Page 61 of Can't Win 'Em All
I glared at him. “How much time do you and my sister spend together?” I knew darned well who was feeding himthatimage. “My head is not that big.”
“I didn’t think so either, but last night Livvie put on a little show for me. She brought paper plates out to demonstrate what ten centimeters dilated looks like. Do you want to know?”
His tone told me I didn’t. “What does ten centimeters have to do with anything?” I was honestly confused.
“That’s how far women dilate when they give birth.”
I wasn’t good when it came to centimeters. “And what is that in inches?”
“Four.”
I extended my fingers to my best estimation of four inches and frowned as I pictured the area in question. “There’s no freaking way.”
He laughed, which smoothed some of the rough edges I’d been feeling. “That’s what I said. She claims there are videos.”
“Why is she watching birthing videos?” I was instantly suspicious.
“Because Ruby has been sending them to everybody in the text chain. I guess she’s been watching them nonstop.”
“Huh.” I didn’t know what to make of that. On one hand, I could see wanting to be prepared for what was to come. Ruby liked lists and research. It wasn’t surprising that she was watching birthing videos. On the flip side, she was going to drive herself crazy picturing stuff like that. Now that I knew, I was going to drive myself crazy too. “That has to hurt, right?”
“I’m pretty sure that giving birth is the single most excruciating thing the human body can undergo. Like … I’m sure there are other things that are worse—certain torture techniques and whatever—but those are out of the norm. Women give birth every single day. Heck, every single second of every day.”
My stomach clenched. “Why are you putting this picture in my head?”
He shrugged. “Because my wife put it in my head. I think she wants me to be aware before we decide to do it for ourselves. She’s made it clear she expects gifts if she’s going to push my big head out of her loins.”
“Don’t say ‘loins’ when referring to my sister. I’ll have to kill you.”
“Yeah, wife trumps sister.”
I pinned him with a dark glare. “Do you want me talking about your sister’s loins?”
“Definitely not.” He looked horrified at the thought. “You’re going to see that, though. I mean … soon. A pregnancy is forty weeks. Ruby is rounding the corner on twenty-six weeks. That only leaves fourteen weeks.”
“Thanks for doing the math for me.” My tone was sarcastic. “I don’t know what I would do without my human calculator.”
Zach smiled, but his eyes remained on the bar. “Ruby and Link seem to be having a good time. What is up with that guy’s hair?”
“He looks like an idiot,” I replied without looking. I didn’t need to see that again. I was already irritated.
“Livvie says his hair makes him look like a surfer dude and that appeals to some women.”
“Do you and my sister sit around talking about the hotness of all of our workers?” I was trying to get under his skin. Apparently, it didn’t work.
“Actually, we do.” He bobbed his head. “We’re not allowed to gauge the hotness of the female workers, though. It’s a bit of a double standard. She claims Link is the hottest guy in the casino.”
“He looks like he could be an extra onCharlie’s Angels. The old show, not those weird movies that came out when we were teenagers.”
Zach merely shrugged. “I can see it.” He cocked his head as he went back to looking at Link and Ruby. “He has a good personality too. Look at the way my sister is laughing. Maybe he’ll be Rexanne’s stepfather or something. That would be weird.”
I was moving before I realized what I was doing and grabbed the front of his shirt. “That is never happening,” I hissed.
Zach and I had gotten in our fair share of scrapes as kids. That’s normal when dealing with boys, whether prepubescent or teenagers. We would fight, knock each other around, and then be over it. I had never gotten this handsy with him as an adult, however.
“Take a breath.” Zach grabbed my fingers and carefully extricated them from his shirt. To my utter surprise, he was grinning. “Just … in and out. Maybe you should take up yoga to ease that temper of yours.”
Why was he smiling? Why did he think this was funny? “This isn’t a joke,” I growled.
