Corbin crossed and uncrossed his leg. Was this man serious? He cleared his throat, multiple questions rolling through his head. Wasn’t it instinctive for infants to feed? Didn’t they just know what to do? And how did one encourage a baby to latch on, exactly? It wasn’t like you could instruct an infant via a directional pamphlet.
Dave was bold enough to ask. “What do you mean, latch on?”
Sam launched into an explanation that involved repeated use of the words
nipple
,
areola
, and
lactate
. Corbin wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Never, ever, since he had been in the presence of a cheap nineteenth-century prostitute had he heard the word
nipple
used so many times and with such complete nonchalance.
Then Sam’s wife entered the room with their six-month-old son. To Corbin’s complete and utter horror, she sat on the edge of the desk, lifted her shirt, popped out a breast, and demonstrated exactly how little Austin ate his dinner.
Corbin wanted, quite simply, to die.
He had wished for death many times over his long lifespan, but never as fervently as he did while Beth Adams rattled off breastfeeding statistics, her baby sucking industriously, mouth fully around the entire areola, as Sam was quick to point out, finger outlining the area in question. Corbin was speechless.
Determined not to see any more of her naked flesh, Corbin glanced around for a means of escape, or perhaps a way to decapitate himself. Not finding any, he studied the pale blue carpet aggressively. How in the hell had he gotten himself into this situation?
“Sex,” Sam said.
Corbin jerked upright. Yes, that was quite true. Sex was responsible. But how in the hell could he get himself back out? He was now not having sex and that wasn’t fixing anything.
“We’re going to talk about changes in your relationship, especially sex, after we take a break.” He grinned. “And after Beth leaves.”
Beth didn’t comment, and Corbin didn’t check to see what expression might be on her face. He was still investigating the carpet and wondering if he dashed out of the room, vampire speed, if Brittany would be angry with him. Maybe not angry, but definitely disappointed. Her fat bottom lip would stick out and her big brown eyes would go wide with hurt. He sighed, resigned, though he really had no interest in discussing post-partum sex with strangers. He wasn’t even having prepartum sex. He wasn’t holding out much hope for after the birth either, and at any rate, he found discussing sex in public somewhat offensive. Especially since it had been eight weeks since he’d had any.
Legs appeared in front of him. He glanced up, hoping it was nothing more than Sam with a handout. Instead it was Beth, smiling, Austin still latched on. She sat in the chair next to Corbin, astounding him with her mobility while breastfeeding. This was a woman who knew how to solicit latching on correctly. With a finger, she broke her son’s grip on her, and Corbin’s heightened sense of sound allowed him to hear quite clearly the lip-smacking pop sound the detachment made. He winced.
“Will you burp him for me?” Beth said.
Corbin glanced over at her in surprise. She couldn’t possibly be speaking to him, the two-hundred-year-old French vampire whose experience with children was limited to walking past issues of
Parents
on the magazine rack. Yet she was. She was smiling, her round cheeks pink, her hair back in a ponytail, the soft pale flesh of her breast still partially exposed. The baby was bobbing in an upright position and she was holding him out toward Corbin.
“I do not think zat is a good idea,” he said, shaking his head. “I know nothing about babies.”
One-handed, she held her child, and dexterously tucked her breast away with the other, for which he was exceedingly grateful. “This is your chance to practice.”
“Perhaps one of the others,” he said, sitting up straight in alarm when she shoved the baby at him. “No, no, I don’t think... ”
Left with no choice but to take the baby or leave little Austin dangling in midair, Corbin settled his hands around the baby’s waist and swallowed vast quantities of saliva. “What do I do?” he asked in total panic, gingerly resting the baby’s flopping feet onto his knee. The infant felt warm and soft, a bubble forming on his pink lips. His chubby legs couldn’t hold him, though, and essentially collapsed, tangling the infant all up in his own appendages. Appalled, Corbin quickly used a free hand to move both limbs to either side of his own leg so the baby was sitting down on his pant leg like he was astride a horse.
They looked at each other.
The baby swung his plump arms up and down rapidly and made a humming sound, the bubble on his lip oozing down his chin, followed by a trail of milky saliva. The sour smell made Corbin’s stomach flip, but it was encouraging to see Austin wasn’t afraid of him. He was bouncing and smiling, showing off his slippery gums and two bottom teeth, rising up through the drool.
“So to burp him, you just need to pat him on the upper back firmly. You can do it the way he is, but it would be easier if you rested him against your chest and shoulder.” Beth demonstrated with her empty hands.
Corbin gingerly lifted Austin and rested him against his shirt, grateful he’d worn a casual cotton three-button shirt, navy blue besides. He had a feeling bad things could be about to happen when he encouraged air to evacuate Austin’s stomach. The baby felt intriguing, heavy and soft, fragile, yet strong enough to keep catapulting himself backward. His wispy hair smelled like shampoo, and Corbin rather liked the constant random sounds that came out of his mouth.
“You’ve never held a baby before?”
“No.” Corbin paused and amended his answer. “Except for my little brother, who was born when I was an adolescent. But I was away at school most of the time.” And Edgar had died of consumption before he had reached his tenth birthday, sending his mother into a fatal decline.
He patted cautiously on Austin’s back.
“Harder,” Beth said. “He won’t break. You need a firm pat so he can get that air up and out.”
Corbin cleared his throat and gave it a little more effort, but still exercising extreme caution. He had vampire strength and he didn’t want to collapse the child’s lungs or anything.
“Firm. Matter of fact. Close to him,” Beth ordered, putting her hand on Austin’s arm and demonstrating, tucking a cloth of some kind onto Corbin’s shoulder.
Sucking in a deep breath, Corbin copied her movement, a firm but gentle pat, and was rewarded with a loud, lengthy, wet belch that came from the depths of Austin’s baby belly and rattled past Corbin’s ear. A little shocked, he pulled the baby back and checked him for any injuries an eruption of that magnitude might have produced. Austin just smiled at him.
“Good, yes?” Corbin asked him, charmed by that smile. Austin gave a squeal.
“Now that he’s fed, I’m going to scoot on out of here,” Beth said. “Let you men talk about manly things and practice diapering Austin. You did great,” she told him with a smile.
“You’re taking him back, yes?” Corbin asked, panicked all over again, lifting the baby toward her.
“No, no, you keep him. Sam is going to help you change his diaper.”
With that she turned to go speak to her husband and Corbin was left holding the bag. Baby.
He looked around for assistance, resting the infant back on his shoulder. Travis was still next to him. “Would you like to hold him?” Corbin asked. “Since your wife is due first.”
Travis shook his head, lip curling back. “No way. He’s spewing.”
“What?” Corbin twisted his head to try and see Austin. “What do you mean?” he asked with a sense of dread. But truthfully he already knew what Travis meant. His shoulder felt wet. Warm. Austin had missed most of the cloth.
“Sick,” Travis said. “That smells curdled, man.”
Corbin suddenly felt much closer to Austin and Beth Adams than he ever cared to be. “Take him from me.”
“No way.” Travis scooted his chair back.
Grabbing at his shoulder, Corbin took the partially damp cloth and wiped at Austin’s dribbly mouth, holding him precariously with his free hand. “Is he ill?” He studied Austin and saw no evidence of fever.
“Nah, I think babies just do that. Spew. When they eat.”
“Wonderful.” Corbin swiped at his own shoulder.
“I’ll take him,” Dave said, holding his hands out with a rapt expression on his face.
Corbin turned him over gratefully. “I’ll go try and wash my shirt off.”
“Hurry up.” Dave lifted Austin up and down, making the baby laugh. “We’re talking about sex next and you don’t want to miss the bad news.”
“Can’t wait,” Corbin said under his breath, pushed his chair back, and got the hell out of there.
Brittany was concentrating on the video showing a woman giving birth. Was it really necessary for the woman to be naked? She was no prude, but come on. A robe or gown would be nice. But this woman just had all her stuff flopping around as she grunted and heaved and shook her hair like a horse after a hard run. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
It was giving Brittany rather uncomfortable feelings about the birth and her ability to push a baby out of her body while Corbin Atelier and a team of hospital staff stared at her crotch. What if it altered Corbin’s perception of her permanently? They had enough to sort out without him seeing her looking so mammalian.
They were supposed to be taking notes, but Brittany didn’t know what to write beyond
HELP
, so she just sat with her pen lying on her notepad.
“I think someone is trying to get your attention,” the woman next to her said, pointing to the door.
Brittany turned and saw Corbin peering through the glass in the doorway, looking pained. He held up his watch and pointed to it. She shrugged. The class had just started.
She turned back around, but sighed when she heard the door open. Resolutely, she kept facing the front and the video, trying not to wince as the on-camera mother to be gave another guttural groan.
Corbin squatted down between her chair and the woman’s next to her. “Please forgive ze intrusion,” he said to the other woman, accent turned up high, charm dripping off him. “I just need a moment.”
Brittany rolled her eyes when the woman smiled and said, “Sure, no problem.”
“What’s the matter?” Brittany asked in a whisper.
But Corbin had caught sight of the video and was staring, a look of horror on his face. “
Mon Dieu
... ”
“Don’t look!” she hissed, grabbing his chin and turning his head toward her. This was not the image she wanted him taking into the labor and delivery room. “This video is dated, very eighties, totally earth mother weird.” She hoped. “Now what did you need?”
He shook his head and refocused on her. “The baby vomited on me. I’m going home to change and I’ll be back to pick you up.”
“They have a baby in there?”
“Yes, the instructor’s child. And he... ” Corbin gestured to his shoulder, which had a baseball-size damp spot on it.
“Just dry it off with the hand dryer in the restroom.” If he left, he’d never go back, she was sure of it. She wanted him comfortable with the idea of a baby, not fleeing in terror at the first opportunity.
“Brittany.” He gave her a look of total exasperation. “I smell.”
Her lip twitched. “That has nothing to do with the baby, honey.”
It took him a second. “Very amusing. Can you not see me laughing?” he asked, face deadpan.
She giggled and gave him a reassuring pat. “No one cares. I can’t smell anything. Just go back and enjoy the rest of the class.”
“But—”