I was a normal guy showing up for a normal shift after a completely normal afternoon of making out with a closeted, possibly questioning, definitely not straight (okay, probably) NHL captain on his couch while Kevin Costner ran around with wolves in the background.
Everything wastotallynormal.
“You’re late.” Finn appeared from the office doorway, clipboard in hand, wearing his usual pre-shift expression of maternal disapproval.
“By like three minutes.”
“Four, and you didn’t answer my text about the keg delivery.”
“Sorry, I was”—kissing Skyler Shaw—“busy. Running errands.”
“Errands.” Finn’s eyes narrowed, his Irish intuition already pinging something. “Right. Well, the Guinness came in short, so we need to adjust the specials board, and the ice machine is making that noise again.”
“I’ll take a look at it.”
“You said that last week.”
“I did. It was working.” I shook my head. “I’m not a miracle worker. It’s like a hundred years old, Finn.”
I tried to slide past him toward the bar, but he shifted to block my path. His expression had changed, morphing from annoyed manager more toward concerned friend.
“Jacks, you sure you’re okay? You seem different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just different.” He studied me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “You’re smiling.”
“I smile.”
“Not likethat. That’s a weird smile. That’s a ‘something happened’ smile.”
“Nothing happened. I’m in a good mood, okay. Is that a crime now?”
“In this economy? It’s suspicious, at minimum.”
I managed to dodge around him and make my way to the bar where Benji was indeed rearranging bottles, though not into any configuration I could identify as purposeful.
“Jacks!” He spun around, nearly knocking over a bottle of Hendrick’s. “You’re here and you’re late. You’re—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes going wide. “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Benji, what—”
“Something happened.” He pointed at me with an accusatory finger. “Somethingmajorhappened. I can see it on your face. You’re glowing. You’reliterallyglowing. Are you pregnant? How far along are you? When did you dip the stick? Can I see it? Did science figure the whole men getting preggers thing out while I wasn’t paying attention?”
“Benj, I’m not pregnant.”
“You mean you’re not showing yet? It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“No.” I blew out a breath. “I’m really not pregnant.”
Benji deflated. “Then why do you look like you discovered the meaning of life and had the best orgasm of your existence all at the same time?”
“I don’t look like—”
“Finn!” Benji shouted toward the back. “Get out here. Jacks says he’s not pregnant.”
