“‘Despised’ is a bit strong. More like a ‘healthy dislike,’ but that’s changed to a healthy respect that will center us as we co-parent our child.”
Sean snorted. “You read that in a book?”
“Maybe. Look, I know it’s hard to wrap your head around it, but I thought you should know. Plus, she asked you first, and I figured you might have … feelings about that.”
“Feelings?” He chuckled. “Oh, I have feelings alright. Confusion, bafflement, puzzlement.”
“Pretty sure they mean the same thing,” I gutted out. He was starting to piss me off.
“If you’re worried I might be, oh, jealous, then don’t be. Franky and I have never—well, there was that one time …”
“One time what?” It came out as a bark, and was soon followed by a red mist veiling my eyes. His next words were indecipherable, lost in the background noise of the restaurant.
“Listen, I have to go,” he said. “But seriously, J, I’m thrilled for you guys. And I’ll be seeing Franky soon, which will be great.” He spoke to someone off-camera. “Yeah, be right there.” And then he clicked off.
One time what?
One. Time. What?
My brother and Franky? I knew nothing about this, and suddenly I was thrown into a cauldron of black-biled jealousy. They had a long history together, had things in common, were confidantes. Not that it mattered. Sean had found his girl, and he and Franky were just friends. If my brother had feelings for the doc, he would have jumped at her offer.
Right?
Bunsen had finished his meal and decided he needed someone to acknowledge this. He jumped up on the sofa beside me and hissed.
I knew exactly how he felt.
Now that I’d done my duty—cat feeds and the sharing of good tidings—I needed to go. I had morning skate in half an hour, and then lunch with Lauren to share the baby news. But maybe I should check in with the doc. Let her know the boys were fed and petted.
Bunsen sneered. Forget petted. Fed would have to do.
I took a photo of him and texted Franky with the caption: “I’m still hungry and this asshole thinks I’m cute.”
No response. I was weighing what that might mean when a text came in from Conor—or rather a photo of a pile of baby books.
On my living room table.
Next was a video clip of Duran Duran singing “Is There Something I Should Know?”
That little shit. I stabbed the call icon.
“Hi, Uncle Jason.”
“What are you doing in my house?”
“I have a couple of days before the Motors-Rebels game, so I came into town early. I wanted a little me time, so I stopped by yours. You gave me a key, remember?”
Me time? I was going to have to change my sheets, wasn’t I?
“You don’t text first?”
His chuckle was pure evil. “How else would I find out what the fam is up to? Care to explain?”
“Just holding them for a friend.”
“Oh, you need to do better than that.”
I blew out a breath. “We’re keeping it on the downlow. No announcements yet.”
