Page 31 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
That someday, however, happened to be the day after they’d returned from their honeymoon.
She fixed her beauty queen smile to her face and turned to the men sitting across from them. “Jordan and I have some news.”
“What kind of news?” Hector asked, his knee bouncing like a kid ready for recess.
It was now or never. Whatever plans CityBeat had in the works, they’d either be put on hold indefinitely or go down the drain.
“The kind of news that wets diapers,” she answered, waiting for Bobby, Hector, and Barry to go nuts.
“Is my Aunt Gertrude coming to town? And if she was, how would you know that, Georgie?” Barry asked wide-eyed.
“No, I don’t know anything about your Aunt Gertrude. I’m trying to tell you all that I’m pregnant.”
The men sat there, as still as statues, until Bobby and Barry’s shoulder’s slumped, and Hector broke out into an ear to ear grin.
“Two somebodies owe me a hot fudge sundae,” Hector chimed, snapping his fingers in a triumphant set of clicks.
“What do hot fudge sundaes have to do with us having a baby?” Jordan asked.
“It has to do with a bet I won,” Hector answered with another smart snap.
She stared at the men. This could not be a pregnancy fog or mirage or whatever Dr. Beaver said women with child experienced. She was eighty-five percent sure this was not how people usually responded to a pregnancy announcement.
“A bet about what?” She needed some damn clarification.
Hector leaned forward. “You, Georgie! I bet Barry and Bobby a hot fudge sundae that you were knocked up.”
“When?” she said with as much indignance as she could muster.
“At your wedding.”
She reared back, her mouth hanging open.
“You thought Georgie was pregnant at our wedding?” Jordan sputtered. “I didn’t put it together until the end of our honeymoon.”
“How far along are you, honey?” Hector asked.
“Almost eight weeks,” she answered, unable to believe how many people got a pregnancy vibe off her when she’d been oblivious—and all of themuterus-lessmen!
Hector clapped his hands. “I was right! I’m the pregnancy whisperer!”
Barry stared at his cell phone. “Sorry, boss. Somebody already claimed that title.”
Hector’s knee was back to bouncing. “Fine! I’m the…babysleuther,” he said with a dramatic baby sleuthing edge.
“You’re safe with that one, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to send a quick email to my aunt while she’s on my mind—just to make sure she doesn’t have any trips planned to come to Denver. She snores, too,” Barry replied, gaze fixed to his phone.
Georgie shared a look with her husband, who shrugged. What do you say to a guy who disclosed that his aunt wets herself and snores? Hallmark sure as hell didn’t have a sympathy card for it, and her trifecta had nothing, her fictional friends cringing at the thought.
Luckily, they didn’t have to address the afflicted aunt.
“Bobby! We’re going to be fairy godfathers!” Hector exclaimed and hugged his husband.
Diaper-wearing aunts, fairy godfathers, baby sleuthing, and hot fudge sundaes?
Georgie leaned in toward Jordan. “Am I having a pregnancy delusion?”
“No, babe. They seem genuinely happy. I don’t get it either.”
