He chuckles. “I know.”
Geoff pretends he’s not ready for kids, but last week he was very drunk. Very drunk Geoff equals very truthful Geoff. He announced to us all they were trying for a miracle, and they were doing itright now. He then carted Yayoi off to one of my guest rooms, where they stayed until everyone left except Joss.
Yes, I made them launder every scrap of bedding in that room.
Yes, Jocelyn and I spent the entire evening making awkward jokes.
Yes, we watchedKnocked Uplater that night to poke fun at them.
“Doctor Foley!” I turn toward the table on the porch, populated mainly by OBs. Aaand they’re all looking at me. What’ve I done?
One of the residents raises a hand in my direction. “Tell them what happened with your delivery yesterday.”
Oh. Ha. This is a good one. I jog over to the table. “Right. Funny story. The dad was a little overeager, right? Every prenatal visit, he talked about skin-to-skin. Early breastfeeding. The whole thing. So, the patient starts crowning, and the dad yells, ‘Is it time?’ andimmediatelystrips.”
Evie, one of the OB hospitalists, widens her eyes. “Wait. Stripped naked? Likenakednaked?”
“Total birthday suit,” I say with a laugh. “So much dong I didnotwant to see.”
Giggles and exclamations of disbelief burst from everyone at the table.
“So then what happened?” asks the only male resident, Ashesh.
“The respiratory therapist went to turn on the oxygen, not realizing the dude was exposed, and as soon as she sees it,she screeches, ‘Dick! Oh, my god. It’s a dick!’ and the patient yells at him to put his boxers back on, but she can’t stop giggling, so she basically laughs the baby out, and the nurse is so busy throwing clothes at the dad that she doesn’t realize the baby was born, so we had to guess time of delivery.”
Everyone at the table is laughing, and thus begins a round of OB-GYN Story Time, the classic game of one-upsmanship that can usually only be beaten by an ER doc.
Should make it into a drinking game. Everyone would win.
A poke in my side draws my attention toward Jocelyn behind me, chewing a giant bite of burger. Her platinum hair is pulled into a wild, dripping ponytail, and she’s thrown a sheer cover-up over her wet bathing suit.
Good. Don’t really want to be thinking about Joss boobs again. Black bikini is my least favorite. Much prefer tie-dye bikini—far less pushy-uppy-ness.
“You forgot to buy my pineapple White Claws,” she mumbles around the food.
I rest my shoulder on the wooden pillar beside me. “I forgot, oryoudid? You know you could pay for your own booze every once in a while.”
A look of deep affront mars her forehead, and she pokes me hard in the stomach. “Treason! Betrayal! I agreed to fly toFloridafor you.”
“Ow.” I snap the bathing suit strap over her constellation-tattooed collarbone in retaliation. “I put them in the fridge in the garage, you monster. Otherwise, you’d complain when everyone else drank them.”
Her eyes light from within. I sort of hate what that does to my insides. Why does making her happy give me internal hives? Always has, from the moment I met her.
She offers up a contrite smile and sidles closer, walking her fingers up my arm. “Have I mentioned you’re the best?”
Her mock-flirting is masterful. I now have no desire to argue with her. “No. Feel free to gush.”
“Don’t be extra.” Her pointy nail jabs me in the stomach again, and she grins. “Better head to the gym tomorrow, Ash. Getting a little soft there.”
She skips away before I can strike back. She knows abs are my sore spot when it comes to working out. It takes so much more than exercise to keep a six-pack. The six-pack lifestyle is... restrictive.
I like beer. And Cheez-Its.
Come at me.
I’m in good shape. Decently shredded. With abs that are visible... sometimes. Mostly when I’m hungry.
Good enough.
