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“Like it? I love it! Who did the artwork?”
“Me,” she said with a smile.
“You? God, you’re talented.”
“I keep telling her that,” Jazz said as she stood next to me. “You smell like marzipan.”
I grinned. “I’m making a chocolate mousse and marzipan cake for Linden’s surprise party.”
“Linden? Linden Ward?” Brielle asked as she dropped the keys to the van in my hand. “I had two copies made for you, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I removed a set from the key ring and handed it to Jazz. “Yeah. You know Linden?”
She grinned. “I do know Linden. My brothers own Three Kings Tattoo Parlor, and the Blue Angels and their Old Ladies get all their ink done there. How do you know her?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I said with a chuckle. “I hit my head and she examined me to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.”
“Why was that such a loaded question?” Brielle asked.
“Because I was at a Blue Angels party when it happened,” I explained.
“Lucky. I wish I could go to a Blue Angels party, but my brothers would throw a shit fit.”
“They’re nothing but trouble. It’s better if you stay away. Trust me,” I said.
“You would know,” Jazz said under her breath.
I shot her a look.
“What? What’s that about?” Brielle asked.
I sighed. “I might as well come clean.” I explained my situation, quickly and without inflection, including the new car, because it was all wrapped up together.
“You really should’ve come to our girls’ night,” Brielle said. “We could’ve unpacked all that while drinking tea and painting your toenails.”
“Next time,” I said. “Promise.”
“So, you’re pregnant with a biker’s baby,” Brielle said. “Wow.”
“I’m calling him Hot Papa Biker,” Jazz said.
“You haven’t even met him. How do you know he’s hot?” I demanded.
“I saw him leave your apartment in the morning, right after he fertilized you. He’shot.” She looked at Brielle. “He’s hot.”
“Fertilized?” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”
“Impregnated?” Jazz supplied.
“Can you be done now?” I demanded.
“Biker baby batter,” she tossed out. “Now, I’m done. I swear.”
I playfully shoved her shoulder and then glanced at Brielle who was clearly amused by the interplay. “You said something—about who your brothers tattoo. What’s an Old Lady?”
“They are either the wives or girlfriends of the bikers. But it’s more than that. It’s likeclaiming.”
“Claiming?” I repeated.
