Trouble Me by Beck Anderson Page A

dancing on the tables, no more sex in the stalls at the club, huh? I remember liking that.” She skims a hand over her blazer, smooths the hem.
    “Okay. I’m putting my headphones in. And Amanda?”
    She licks her lips. “Yes?”
    “Let it go. Not interested in skanky club sex anymore.”
    She yawns. “Where’s the fun in that?”
    McDougal saves me. He walks up and waves me to the curb. “Let’s walk through the cab hailing real quick. I want to make sure you hit your marks.”
    She is as terrible as I remember. Things’ll probably get thrown at me. Unless I chuck something at her first.

9: Paint It Black
    T HE B OYS H AVE B EEN H ERE F OR A W EEK , Andrew’s in the swing of filming, and me? I think I am best described as “at loose ends.” I miss Tessa. I miss Boise. I miss Ditto, who has been claimed as a hairy, smelly dog “stepbrother” by Tessa’s three daughters and is staying with them until we come home to Boise.
    I miss Andrew. Yes, he’s here. But he’s a million miles away. He’s happy, most days, and I love seeing him in his element. But I’m just not there with him. He’s so smart, and I can see that mind, those gears turning, as we sit at dinner, or watch a movie together. He’s with me, but his brain is on set, in the script, in the heart of that movie, that character.
    The boys are happy to be here, and I love showing them around. But they are boys too. They are content with sleeping in until noon and watching videos and eating cereal out of the box. They are willing to go with me and explore New York, but they just got here, and they want to veg out too, not just play super tourist with their mother.
    So, that leaves me. I’m still a little queasy, and I’m bored. I don’t do well with bored. Maybe I used to, a long time ago, but now I fret and worry and pace and other annoying stuff that doesn’t endear me to anyone.
    This morning I get up with Andrew just to see him a minute before he heads to the set. I pop a ginger ale, my new best food friend, and shuffle into the master bath to see what he’s doing.
    He’s shaving. Watching a man shave—watching my man shave—I love it.
    “Hey, it’s Queasy Girl.” He runs the razor under the tap, gives me an air kiss. I avoid the urge to kiss that soapy face, shaving cream or no. I would, but there’s a strong possibility it would make me hurl.
    “Good morning. I’m Semi-Queasy Girl this a.m. I keep waiting for the morning sickness to decide if it’s done kicking my ass or not.”
    “How much longer before it’s officially in the rearview mirror? You’re, what, fourteen weeks in?”
    I shrug. “A tender stomach is a tender stomach. I wish it would have miraculously cleared up when I made it to the second trimester, but sometimes morning sickness hangs on. Just like it’s not always just in the morning.”
    He nods. “Total false advertising. But look how far we’re into it. That’s a fringe benefit of the surprise pregnancy. Your first trimester flew by.”
    He knows this is a sore subject. It pisses me off that I was so clueless and went almost two months before I realized what was up. It makes Andrew grin. He grins right now.
    “Ha ha. Don’t tease me. I’m not awake yet.”
    “Why are you up? An early call for me doesn’t mean early call for you.”
    “I wanted to see you before you left.” I scoot up behind him, slip my arms around his waist, bury my nose in between his shoulder blades. He smells like chlorine and Ivory soap.
    “I have a razor in my hand. Careful there, pet.” He pauses for a minute to wrap an arm behind him and give me a little squeeze.
    I hold still and peek around his shoulder, watch him draw the razor down his strong jaw.
    “I like this.” I tighten my hold around his torso a bit.
    “Fifteen minutes ago I could have gotten into all sorts of trouble with you. But five minutes from now Janus and Tucker will be waiting for me on the other side of our door. You must not throw off the