My Best Friend's Baby (7 page)

Thankfully, now they were parked on the
paved driveway at his house. Free to make her getaway, she jumped
off the back of his motorcycle. More than her ankles wobbled when
she hit the ground. "Okay?" she asked, her voice breaking on the
word.

"Okay." He hesitated ... then swore instead.
"Dammit, Chloe. This isn't the kind of secret I was expecting."

Ha. He didn't know the half of it.

"Umm, surprise! I guess," she said
weakly.

He frowned.

Oh, geez—Nick was never going to buy this.
She wasn't prepared at all. She needed a better strategy, one that
would keep him off the trail of the truth. It was for his own good,
after all. Who was she to wreck his life plans, to sidetrack his
dreams, to saddle him with responsibilities he didn't want?

Nobody, that's who. Chloe decided to
retreat.

It didn't work. Nick tailed her all the way
across the side yard bordering their matching red brick,
white-trimmed houses, mumbling something about secrets and women of
mystery.

Clearly, escape was futile.

Sidestepping a patch of blooming prickly
pear cactus, Chloe reached her front porch and abandoned her hopes
that Nick might actually let her get away without having this
discussion. So far, he wasn't handling the news very well.

And she hadn't even gotten to the good part
yet.

All she wanted was to be alone. To postpone
all the explanations and have some time to think. Her loan
application had tanked, her so-called best friend was having a
meltdown, and it wasn't even happy hour yet.

Not that a cocktail would've helped—or even
been advisable, under the circumstances. Maybe a milkshake.

Or maybe a prenatal vitamin. Did those give
you extra pep? She hoped so, because she was going to need it to
deal with Nick. A trip to the doctor was definitely in order, and
soon.

Until then, she had a secret to keep—or at
least part of one. With elaborate casualness, Chloe fished her keys
from her purse and started unlocking her front door. The moment she
finished, Nick's hand clamped onto hers and twisted the knob. She
could barely breathe as he barreled them both inside.

"Pregnant?" he asked again, shutting the
door behind them. "You're actually pregnant."

"No, it's all a big joke. Get it?"

"
What
?"

The force of his yell backed her across the
living room, stumbling over microscopic bumps in the carpet. Then
his arms came up and trapped her between his chest and the living
room wall. His body heat washed over her, as searing as his
expression.

"Explain," Nick said, grinding the word
through his teeth.

"Sheesh, I've never seen you like—"

"
Now
."

Great. She'd reduced him to monosyllabic
responses. This
was
serious.

He pressed forward, pinning her beneath a
scary glare that did a lot to explain what probably went wrong
between him and what'shername.

Chloe pressed her lips together and kept
mum.

Nick saw straight through her. But then he'd
always been able to before. What made her think she could deceive
him now?

Desperation, that's what.

"
Please
explain," he growled.

Civility, however grudgingly given, counted
toward progress, Chloe supposed. But something in his voice still
made her shiver.

Under different circumstances and minus the
Incredible Hulk routine, she might have enjoyed their nearness. As
it was, she did her best not to think about wanting his arms
holding her close instead of caging her in, and tilted her chin as
defiantly as she could.

"The Neanderthal routine doesn't suit you,
Nick."

He blinked, a perfect picture of disbelief.
She'd have preferred a portrait of understanding or even
cheer-me-up humor, but she wasn't going to get it. Not this
time.

"Neande—" He stopped on a frown,
straightened his specs with one hand, and tried again. "Never mind.
You're not sidetracking me this time."

He stared straight into her eyes, looking
analytical and determined and not half as tender as she'd hoped a
prospective father might, and Chloe knew she'd set a tough task for
herself. How could she keep a secret she didn't want to keep?
Especially from somebody as inquisitive as Nick?

She wasn't sure, but she had to try.

"Chloe," he began, sounding suspiciously
patient, "exactly how did this happen?"

Good question. She should've been ready for
it, but she wasn't. Behind her, Moe meowed and Larry barked to be
let in the back door, but now wasn't the time to be distracted. The
sooner she got this over with, the better.

She ducked beneath his arms to put some
distance between them, then threw her suit jacket onto the sofa and
faced him with her hands on her hips. "Oh, I dunno, Nick. The usual
way, I guess.
You know
."

His gaze whipped over her, lingered in the
neighborhood of her hips—gauging her suitability for childbearing,
she supposed—then rose to her face. He swallowed.

She'd stunned him into silence. Maybe the
idea of somebody finding his platonic pal Chloe sexy threw him for
a loop.

Ouch.

"'
You know
?'" Nick mimicked. "'
You
know
?' What does that mean?"

"You're turning red in the face, Nick. Do
you want some water? I'll get you some water." She headed for the
kitchen. For sanctuary.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her back. "I
want answers."

"Would you believe ... immaculate
conception?"

"Answers. Now."

"I didn't think so."

Okay. Be strong, she told herself. Stick as
close to the truth as possible.

"The truth is, I—I met someone," Chloe said,
keeping her gaze trained on his T-shirt's football helmet logo. "We
talked, we laughed, we ... ."

We loved
, she wanted to say. But he
didn't want to hear it, and she couldn't stand lingering over what
she couldn't have. "We're over."

"Over."

"Yeah." She kicked off her heels and padded
into the kitchen, wanting to maximize the distance between her and
Nick before she started bawling over lost loves and best friends
and second chances that couldn't be. Behind her, his breath
whooshed out as he sank onto the sofa and put his feet up.

"These things happen you know," Chloe called
over the opened refrigerator door. "Over. As in you and
what'shername."

"She has a name," came Nick's voice from the
living room. "I just ... dammit, Chloe! You've been calling her
what'shername for so long, I can't remember what it is."

Good
. And good—he was sidetracked
successfully. Maybe she could handle this secret stuff after all.
She grinned despite everything and shoved the fridge shut with her
toe, then carried two slippery cold soda cans into the living room
with her.

"Serves you right," she said, handing him
one, "for dating more women than you can count."

"I can count ‘em. I just can't keep
‘em."

"Maybe they can tell you're already wedded
to your work," Chloe said. "They know there's no future with a guy
who kisses with one hand on his research notebook."

"Hmmph." He turned his gaze on her as she
curled up on the other end of her vibrant red plaid sofa, then gave
her a bad-boy's smile. "I use both hands when the situation
warrants it."

I know.

"I'll bet," she said aloud, turning her
slippery can of diet cola in her hand as she groped for the tab to
crack it open. She found it and hesitated with one finger hooked
beneath, conjuring up a mock shudder. "But spare me the details,
Casanova. I don't want to know."

I want to experience it again.

Too bad she never would.

"Then we're even," Nick said, sounding
weary. "Because I'm not sure I'm ready for the nitty gritty details
of your love life, either."

Good. Because she wasn't ready to tell him
all the things he didn't really want to know. And bad—because that
had to be the shortest sidetracking on record. He was already back
on the case.

But silently. Beside her in his habitual
spot, Nick let his head loll back along the sofa's cushions, eyes
closed. Probably still absorbing her pregnancy news.

Well, so was she. Maybe for now it would be
best to just leave Nick alone and give them both some breathing
room. If she was lucky, maybe he'd take an impromptu nap or
something, and grant her a half-hour's respite.

Fat chance. Chloe opened her soda, slurping
at the fizz that crackled out, and Nick's head turned unerringly
toward the sound. His eyes opened.

"You almost had me sidetracked again," he
said. "You might as well give up, Chloe, because—" His gaze landed
on her diet cola can, halfway to her lips, and whatever he'd been
about to say sputtered beneath his next words.

"Are you insane?" he yelled.

"What?"

He flung himself across the stretch of red
plaid separating them and yanked her diet cola out of her hand.
"This is bad for you," he said, plunking it onto her scarred square
coffee table. "You've got to start taking care of yourself
better."

"I'm a grown woman, Nick. I—"

His thumb touched her lips and startled her
into silence. "You're a woman with a ... a baby. That means things
are going to change for you."

Change? That sounded promising. Maybe he
meant they'd ...
No
. That was only wishful thinking. That
was the first thing she'd have to change—by cutting it out of her
life. She slumped against the sofa cushions and eyeballed her soda
longingly while Nick went on talking.

"You'll have to watch what you eat, what you
drink, what you do," he said, warming up to his expertise. "Things
like that—" his gaze shifted to her banished diet soda can "—are
off limits."

She rolled her eyes. "Who are you, Mister
Spock?"

"That's Doctor Spock. And no, I'm not."

"Look, this is practically the twenty-first
century, and you're—"

"I'm just a guy who's been an uncle four
times over, Miss Only Child," Nick interrupted, "and that's four
times more experience with things baby and pregnancy-related than
you."

Chloe saluted. "Yes, sir."

His concern was touching, if a little
overbearing. "Maybe you'd like to carry the baby yourself? I'm sure
there've been supersecret scientific advances by now that would let
you do it. You're connected with the science community, Nick. You
should look into it."

"Fun-ny." He picked himself up off the sofa
with a new aura of purpose, then paused to tousle her hair. "But
ridiculous."

He was right. No man would submit to
maternity clothes.

His fingers trailed away as he stepped over
her legs and edged between the coffee table and sofa, headed for
the kitchen. Sighing, Chloe watched him leave. His brief caress
left her temporarily crazy, wanting to drag his hand back to her
head, thrust his fingers back into her hair, even demolish her
entire hairstyle ... just to feel him touch her again. But that was
impossible, so she stuck both palms beneath her thighs and reminded
herself that no price was too great to preserve their
friendship.

Except maybe whatever ... glop in a glass
Nick handed her a few minutes later. He emerged from the kitchen
carrying it, looking so triumphant that she forgave whatever mess
he'd created with all the banging and slamming he'd been doing.

"Drink up," he said, beaming. "It's good for
you."

She gazed into the Flintstones glass of
foaming ... stuff ... he'd whipped up, not at all sure she could
actually consume it. She sniffed.

"This smells like ... I can't put my finger
on it, but I'm thinking ... Christmas time, punch bowls, rum."
Chloe snapped her fingers. "Eggnog!"

"Sure, you could call it that," Nick
offered, running his fingertip around the edge of the blender
container he was holding. "It's got eggs in it."

He licked the tip of his finger, then held
up the blender pitcher and lapped up a drip. She'd never envied a
hunk of plastic before.

"Eggnog, huh?" she managed to say.
"Okay."

She sipped. It tasted of cold frothy milk, a
touch of banana ... and the slimy glob of raw egg that slicked down
her throat on the first gulp.

"Aaack!" Chloe thrust the glass at Nick and
leaned toward the coffee table, shoving aside books and magazines
and knocking a rental videotape of The Three Stooges to the floor
in her quest for the tissue box. "Why didn't you tell me the egg
was
raw
?"

She heard the muffled whump of tissues being
pulled out of the box. Nick pressed a wad into her hand, and she
used it to wipe away the last traces of his pseudo health drink.
That horrible stuff had to be revenge for the way she'd sprung her
pregnancy surprise on him.

"Of course it was raw," he said, exactly in
the same way he might have said, "Of course I hate shopping."

"You've seen too many Rocky movies."

"Don't be a baby."

"Don't be a doofus," she said with a
shuddering glance at the Flintstones cup. "I'm not drinking that
stuff."

"Okay." He looked disappointed.

Something told her she hadn't seen the last
of his efforts to make sure was a suitably healthy example of an
expectant mother. The idea had a certain irony, but it wasn't
anything Chloe could consider further with egg aftertaste in her
mouth and Nick's steady gaze making her feel warm all over.

"I'll come up with a better drink next
time."

"Thanks for the warning." She dreaded it
already.

"You're welcome." Smiling, he picked up the
Flintstones cup and slugged down the contents, then rubbed his
stomach. "But you're missing some good stuff."

I know
, Chloe thought, watching him
carry the cup into the kitchen.
I'm missing you
. The sink
faucet rumbled, then water splashed. She imagined a future with
Nick elbow-deep in soapsuds at her sink every day, a kitchen towel
slung over his shoulder and a babbling baby at the table and her
whipping up something gourmet at the stove ... and knew her fantasy
was only that.