“All right, I’ll see you guys then.” I hug them each goodbye, amazed by how much my belly gets in the way now. The thing is basically a planet. I guess Cade wasn’t too off base when he said I was a blimp.
We all head our separate ways and I wait in my car for Xander, knowing he’ll be a while.
Oftentimes in the past, I’d wait for him near the lockers, but now that I’m pregnant there’s no way I’m braving the psycho reporters.
Those assholes are crazier than me and that’s saying something.
My phone pings with a text.
Xander: I have a couple of interviews. I’m sorry.
Me: It’s fine.
Xander: It’s going to be a while. You can leave. I’ll get an uber or something.
Me: How about I go pick us up takeout and come back over? Think that’ll be enough time?
Xander: Maybe…
I sigh.
Me: I’m in desperate need of a cheeseburger. I’ll order some and pick them up and hope for the best.
Xander: K.
Me: You know I hate it when you just say K. That’s the most annoying thing ever.
Me: Xander?
Me: XANDER?
I sigh again, figuring he’s already started his interviews.
I call and order our food, my stomach already rumbling. The box had a variety of snacks, but nothing was appealing except lemons. I’m learning while I’m pregnant that there always seems to be one thing I want to eat, and nothing else sounds good. Like right now all I want is a big fat juicy cheeseburger.
Thanks to the stadium traffic it takes me a good forty minutes to get to the restaurant and pick up our burgers, fries, and drinks. Heading back doesn’t take nearly as long, but I’m gone nearly an hour and a half.
Me: I’m back
I shoot Xander a text when I get back to where I park.
Xander: I’ll be 5 more minutes.
Me: I had almost perfect timing then. Go me.
I don’t tell him but I also stopped and picked up McFlurrys. Oreo for me and M&M for him since he’s a freak.
It isn’t long until I see the door open and he strolls out. His dark hair hangs over his forehead and the jeans and white dress shirt he’s changed into clings to his muscles.
Damn, my husband is hot. I did good.
He opens the passenger door and slips inside. “That smells so good. I’m starving. Can we just eat here?”
“Picnic in the car? I like the sound of that,” I agree. Plus, I’m starving so the idea of waiting until I get home to eat isn’t appealing. I hand him the bag of food and he dishes it out. “I hope we don’t make a mess in here,” I comment, looking around at the pristine beige leather in the Range Rover.
“I’ll have it detailed if we do,” he reasons. “You got ice cream too?” He laughs, looking at the cups in the holder.
“I needed a McFlurry,” I defend. “The baby loves them,” I joke.