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“Fucking hell,” I mutter, tossing the receipt into the trash. I call a frazzled ‘thanks’ to the cashier and hurry after him. I either got this right on the money…or I’m about to send my girlfriend’s boyfriend into anaphylactic shock. Hey, at least she’s a doctor, right?
This is all gonna be fine.
“Cay, wait up!”
2
EMERGENCY CONTACT
Is there anything better than ending a glorious day off with your feet up on the coffee table, a trashy movie on Netflix, and a pint of ice cream in hand? I dig in with my spoon, savoring the tart taste of my mango sorbet.
I’m only half-watching this romcom. It’s hard to concentrate when my phone is dinging every two minutes with updates from Harrison. Their surrogate is currently in labor and my twin has zero freaking chill. I’m trying to be the supportive sister-slash-godmother, but there’s only so many times in so many ways that I can tell him contractions are perfectly normal before I’m gonna have to just mute my phone.
My bags are already packed and perched by the door because my guys and I leave in the morning for Seattle. We’re all going out to see the new baby. The timing is perfect, really. We have to be back in four days for the start of training camp and then it will be impossible to get away.
Not that Davita planned her labor to fit our work schedules…
The low electric hum of the garage alerts me to my guys being back. They all played a pickup game of hockey over at the practice rink tonight, and then went out to dinner with the team. Karaoke night at Rip’s is a weekly favorite, but I was just too in love with the idea of no bra and the house to myself to bother joining in the fun tonight. They’re bringing me a doggy bag of chicken wings and waffle fries.
Which probably means I should lose the sorbet, right? I look down at the melty orange dessert with a wistful sigh.
Hopping of the couch, I pad silently over to the kitchen in my socks and put the lid back on the sorbet. Slipping it back into the freezer, I glance over my shoulder at the wall of sliding glass and smirk at my reflection. I look like a hot mess—hair up in a tangled knot, smudged makeup. I’m wearing my rattiest cropped Ferrymen sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, and a pair of hot pink granny panties.
I quickly toss my used spoon in the dishwasher, eager to hide any proof of eating my dessert before dinner…a dinner of greasy, fried hot wings and over salted potato fries. Yeah, my diet has been all over the place. I’ve been having the weirdest cravings. But it’s my day off, and I’m living it up right with popcorn, sorbet, and hot wings. And I’m gonna eat it all in my underwear. What can I say? If my guys can’t love trash panda Rachel, they certainly don’t deserve smoke show Rachel.
I hear the metallic whine of the garage door coming back down. Sy is already dancing by the door, eager to see his daddies.
I open the fridge, bending over to peer down low, looking for a sparkling water.
“God, you are beingsooverdramatic right now,” comes Jake’s heated voice.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Caleb replies.
I jerk upright, bottle of San Pellegrino in hand, and close the fridge.
My guys come marching through the kitchen, Jake in the lead.
“Stop fighting,” says Ilmari from just behind him. “It’s not important.”
“Wait, you didnotjust say that,” Jake cries, wholly incredulous as he spins around to glare at Ilmari. “It’s notimportant? I’m sorry, but do you want me to punch you or pack your fucking bags?”
Ilmari sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Jake crosses his arms and glares. “Well, whatdidyou mean?”
Caleb is the last in from the garage, Poseidon skirting around his legs, oblivious to their obvious tension. Caleb steps around Ilmari’s broad frame, his dark eyes locking on me as he holds out a white paper takeout bag stamped with the Rip’s logo.
“What’s wrong?” I say, glancing between them as I take the bag.
“Apparently, Mars here is Jake’s best friend,” Caleb replies, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Ilmari. “He only announced it to the whole fucking team right in front of me as if I didn’t exist.”
I blink, glancing between them. “Wait—what happened?”
Jake turns to face me. “Novy was annoyed that I was sharing my fries with Mars because I never let him share my food. But okay, A—” He holds a finger up in the air. “Novy is a fucking pig, and when you give him an inch, he takes a mile. I share my fries, I have no fucking fries. And B—” He holds up a second finger. “Mars is my best fucking friend. You share your fries with your best friend. It’s like a rule, right? And I said all this to Novy, but Cay overheard me, and now he’s acting all butt hurt like he’s not my fucking husband.”
“I just wanna know the difference,” Caleb replies, turning away from me to cross his arms and glare at Jake. “I thought I was your best friend—”
“You’re my husband,” Jake shouts. “Fuck, is saying it in English not working? Tú eres mi esposo, loco.”
