Page 113 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“I mind,” she said, turning the doll to stare at the wall.
Jordan stilled. “Georgie, the baby!”
“I know, we’ve probably scarred Faby for life.”
“No, the real baby. It kicked,” he said, placing his hands on her belly.
She rested her hand on top of his. “It’s freaky how this baby seems to know when I…”
“Get off?” he teased.
She pursed her lips. “Can we call it attaining sweet oblivion? It has a more poetic ring to it compared to—”
“Getting off in the kitchen?” he interrupted again with a wicked grin.
She shrugged. “I can’t even think of a pithy response when you’re looking all cowboy hot.”
“I’m definitely keeping this costume,” he said as his phone pinged.
“Time to go?” she asked, adjusting the tie on her cowgirl shirt.
“Yep, the car’s here.”
She checked her appearance in the reflection of the metal tea kettle and sighed at her doughnut-shaped midsection. “This is as good as it gets. At least, I’ve certainly got some color on my cheeks now.”
He cupped her face in his hand, then brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “You’re always beautiful to me. And now I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing, while we’re mixing with the upper-crust of Denver at this ritzy Western shindig, that I made the naughtiest cowgirl there come hard in my hand.”
Hello, dirty talk cowboy!
She opened the freezer and waved the cold air onto her face. “You get Faby. I need to get my preggo-libido under control.”
“Don’t freeze it all. Remember, I’ve got lots of ideas for what we can do with these chaps when we get home.”
She swallowed hard, then started waving the cold air with both hands when a knock at the door ended her hormone cooling session.
“It’s the driver,” he said, closing the freezer, then passed her a can of pineapple juice.
“One for the road?” she asked, actually quite thirsty after their sexy kitchen caper.
Jordan retrieved Faby while she inched her way down to say goodbye to Mr. Tuesday.
“Be a good boy. We love you,” she said, scratching between the dog’s ears.
“Georgie, we need to go,” her husband called.
“Remember, Mr. Tuesday, you’ll always be my first baby,” she added, then kissed his nose.
In true Mr. Tuesday fashion, the pup cocked his head to the side with a big doggy grin.
She hurried out of the kitchen and met Jordan on the doorstep. They followed the driver and settled themselves in the luxurious town car as her phone pinged. She pulled it from her clutch and grinned when she saw Irene’s name and picture flash on the screen.
“Hey, Irene! You’re on speaker with me and Jordan and…” She tapped the driver. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Um…Frank,” the man replied, looking perplexed.
“You’re on with me, Jordan, and Frank,” she continued, greeting her friend.
“Hello, Jordan, and hey, Frank,” Irene said, her voice ringing out with the soft murmurs of a baby cooing in the background.
