“But I didn’t get lemon.” I bat my eyes at him and cup his dick in my hand. “Please?”

“You don’t fool me.” He smirks and pushes my hand away. “You’re a selfish brat when it comes to cupcakes.”

“Meanie.” I pout and cross my arms over my chest. My cupcake was devoured long ago.

He smirks again as his phone rings.

“Nash.” He swallows his cake and frowns. “When?”

I don’t like the tone of his voice. He pauses the movie and sits up straight, checking his watch.

“Okay man, don’t panic. I’ll call the airport and get the jet ready. You just get your shit together and meet us there. Yeah, I’ll call the other guys too. Tell Lori we love her.”

He hangs up and runs his hand down his face.

“That was Gary.”

“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.

“Lori’s in labor.”

“She’s early.” I frown.

“Yeah, we thought we had time. Gary’s still here. We need to get him down to her.” He jumps up off the bed and just looks around, his eyes worried, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

“Okay, you make your calls and I’ll pack your bag.” I reach for his large duffle.

“Are you sure? You should come with me.”

I fold his jeans and a few tees and lay them in the bag. “I can’t, babe. I have interviews and Luke called today while we were at the cliffs. He wants to chat.” I shake my head and smile at him reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. Get Gary home; check on Lori. Tell her I’m sorry that I can’t be there.”

“Okay.” His mouth is grim and I can see the internal struggle of taking care of his guy and being here with me. “I don’t like it.”

“It’ll be okay.” I repeat and hug him tight. “Make your calls.”

“Thanks.” He kisses my forehead and gets to work, calling the airline first to make sure the jet will be ready within the hour.

Must be nice to have a plane at your beck and call.

As he paces the bedroom, placing call after call, I gather his things and pack his bag. His toiletries, socks, underwear. He really has great underwear. They’re all the really short boxer-briefs, in black. Some say Armani along the elastic waist. Some say Ed Hardy. God, they’re hot.

“Why are you staring at my underwear?” He asks with a laugh.

“I was picturing what you look like in them.” I smirk and throw them in the bag. “You have hot underwear.”

“What’s up with your obsession with underwear?”

“I just like it.” I shrug.

He shakes his head and makes his next call. I run downstairs to grab his computer and anything else he might need down here when I spot a notepad on the couch. The top sheet is covered in half-finished song lyrics. I read them and grin. This is definitely not a ballad, badass or otherwise.

I flip to a fresh sheet and scribble a note, fold it in half, and carry the rest of his things to the bedroom to add them to his bag.

“I think I’m about ready.” He frowns as his eyes move around the room and over to me. “Will you drive me to the airport?”

“Sure, but I don’t have my car.” I remind him. “I’ll have to drive your car.”

“I’ll drive to the airport, and you can drive it home, if you promise to be careful.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a reckless driver?” I ask and plant my hands on my hips, feigning annoyance.

“No, I just want you to be careful with my car. It’s new. And really cool.”

“It’s okay.” I shrug and laugh when his jaw drops in disbelief.

“Did you just disrespect my car?”

“Get over it.” I roll my eyes and zip up his bag. “You’re packed.”

He takes the bag from me and sets it on the floor, cups my face in his hands and kisses me, not gently and softly, but passionately, like the thought of being away from me is killing him.

I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him, pressing my belly against his erection.

“No time for this,” I murmur against his lips and smile as he growls in frustration. He kisses me again, and then pulls me in for a tight hug.

“Be good,” he whispers, making me smirk.

“I’m always good. You be good.” I lean back and push my cheek into his hand, enjoying his warm touch. “Seriously, tell Lori I’m thinking of her. Be safe.”

“Let’s go.”

***

“Where is my wife?” Gary demands as we approach the ER desk at Sinai Hospital in L.A.

“Uh, who are you?” The plump brunette asks, her voice bored. She’s reading a magazine and gossiping with a co-worker.

“Gary Hovel,” he states impatiently, tapping his hand on the countertop. “My wife is Lori and she’s having a baby.”

“She’ll be up on four, in the maternity wing. Are you all together?” She asks with a frown, eyeing all of us.

“Yes,” Gary calls to her, already halfway down the hall to the bank of elevators. He’s been a mess and a pain in the ass since we left Seattle.

Poor guy.

The elevator delivers us to the fourth floor and Gary charges over to another nurse’s station. “Where’s my wife?”

“Which one would she be?” A petite blonde asks with a grin. She’s way too chipper to be working at this time of night.