"You have got to be kidding! You don't want to have sex anymore, because I'm starting to show?"
Wearing his blue and gold Charger, scrimmage shirt and shorts, Calvin, shrugged.
"Just until you drop the kid. I warned you not to get pregnant."
"Liar! You said, and I quote, 'I'd prefer you didn't.' And that was after we got married. Before you said you'd like at least two kids." Red hot with anger, I picked up one of his dozens of trophies from the end table and threw it at him.
He smiled when it sailed wide left. He wrinkled his nose as if something smelled. "There's just something about you being PG. It's gross. It creeps me out."
"You are an effing son-of-a-bitch! Gross? That's the same thing you said about my pussy after we got married and you stopped going down on me." I threw the remote control and it hit him in the stomach.
"Uhh! Will you stop throwing things at me?"
"Fuck you. How come I didn't know you were such a dick before I married you?" A second trophy I threw sailed true but, he ducked.
"You didn't know I was a dick because you're an idiot. Your sister tried to talk you out of marrying me." He flashed a silly grin. "But you were too much in love."
"Love? More like heat. The only thing you had going was sex and now you don't even wanna give me that." I wiped my hands on my jeans and threw a miniature bronzed football at him. Wide right.
"Hey bitch. I'm warning you. You throw one more thing at me, and pregnant or not, I'll come over there and bitch-slap the shit out of you."
"I can't help it. I'm just too fucking pissed at you." I threw a vase and it sailed right and smashed against the wall.
"Clean that up!"
"FUCK YOU!" I threw another trophy at him and grazed his shoulder.
"That does it."
My stomach lurched as he started toward me. uh-oh.
The fire burning in his eyes signaled he was serious—dead serious. Calvin, a Pro Bowl, NFL, wide receiver was all muscle and weighed a hundred pounds more than me. I'd known my husband for four years and from the change in his expression from cocky amusement to gritted teeth and a deeply furrowed brow, he was pissed. If I didn't do something fast, I was dead meat.
I sucked in a deep breath and fell back upon my defensive training. Apparently, not expecting me to defend myself and my baby, he came at me. When he drew close enough, a karate chop in the breadbasket made him bend over coughing and choking. I brought my knee up slamming it into his chin. I thought he'd go down, but all he did was stagger back. When he got his balance, there was hate in his eyes. He came at me arms out, hands open as if he planned to strangle me and I had no doubt he would, so I loaded all hundred and fifteen pounds of me into a drop kick that landed square on his shin.
He screamed in agony and collapsed like a marionette and someone had dropped his strings. "You cunt, you broke my leg."