Page 39 of His Vivacious Angel
“You can’t tell?—”
“How was it? Is he big? I bet he’s packing a?—”
“Oh my god.” I slap a hand over her mouth. “Shut up.”
She slaps my hand away. “You shut up.”
It’s like we’re teenagers again, fighting over some invisible slight. If she weren’t pregnant, I’m sure we’d already be on thefloor in an alligator death roll, until one of us got the upper hand. And you know what? I kinda miss this.
“Oh my god, uncle, uncle!” I squeal when she gets me in a headlock and sticks a wet finger in my ear.
“Ha!” With a victorious smirk, Bailey lets go of me and helps to finger-comb my messy hair. “Now, really, tell me everything.”
I stuff the plastic packaging in the trash bin, then hold the door open for her. “All you need to know is that it was a mistake—one I will not be making again.”
Bailey’s face falls, and she’s quiet—other than her big giraffe heels clicking across the flooring—as she follows me out of the pharmacy. “Was it small or something?” she asks, tucking her chin to her chest when we get to her fancy SUV, which is parked two spaces down from Dad’s. I was nervous he’d ask me why I needed his keys, but thankfully, he’d been distracted with a phone call. Bailey waggles her brows. “You know, his…”
I suppress an evil little smile and pout. “Tiny.” I hold up a pinky finger.
“Damn. That small?”
“Smaller.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I were.”
“But he still…”
“Yeah. One pump. That’s it.”Partiallytrue.
“No freaking way,” Bailey says, shaking her head.
“Are you free for lunch?” I ask, since I could use any excuse not to see Forest just yet.
“I was actually on my way to the office to ask if you and Dad wanted to go to the deli. I only stopped here so I wouldn’t have to throw up on the side of the road.”
“Perfect,” I say, crossing to Dad’s car, though I wish I could drive back with her. “Meet you there.”
Dad did exactly what I didn’t want, but should have expected anyway: he invited Forest to come along. Just great. The wind picks up as the clouds darken on our short walk to the deli two blocks from the office, and it starts to sprinkle. The men offer Bailey and me their jackets, and I jump to accept Dad’s so I won’t have Forest’s masculine cologne scrambling my senses, making me want to push my nose against his neck to smell it directly on his skin.
It seems to prick Forest’s irritation that I don’t want his jacket, since he thins his lips with disapproval. When Forest offers it to Bailey next, who has only grown curvier throughout her pregnancy, she can hardly get it up over her shoulders. And when she does, she can’t raise her arms.
“Thank you for the offer, but it’s a little on the…small side,” Bailey says, cracking a one-sided grin when she shrugs the jacket off.
A quiet laugh escapes me, and I roll my lips, biting down on them.
Bailey’s shoulders start to shake, attempting to maintain a straight face. She’s been so much happier recently, and I love this positive change in her after so many years spent stuffing her immense feelings deep down, thinking she needed to hide her mental health struggles from us.
Unfortunately, we make the mistake of looking directly at each other when I half-heartedly offer to switch jackets to be polite, and she unfortunately takes me up on it. As soon as we make eye contact, the laughter bursts out of us. We’re clutching our stomachs, laughing so hard that we can’t speak, tears starting to stream. It reminds me of the times we would laugh so loud and long in our old bedroom that our stomachs cramped, and our parents had to come into our room to tell us to keep our voices down. I miss that most of all.
The men stop as one in front of the deli’s door, turning to face us. Their confused expressions make us laugh that much louder.
“What’s so funny?” Dad asks.
“Nothing,” Bailey and I say at the same time, gasping for breath. Then, “Jinx, double jinx.”
Oh god, I’m losing it.
