Page 78 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
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Georgie
“Dr. Beaver?” Georgie exclaimed, wide-eyed.
“Thanks for agreeing to watch Oliver,” the man replied, advancing toward them from the back of the house.
“You’re married to Brice’s sister?” she asked.
“I am.”
She stared at her obstetrician. He wasn’t in his doctor’s coat or wearing a lamp on his head, investigating her lady parts. But here, in Brice Casey’s sister’s house, stood Dr. Beaver. A man who had told her point-blank that he had a husband and two children.
“Are you leading a double life?” she pressed.
“Georgie,” Jordan said under his breath, gesturing to a table dotted with framed photos, but she waved him off.
Dr. Beaver frowned. “I’m not sure that I’m following you.”
She shifted Faby to the crook of her arm and pressed her hand to her chest. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Georgie,” Jordan tried again, but she shook her head.
She could barely believe that they’d walked in on the type of situation usually reserved for works of fiction.
A man leading a double life.
Two families who never knew the other existed.
She thought of Dr. Beaver’s husband—a man she’d never met but was sure he didn’t deserve this. And what about the kids! Those poor kids. She didn’t know a damn thing about them either, but they sure didn’t deserve a two-timing, sneaky gynecologist for a father.
Despite her trifecta holding up signs with the wordsstop talkingwritten in bold fictional letters, Georgie couldn’t stop herself.
She narrowed her gaze and lowered her voice. “How do you do it? Do you go back and forth like a thief in the night? Does your wife know? Does your husband know?”
Becca cocked her head to the side. “Georgie, what are you talking about? Are you feeling all right? Is this some weird pregnancy delusion? Because you sound a little cuckoo.”
Georgie glanced around the group, then held her doctor’s gaze. “I’m Georgiana Jensen-Marks, and this is my husband, Jordan Marks. We saw you a few weeks ago for a check-up. You complimented my lady parts. You said I had a lovely uterus and a splendid cervix. Don’t you remember? Or do you have so many secrets to keep that you can’t even remember what you tell your patients—even the ones with great cervixes?”
She frowned at the sound of the word. “Or is itcervilike the plural ofcactusiscacti?” She shook her head. “I don’t know the plural of cervix, but you better believe that I’m going to find out.”
She could feel her pregnancy hormones mixing with adrenaline. She was two-parts Wonder Woman and one-part mini pineapple gestater. A pregnant PI! What a discovery! What a baffling coincidence!
She turned to her husband. “How does he not recognize us?”
Jordan bit back a grin. “Because he’s not your doctor.”
What the hell was going on here? Was this some weird twilight zone pregnancy hallucination?
Just then, a woman holding a baby came toward them, sporting a wide grin. “Honey, you have got to tell your brother about this.”
Georgie inspected Dr. Beaver again, taking in his chiseled cheekbones and his camera-ready pearly white smile.
This had to be her doctor.
“You’re his wife?” she asked, and instantly, her heart went out to the new mother.
How would she break the news of her husband’s betrayal? It was better to tell her, right? Better to rip the bandage off quickly and get it out there. She parted her lips to speak, but Brice’s sister spoke first.
