Page 53 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
8
Jordan
“Are you doing all right in there, messy bun girl?”
Jordan gave a soft knock from the other side of the door. This had become a common arrangement—him, on one side, while Georgie lost her breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even a snack in the restroom on the other side.
Whatever asshat named morning sickness,morning sickness, didn’t seem to take into account that nausea could hit at any time of the day.
“I was able to buy some pineapple lollipops and a bottle of pineapple juice,” he said, glancing into the paper bag.
“What about pineapple squares? Do we still have any left in the car?” his wife asked from the other side of the restroom door.
They’d been driving when Georgie turned the telltale shade of green. Fortunately, he was able to pull over at a coffee shop and rush her inside before she lostherinsides.
“I think we’ve got a few left in the car.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And there are a couple of nice people out in the hall, waiting for the restroom.” He smiled at the patrons, then lowered his voice. “My wife’s almost twelve weeks pregnant. The doctor says her morning sickness should ease up soon.”
“And that?” one of the women asked, pointing to the lifelike Faby, nestled into the crook of his arm.
“This is our fake baby,” he answered without missing a beat.
Each lady gave him a placating smile, then they turned and headed back into the coffee shop.
“Never mind. No rush, messy bun girl,” he called to Georgie.
If he’d learned one thing over the last month, it was how to clear out a restaurant or coffee shop. He wasn’t sure if it was his vomiting wife or the fact that he usually had a doll with him while he stood near the entrance to the ladies’ room.
Either way, it gave them a little privacy, and no one had called the cops on them yet.
Even with an infant simulation doll in tow and the bouts of anytime-of-day sickness, which is what it should be called, they’d fallen into a rhythm. Georgie still craved pineapple like a citrus maniac, but they’d gotten back into the groove of writing for their More Than Just a Number blog and running their businesses. Granted, Faby was always close by. But their fake baby didn’t make a sound or wet its diaper. So, despite having to keep an eye on Mr. Tuesday to head off another runaway Faby incident, their fake infant had blended into their lives like an innocuous, incredibly lifelike Elf on a Shelf. Except, it was Faby, Georgie and Jordan’s fake baby, which had a certain ring to it he’d liked.
Or he was losing it. Either way, they’d come to like the hunk of plastic and silicon, and life moved on.
Georgie and Becca had weekly video chats to talk about all things human gestation. And, on the growing a person front, their alien peanut was chugging right along. Truth be told, the science geek in him was fascinated with Georgie’s changing body.
Always an early riser, he’d gather his sleeping wife into his arms and run his hands down her abdomen. Dressed in her signature cardigan and leggings, one wouldn’t know she was carrying precious cargo. But in those moments when her naked body was warm and snuggled into his, he’d caress the slight hint of a bump and marvel at the miracle of the human body.
And then there was the sex.
When Georgie wasn’t losing her lunch, she was positively ravenous—and not only for pineapple cheesecake—but for all kinds of naughtiness.
A little pregnancy tidbit he’d never heard about.
Sure, he could rattle off facts about a pregnant woman’s loosening ligaments, but he’d never read about a revved up libido.
Perhaps that was just his Georgie.
Not that he was complaining.
He didn’t need a reason to get down and dirty with his beautiful wife—especially when she had a box full of costumes.
Cheerleader. Mermaid. Even a Nutcracker number from some holiday pageant.
But the rancher’s daughter remained in the top spot. All she had to do was slide on those boots to get him rock-hard, and instantly, he was ready for a roll in the hay, or bed, or floor, or kitchen table, or sofa. You name it, they could figure out a way to procreate on it.
He leaned against the wall, thinking back to last night’s reverse cowgirl naughtiness when the sound of running water coming from the restroom pulled him from his walk down sexytimes cowboy lane.
“I’d like to splash a little water on my face, and then I’ll be out,” she called to him.
