Before You Get To Baby.... Terry Essig

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СКАЧАТЬ small inset decorative glass pane. Disgusted with himself, Drew poked the buzzer. It was just Frannie, for God’s sake. Still, for some odd reason he’d felt compelled to go home after work for a quick shower, his best jeans and a clean shirt. When he’d stopped at the supermarket to pick up the steaks he’d had the most inexplicable, ridiculous urge to pick up a bunch of flowers. Now what had that been all about?

      Drew shook his head as Frannie opened the door. A couple of the guys at work had been passing around some kind of bug. Maybe he was coming down with it. That could be why he felt so weird, couldn’t it? Look at Frannie, she hadn’t fussed, for God’s sake. She was covered from neck to below her knees in some kind of voluminous apron thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear an apron before,” he said as he dubiously studied the object. She was all but drowning in yards of fabric but then again, she was a little bit of a thing.

      “I had a conference with a parent after school,” Frannie blatantly lied. All was fair in love and war, after all. Not only had there been no conference, she’d never have worn the tight, short skirt hiding under the apron to school at all. She taught second grade. If Drew thought about it once he got a gander, he’d realize that with all the floor work she did with such young children any kind of skirt, let alone this abbreviated version, would be fairly impractical. But Drew’s thoughts rarely ran along the mundane or everyday practicalities of living. If it didn’t have to do with recycling sludge, it got no more than cursory notice. She figured she was safe. “I didn’t have time to change from my good clothes if we were going to eat on time, and I do have a tendency to be a bit messy in the kitchen.” Truth was, she’d put the skimpy hug-your-rear thing on just to bother Drew.

      Frannie was sloppy when she baked. He’d have hated her for a lab partner, true enough, even though her product was worth the mess. It was a logical explanation and Drew nodded. Then Frannie turned around and walked in front of him. Holy cow! Thank God he was still holding the beer he’d bought instead of drinking it, Drew thought. He’d have choked for sure. He sputtered anyway. “Uh, it was a conference with a mother, right?”

      “Hmm?” Frannie rolled her hips even more with her next step. The contrast between the loose apron and the peeks he got at her snugly encased rear with each step she took had been carefully checked for effect in the mirror. She hoped he swallowed his tongue. Look at him standing there in those tight jeans and that white knit shirt with the camel-colored stripe right across his pecs. He’d done that on purpose. Everybody knew light colors made you look bigger and that horizontal strip was nothing but a blatant attempt to draw attention to the breadth of his chest. Well she’d noticed. A long time ago, she’d noticed. Frannie wasn’t the slow one here.

      “What is that thing supposed to be under there, a skirt? It’s missing the whole bottom half if it is.” He stared at her butt and cleared his throat. “A mother conference, right? Not a father conference?” Drew inhaled much-needed oxygen. “They let you wear stuff like that around little kids? Oh, boy.”

      “Drew, this skirt is no shorter than a pair of shorts and you’ve seen me in those before. Surely you knew I had legs.”

      “Well, yeah, but…” He gave up.

      Dinner was eaten in a not-quite-companionable silence. Drew was on edge, like he was on a first date or something, but couldn’t understand why. By the time dessert was produced Drew was sure he was coming down with something. He’d been feeling hot ever since Frannie had finished fussing in the kitchen and taken off the apron thing. Of course, Frannie had had him going in and out of the cold grilling the damn steaks and everybody—other than Frannie evidently—knew that wasn’t good for you. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her dressed up before. Frannie tended to live in jeans or shorts and an oversize T-shirt. But surely, in all those years, there must have been some other occasion when she’d gussied herself up when he’d been around.

      Eighth-grade graduation, Drew remembered. A white dress with a big sash and daisies in her hair.

      Frannie’s body had changed since eighth grade. Big time, it had changed.

      Andrew had sighed in relief when he’d seated her. The table hid that cute little rear he’d had no idea she had. But his relief was short-lived. Taking the chair across the small table from Frannie he was faced with her, um, Frannie’s um…well, chest.

      And what a fine chest it was. Nicely delineated and showcased by a snug, thinly knit sweater. Drew had a hard time not staring. Surely that hadn’t cropped up overnight. He wasn’t just getting sick. Those two handfuls had taken a while to appear. He’d evidently been out of it for quite some time if he was just noticing now that Frannie was a woman. Damn it, he didn’t want to think of Frannie as a woman. She’d been like a sister to him for years. Suddenly he felt awkward around her. It wasn’t right for him to be noticing her chest. Not right at all.

      “…other night.”

      “Hmm? what?”

      Frannie sighed and set a nice big warm chunk of gingerbread slathered with real whipped cream in front of Andrew. “Are you feeling okay, Drew? You’ve been in your own little world most of the night.”

      Drew grabbed her hand before she could retreat. “Feel my forehead, will you, Frannie? It’s warm, right? I feel hot. I think I’m running a temperature.”

      Dutifully, Frannie felt his forehead with the back of her hand. Then, just to be mean she brushed a lock of hair back off his brow. His answering little shiver pleased her. “No, you don’t feel overly warm. Must be something else. I’ll check the thermostat, but I know it’s set at seventy.”

      Drew didn’t think he could stand watching her hips swing in that excuse for a skirt. “No, that’s all right. I’m okay. Sit down. Let’s talk.”

      So Frannie sat. She also deliberately leaned slightly forward and pressed her arms together. Color rose on Andrew’s cheeks as cleavage popped.

      He cleared his throat. “So, anyway, I, uh, thought of something.”

      Frannie gave up torturing him and dug into her gingerbread. “The waist thing?”

      “Right. That. Now, as I recall, waist measurement is supposed to be a certain percentage of the hip measurement in order to attract a guy.”

      “What?”

      “Yeah, seriously. Sixty percent, I think, but it could have been seventy. Whatever, it was important to a guy who’s looking for someone who can successfully support a pregnancy. On a subconscious level, of course.”

      “Of course.” Even on a subconscious level, men made no sense. “So it doesn’t matter how thin or fat you are so long as your waist-to-hip proportion falls into the right category?”

      Andrew thought about it. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’m a sociologist or anything.”

      No, it wasn’t like he was a sociologist or anything. Drew Wiseman was an environmental engineer, and a darn good one at that. Fifteen years ago, when he’d first started coming around, Frannie had been nine and in the third grade. Drew had been fourteen and starting high school a year ahead of schedule. Skinny and small, he’d needed a friend, and her brother had taken the new kid under his wing. In exchange, Drew had seen Rick through four years of math, chemistry and physics. Oh yeah, Drew was bright and he’d been unfailingly tolerant of Rick’s little sister. For Frannie, Drew had just been sort of…there, another male in her life trying to tell her what to do, just like her four brothers.

      Drew’s growth spurt had СКАЧАТЬ