Page 75 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“I didn’t know how to tell you or my sister,” Becca replied, her cheeks holding the blush.
Back in October, after Brice had picked them up off the side of the road and driven them to their wedding in his pest control van, they’d insisted he stay for the festivities. The event had been a whirlwind. Georgie’s mother had invited half of Denver, and his focus hadn’t been on keeping an eye on Becca or Brice. No, every time he thought of their wedding day, all he saw was Georgiana—the snarky, beautiful book nerd who had turned his world upside-down.
And he had Brice to thank for it.
Had Georgie not gone on a date with the man years ago and had the guy not acted like such a grade A douche canoe during their brief encounter, she wouldn’t have been inspired to start her Own the Eights blog. Would the universe have found another way for their lives to literally collide? Possibly. But, like it or not, Brice Casey was the catalyst for everything that had happened from the moment his wife called him an asshat.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Georgie asked.
He met his wife’s gaze. “I think it’s great.”
“What’s great?” she pressed.
He glanced at the man surrounded by kids, prostrate on the ground, and inch-worming-it across the children’s area.
“I think it’s great that Becca and Brice are a couple.”
“You do?” Becca replied.
He nodded. “If it wasn’t for Brice, there might not be an us,” he said to his wife and watched her features soften.
“That’s true,” Georgie answered.
He looked down at the plastic Faby in his arms. “Now, if Brice could help Georgie and I get our hands on a real baby to get some actual infant-care experience, I’d call him the perfect boyfriend.”
“Dude,” Brice called from the carpet, having switched to lying on his back and thrashing his limbs like a flipped turtle.
“Yeah.”
“I can be your perfect boyfriend,” Brice called, springing to his feet and leading the children in a toddler conga line.
Jordan sucked a breath of air in through his teeth. “Yeah, I’m all good on that front, buddy. I’ve got Georgie.”
“No, dude! What I mean is that I can totally hook you up with a real baby.”
“You can?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
Brice grinned. “Today!”
* * *
“Are you nervous?” he asked his wife, who was fiddling with the strap of her purse.
“Why? Are you?” she threw back.
He blew out a slow breath.
Never in a million years did he think he’d be driving to Brice Casey’s sister’s house. Honestly, he’d never wondered if the guy had a sister, a brother, a dog, or even a stamp collection. He’d never thought that much about the man, besides being grateful that he’d been an asshat to Georgie, which he knew would sound worse if he said that out loud. So, he’d decided to keep that little nugget to himself. But here they were—driving through Denver and headed to the home of the sibling of a guy he’d never expected to like.
“Brice seems to have come a long way,” Georgie said.
“Yeah, he has.”
“And, Becca’s a smart woman. She wouldn’t put up with any asshattery,” his wife added with a teasing twinkle in her eyes.
