Page 76 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
He chuckled, thinking of Becca, the ballbuster. “No, I don’t believe she would.”
After the toddler story time, Georgie and Becca had a little heart-to-heart talk, looping in Irene on a video call. And from what he could hear, between the women giggling and talking over each other, it sounded like Brice was a decent guy. Yes, after several glasses of champagne, they’d hooked up at the wedding. But when Brice had asked to see her again, Becca had laid down an ultimatum. She told the pest control prince she’d only go out with him if he’d read every single Own the Eights blog post. Turns out, he did. She’d even quizzed him on it—and had the emails to prove it.
See…a real ballbuster.
A playful smirk pulled at the corners of his wife’s mouth. “And Brice does have awfully good hair.”
He laughed. “It’s undeniable. Even after playing with the toddlers, not a hair was out of place.”
Hey, it was the truth. The guy was blessed with a mop of shiny, shampoo-commercial-ready hair.
But, good hair aside, Brice had come through for them. And as long as he was good to Becca, he wouldn’t have to pound the guy into next week.
After Brice had put the toddlers through the make-believe animal paces, he’d led them to the story time carpet. Georgie had read to the brood, and then he’d stepped in and led them in a rousing round of “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,” which was pretty damn fun.
It wasn’t the FBI experience they were expecting, but they’d pulled it off.
When the moms and dads arrived to collect their children, it looked like a scene fromMary Poppins. The parents gave them a round of applause as they finished off the activity with a little “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” complete with rowing actions.
“Do you remember how old Brice said his nephew was?” Georgie asked.
“Five months. He also mentioned that his sister just went back to work a few weeks ago.”
Georgie took out her phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stopping at a red light.
“Scouring the web for some info on five-month-old babies.”
“Smart! Get in a little research,” he said, then raised his hand, and she gave him a high five.
“Okay. Here we go,” Georgie began, gaze glued to her cell. “At five months, the baby is starting to sit up for longer periods of time but may need to be propped up to remain upright.”
“Faby’s got sitting down pat. Who knew Faby was so advanced,” he said, glancing down at the baby doll sitting comfortably next to Georgie’s feet.
“They’re also starting to roll over at this age,” Georgie continued.
“Ahh! Sorry, Faby! The real baby has got you there.”
“Jordan, stop! You don’t want to hurt Faby’s feelings,” Georgie mock-chided, biting back a grin.
“You’re right. Don’t feel bad, Faby. You’ll always be the best fake baby,” he said, reassuring a mannequin infant.
Georgie patted the doll’s head. “Faby says thank you and wanted to let you know that you will always be the best Emperor of Asshattery.”
He shrugged. “Thanks, Faby. It never hurts to be the best at something.”
“And they like peek-a-boo,” Georgie added.
He frowned. “Asshats like peek-a-boo?”
“No, silly! Five-month-old babies like peek-a-boo.”
He turned down a street lined with tall oaks. “We can totally do peek-a-boo.”
Georgie turned toward him, covered her face with her hands, then rocked a peek-a-boo like she was born to do it.
He shook his head and chuckled.
