The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

This, despite what an outsider might think, was an agreeable evening in our universe.

“I don’t know if I could do it though, man.” Hunter shook his head. The good-looking bastard was cleaner than the pope’s STD results. He hadn’t had a stiff drink in years, not since he got together with his wife.

“I did her quite happily and find it hard to believe any red-blooded man wouldn’t.” I studied my cards, drumming my fingers over the table. Suddenly, the prospect of spending the entire night here wasn’t so appealing.

I wanted to pick up the phone and call Belle, listen to her laugh, to her sharp, witty whips. I knew it wasn’t an option.

“Not being able to be next to the woman who carries your child seems insane. There are so many things you’re not going to experience. The kicks, the little flips the baby does when they change positions. Seeing them for the first time in an ultrasound. I swear to God, the first time I saw Rooney on that black and white screen I almost pissed my pants. She gave me the finger and had her legs wide open.” Hunter let out a proud laugh, like he’d just announced his daughter was nominated for the Nobel Prize.

“The kicking is the good part,” Sam agreed gruffly, drawing another card from the center of the table. “Aisling used to wait up for me after work with a tall glass of cold water and drink it so I could feel Ambrose kick.”

“Since when did you all turn into a bunch of old maids?” I rolled up my sleeves. It was becoming increasingly hot in here, or maybe they were just getting on my nerves.

I wasn’t at all sure that being spared the pregnancy was a good thing. But I didn’t have a choice. I looked over to Cillian, who stayed silent the entire time. Out of all the men at the table, he was the closest to me in character—sans the fact that I actually possessed some kind of heart and a wonky, though still working, moral compass.

“It’s all rubbish, isn’t it?” I huffed at him. “Pregnant women are hormonal, demanding, and out of their bloody minds. My father sent my mother to live with her parents each time she got pregnant just so he wouldn’t have to deal with her.”

All eyes darted to me. I realized I’d finally said something personal about my family, after years—decades—of keeping mum about them.

Cillian was the first one to recover.

“It’s true. A pregnant woman can be all of those things.” He shrugged. “And she is also the person who is carrying the most important human in the world to you. The truth is, you fall in love with a woman twice. Once, so that you want her to give you a child. And a second time, when she does and you realize you cannot live without her.”

Later that night, I stumbled my way out of Badlands and found myself walking toward Madame Mayhem. The two establishments weren’t too far apart, and I could use the fresh winter air.

I gave it some thought during the card game and realized I wanted to take an active role in Emmabelle’s pregnancy. Didn’t Sweven say hers was a high-risk pregnancy? It was important I stayed in the loop in case she needed anything.

Plus, I wanted all the things my mates had.

Flipping babies.

Unborn children giving them the finger during ultrasounds.

Tall glasses of cold water (granted, I forgot the context in which this had been mentioned).

When I got to Madame Mayhem, I remembered how aptly named it was. Chaos teemed between the blood-red walls. There were three people behind the bar. One of them was Emmabelle, her hair sticking to her temples as she ran from one point to the other. The place was overflowing with people. There was no bloody way they adhered to the maximum capacity it could host. Customers were piling on top of each other trying to get to the bar. The supply and demand ratio was askew. Things were getting out of hand. The daft cow had more than enough to take an early leave and monitor her pregnancy, but she wasn’t a fan of yielding control. Well, that made two of us.

Onstage, the burlesque dancers were getting all their moves wrong, too distracted by the commotion. The band played out of tune.

I hopped behind the bar without thinking much of it, took off my tweed jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and began serving people.

“Where’s the beer fridge?” I hollered over the music, using my arse to push the mother of my unborn baby aside. “And the clean glasses.”

“What are you doing here?” Sweven yelled back, dripping sweat. It was worth noting she didn’t look half pleased to be rescued by me.

“Saving you from collapsing.” I took a few orders at once and began popping beer bottles open and doing my best following cocktail recipes from what I remembered in my head.