Page 106 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“We’ll want to go in with a plan,” he said, eyeing a pair of teenagers carrying skateboards.
“I agree. Let’s get the formula first, then do the pineapple grab.”
“Roger that, MBG,” he parried back.
The market’s automatic doors slid open, but Georgie stopped in her tracks.
“Who’s MBG?”
He held her gaze. “You are. Messy bun girl.MBG.”
“You’re not playing around?” she replied, that playful twinkle back in her blue-green eyes.
“That’s an affirmative, MBG.”
They were taking this to combat-level serious with codenames and everything.
She grinned up at him. Her real smile. Her Georgie smile. “Let’s do this,PTA.”
He frowned. “PTA? Like the parents who run the bake sale at elementary schools?”
“No, perfect ten asshat,” she replied, looking damn pleased with herself.
PTA didn’t have the badass quality of MBG, but if it made his wife smile, he was totally good with it.
“PTA, MBG, the F-A-B-Y, and the real O-L-L-I-E are good to go,” he said, holding her gaze for a fraction of a second before they moved in on the target aka the grocery store.
They sailed down the aisles and even maneuvered past one of those little caution wet floor warning cones with ease. They picked up the formula. They plundered the pineapple yogurts. They pillaged the juice display. They filled the cart with pineapple delights and were headed for the check-out when a smell akin to roadkill wafted up from little Ollie.
They stared at the boy, who’d nixed the giggles for a pensive pout.
“You don’t think Faby made that smell, do you?” he asked.
Georgie shook her head. “Diaper bag. Family restroom. This mission is taking a detour.”
“Jesus, babe!”
“What?” she asked.
“It’s pretty hot when you goGI Georgie.”
And boom! They’d added another sexy role-play scenario option to the naughty-times’ portfolio. As much as he would have liked to take a minute or twelve to think about a commando-clad Georgie, they had a bomb to defuse—a stink bomb.
A fart, smelling as if it came from a water buffalo, cut their sexytime talk short. They changed course, slicing and dicing past shoppers, cutting corners, and nearly taking out a pallet of sparkling water before making it to the family restroom.
The vacant sign above the door handle signaled they were good to go.
Georgie plucked Ollie from the cart, and the three, well, four counting Faby, of them entered the market lavatory.
And…
“Wow, it’s nice in here!” Georgie said, glancing around the spacious room.
“There’s even a chair,” he remarked, setting the baby bag on it.
“Okay, I need you to clean the changing table with a disinfectant wipe. I’ll get the diaper and the baby wipes.”
In action movies, there’s often a scene accompanied by an intense techno soundtrack where the characters operate in sync. Hacking the FBI—the real one. Fortifying a stronghold. Whatever the high-stakes scenario, that seriousshit-is-getting-donemusic starts to play, and you know it’s that part of the film where the real nitty-gritty gets done.
