I hid my smile and took my phone. “Seriously. Is she pregnant?”
He shook his head. “After the last few days, thank god she isn’t. The day she does get pregnant, I’m going on a nine-month-long vacation. Now, before she marches over here and strings my balls from the pier, go to fucking Starbucks. I’m going to get Tylenol and a nap.”
I got in my car, laughing loudly, and waved to him. I think I wanted to feel sorry for him, but he can be just as bad.
When I arrived at Starbucks, and she gets in my car before I can even cut the engine.
“Drive. Now. To your apartment,” she demanded, clicking her belt into place.
“I thought—”
“I need a tequila shot and a bottle of wine—something Starbucks can’t provide me. Foot down, Brenda.”
She was lucky I always had tequila and wine
