless, because the fire singes all the nerves and pain receptors, and then the adrenaline kicks in, which is always a good time.” I shrug.

“Well, I certainly feel much better now,” Bodhi nods.

Lifting up on my toes, I press my lips to his, holding them there for a few beats before pulling back. Bodhi rests his forehead against mine while Speedos start flying around the room when the champagne goes right to the strippers’ heads.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” Bodhi whispers in awe as he starts rocking us from side to side, and I tighten my arms around his waist.

“I know.” I smile, looking at him through my lashes. “I’m scared to death I’m going to screw this up.”

“Don’t be scared. We’re totally going to screw it up together.”

I laugh through my tears, and Bodhi swipes them away with his thumbs as quick as they fall.

“You’ve already been raising me for the last six months, and look how good you are at it? I’m still alive, and I’ve never once felt like I needed to call social services, except for that one time you accidentally lit my sock on fire while it was still on my foot, but I really was asking for it that day. You’re gonna be the best mom ever,” Bodhi reassures me.

“Great. Now I’ll have two children to raise.” I roll my eyes, even though I have such a huge smile on my face it hurts my cheeks.

“Clearly, we’re calling it Tiny Tim until we know what we’re having,” Bodhi says seriously.

“That’s absolutely not happening.”

“We’ll see about that.” He smirks. “And you’re sure you don’t want to kill me?”

An image of Bodhi instantly forms in my mind. One where he’s shirtless—come on, it’s my fantasy, people—a year from now, in a dark room with just the soft glow of lights from a Christmas tree to see by, while he holds a baby against his chest, rocking it back and forth while he hums “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

I laugh and shake my head, my forehead sliding back and forth against Bodhi’s. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Okay, so hear me out,” he suddenly says, pulling his head back from mine and dropping his hands from my face to rest them on my shoulders. “I know you’re not a fan of the big, fancy wedding shindig, and frankly, my little firestarter, neither am I. So, how about we have an actual, spur-of-the-moment, shotgun wedding, like the one we read in that western romance last week, where we pretend I have to marry you or your daddy will shoot me?”

“If you guys actually need a shotgun, I’ve got one—”

“We’re good, Sheldon!” Bodhi and I say at the same time when Sheldon’s face pops up right next to ours.

“You’re serious?” I ask him after Sheldon walks away.

“Baby, I’ve been serious with you since the first time you smiled at me. I just want to spend the rest of my life making you smile, and I don’t want to waste another second. Especially now that Tiny Tim has made you so agreeable to marriage and everything.” He smirks, which earns him a swat to the stomach, which obviously bounces right off his abs and hurts my hand more.