Page 106 of Rocky Top

“Well, if you are, you’re the most badass dud I’ve ever met,” I said firmly. “And Knox still wants to marry your dud ass, doesn’t he?”

She let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah.”

“I say it’s a blessing. Just be happy, woman. You got a good man. A cute baby on the way. And a dress that makes you look like a damn queen.”

She sniffed, swiped at her eyes, and stood. “Okay. But first…”

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I need pickle pizza.”

I wasn’t gonna lie, pickle pizza sounded like the devil’s invention.

But Eliza was pregnant and glowing, crying and hangry, and I wasn’t about to get between her and her cravings.

We ended up at a place off the strip in downtown Knoxville. Looked like a dive bar, but the sign out front said, “Craft Crust.” All reclaimed wood and Edison bulbs inside like some hipster had thrown up in there.

Eliza waddled her way to the booth and plopped down with a dramatic sigh, fanning herself with the menu.

“You sure about this?” I asked, scanning the list of toppings with suspicion.

“Trust me. It’s got creamy garlic butter, spicy dill pickles, and buffalo sauce. It’s magic.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds like a hate crime against Italian food.”

“You’ll thank me,” she said, grinning like a cat who’d just robbed a fish truck.

When the pizza came, I had to admit… it smelled good. Weird. But good.

One bite in, I hated how much I liked it.

“Damn you,” I muttered, mouth full.

“I know.” She smirked, drinking a pickle lemonade. Just some regular lemonade she asked them to pour some pickle juice in.

We sat there a while, just eating and people-watching. My best friend finally looked relaxed for the first time all day, eyes half-lidded, a hand lazily rubbing her belly as she leaned back.

“Y’know,” she said. “Sometimes I think about leaving it all behind.”

“The club?”

She nodded. “All of it. The bikers. The supernatural stuff. The danger. Just pack up, run away somewhere. Take Emma. Raise her in some normal town where the weirdest thing is a bad PTA bake sale.”

“Sounds peaceful,” I said, taking another bite. “Also sounds boring as hell.”

She laughed. “God, you’re right. I’d lose my damn mind. Besides, I just read in the third trimester, I’ll be horny as hell, and what will I do then? The things that biker can do…”

I about choked on my drink. “Yeah, they got BSDE. Big shifter dick energy.” I chewed for a second before saying, “You’re allowed to be scared, Eliza. But you’re also allowed to be happy. They ain’t mutually exclusive.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand, like the dangerous levels of sodium she just consumed settled her down. “You’re a good friend, Birdie. Like, the best kind.”

We finished the pizza and then, because she was still hungry and the baby apparently had a separate stomach for dessert, we wandered to an ice cream parlor down the block. I got salted caramel. She got a half-and-half of pickle sorbet and vanilla.

“I swear to God,” I said, staring at her cup. “That’s an abomination.”

“Says the girl who used to dip fries in milkshakes.”

“That’s different. That’s an American tradition.”

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