At least Ginger seemed completely unconcerned about the plan…so far.
Operation Smuggle Ginger began in the dim glow of the hotel parking garage, born of our collectively bad decision. After Gray took her for a quick walk in a carefully chosen location out of view of the garage security cameras, Gwen spread the poncho out like a parachute and Basia gently coaxed Ginger toward me.
“Okay,” Gwen said, assessing the angles. “Lexi, you’ll need to crouch down.”
“I’m not crouching,” I protested. “I’m dignified.”
“You’re pretending to be pregnant with a dog,” Basia said. “Dignity has left the chat.”
Clenching my teeth, I crouched. Ginger, to her credit, seemed to grasp the situation. She walked over to me and sat, leaning her head against my chest as if testing the comfort level of her new disguise.
“Good girl,” Basia cooed, wrapping a large shawl around us. “Okay, Lexi, just hold her steady. If she wiggles, pretend it’s a baby kick.”
“She weighs fifty pounds,” I said. “That’s not a kick, that’s a cry for help.”
Basia and Gwen ignored me as they tied and tucked the shawl tight with Ginger’s head just poking out and pressed against my chest. They wrapped the shawl so that my shoulder carried a good portion of the weight, with my hands and the binding holding the rest. The dog had to be uncomfortable—I certainly was—but she didn’t struggle and seemed on board with the plan. Which was weird, because I’d just met her and, here we were, bound together like mother and child.
Gray added the poncho over us and fussed a bit until she got it lying like she wanted to. Everyone helped me to a standing position, and I put my arms around Ginger and supported her bottom in my arms. With the poncho over her, it sort of looked like I was cradling my bump. Unfortunately, sort of was the key phrase here. I was not a pregnancy expert, but I did not look remotely pregnant, in my opinion.
Gray walked around us, eyeing me critically. “You look…surprisingly convincing.”
I glanced down at myself and shook my head. “This is not going to work. I look like I’m carrying four oblong watermelons.”
“No one is going to comment on your shape,” Basia assured me. “Lean into that.”
“You’d better be right,” I warned.
“I am,” Basia said smiling and patting her bump.
Gwen walked around me and Ginger. “You’ll need to waddle a little.”
“I’m not waddling.” I frowned grumpily.
“Gwen is right. Pregnant women waddle,” Basia insisted. “Do it for authenticity.”
I sighed but complied, waddling the best I could toward the hotel entrance with Ginger pressed against me like a warm, breathing backpack. Walking was awkward anyway, so the waddling wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Even with the shawl wrapped around us, Ginger was heavy. But she was an amazingly good girl. No whining, barking, or even shifting her weight around. It was weird, but it was almost as if she knew what was going on.
Gray opened the door to the casino and the smell of cigarette smoke and the noise of the slot machines rushed out to greet us.
“Okay, girl, let’s get this done,” I murmured, giving her a pat. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the casino, threatening to hatch a golden retriever.
Chapter Eleven
Lexi
The lobby was bustling, thank goodness. Tourists, gamblers, and wedding guests were all far too busy, tipsy, or living their own questionable life choices to notice ours.
We blended in perfectly.
I waddled through the marble foyer, clutching my “bump.” Ginger, a sudden model of serenity, remained still.
“Smile,” Gwen murmured. “Pregnant people smile.”
“Why?” I frowned.
“It makes you look less suspicious.”
“I bet that’s not supported by science,” I said between clenched teeth.
