Free Love Turns With Twisted Fates 2 by Caleigh Hernandez

fuckers and scoring."
    And he was right.
    Diego's game went quite
well. Enzo proved to be quite helpful in explaining the game of fútbol and
how it’s played. Admittedly, the concept is so foreign to me that it might take
me a lifetime to understand it. Mazzy and Sebastian seemed to hit it off well.
I wondered if there might be a love connection there. Baz, as Diego calls him,
was cool with me even though I felt guilty as sin.
    “So, what did you think?” he asks with that easy going come
and get it smile. “Was it boring?”
    I just give him a shrug. I’ll let him sweat it a little longer.
I can’t tell him that it was incredibly hot watching him run around on the
field. At times, it was even awkward as I felt myself gaping at the way his
muscles flexed and knowing his grandfather sat right next to me.           
    “We’ll see after the next game,” I deadpan.

Chapter Five:
The Way You Make Me Feel
    August 2006
    Since learning of the pregnancy, Diego and I are both eager
to share the news, but we understand that while the odds are in our favor,
they’re still a one in four chance that I could miscarry in the first
trimester. Of course, that didn’t stop us from telling Lito, Mazzy, and Baz.
    Mazzy’s first response was to claim, “More champagne for
me.” Of course, she would rub that in…if there’s one thing this pregnancy is
going to make me miss it’s my bubbly. Lito was so excited; he was ready to hop
a plan across the pond to come help take care of me. Like grandfather, like
grandson. Baz was the most hilarious, “Only time will tell if you’re the
father, D. Izzy and I spent a lot of time together.” Diego wasn’t as amused
with the joke. The man sees red when he thinks about me with any man other man
than him. In fact, he woke up the next morning unexpectedly upset with me.
Apparently, he’d had a nightmare that involved a Jerry Springer type of
paternity show and the results were in, he was not the father.
    This last week has flown by. Today is Diego’s first game
with London United. I swear the man is a machine. Between shopping for furniture,
unpacking, and organizing the new house, he’s still managed to make his
promotional appearances and all his practices.
    He’s made me the center of his undivided attention, making
sure I’m eating the right foods to help with my iron deficiency, hounding me to
take my vitamins and supplements—I’m terrible at remembering this shit,
researching natural ways to combat morning sickness, which seems to have become
an everyday thing and not just in the morning.
    Somewhere within all this madness, he’s managed to read What
to Expect When You’re Expecting all the way through and has now moved on to The Expectant Father: Tips and Advice for Dads-to-Be . I’ve tried to get
him to relax a bit. I’m a little concerned he’s going to burn himself out with
his intense workout regimen, settling into our new home, and his constant
concern over me and the pregnancy.
    However hard I try to get him to slow down, I have no effect
on what he considers his job. At this very moment, I can smell the breakfast
he’s making me. He insisted that I be properly fed before heading to the
stadium. We’re getting there early. Diego’s eager for me to meet Mr. Stafford,
the owner of the London United.
    "Morning, bella ," Diego greets me with a
tray in hand that puts a five star hotel's room service to shame.
    "Oh my gawwwwwd. That smells divine. What did you make
me?"
    "I tried something new. I combined some of you most
recent cravings with what I know you love. One egg, two egg whites omelet with
Monterey Jack and Feta cheeses, sautéed spinach and mushrooms, tomatoes, and
avocado," he says pointing to the beautifully plated omelet. The orange
slice and strawberry garnishes evident he's picked up a thing or two from his
master chef best friend. "No coffee, but after failing miserably at
finding your favorite tea, I enlisted the help of Grace and she