Seriously, who would want to be shackled to me for all eternity?
Don’t get me wrong. I was a catch. The cream of the crop, but I wasn’t no husband material, and I sure as hell wasn’t ready to be a dad. I was still a child myself!
Just then, a broom fell.
“Company’s coming,” Juju muttered, his eyes wide as he stared at the offending object. Quickly making the sign of the cross, he grabbed his bone necklace and kissed it, muttering something in Cajun as a dark cloud billowed overhead.
Looking up, I narrowed my eyes before seeing Donut gasp and Juju slowly back away. Glaring at the two scaredy cats, I snipped, “That don’ mean shit!”
Yeah... that was a lie.
Had I known what the next few weeks would be like, I would have skedaddled my ass deep into the bayou and never come out.
Chapter Three
Rosewood, Virginia, Beth’s Coffee Shop...
“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you now that Dr. Yummy Pants carried off Josie like a man on a mission?” Morgan asked, leaning back in the booth, looking at me over her cup of coffee. “And don’t give me any of your melodramatic crap. Just tell me flat. My head is pounding.”
“That’s because you’re still drunk.”
Narrowing her eyes, Morgan glared. “And why aren’t you? I saw you drinking last night.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“And here comes the drama,” she murmured.
Sighing, I laid my head down on the table and wailed, “That fucking Cajun, no good, sweet-talking bastard got me pregnant with a pod of hatchlings!”
“A what?”
“A pod of hatchlings. It’s what it’s called when an alligator has hatchlings. I looked it up. Apparently, she lays eggs, and when they hatch, they are called hatchlings. All together, theyare called a pod. Oh God, he turned me into a pod person!” I whined, banging my head on the table.
“Thanks for the National Geographic lesson, Steve Irwin, but can we get back to reality here? So you’re pregnant. Having a kid isn’t the end of the world, Devlyn.”
Lifting my head, I looked at Morgan and said, “Three kids.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m having three babies. I have three hatchlings swimming around inside me, using my uterus as their own personal bayou, and their leader is off doing God knows what.”
“Then call and tell him,” my so-called best friend said.
That was her advice? Call him!
“I’d rather straddle an electric fence soaking wet than tell him he got me pregnant.”
“Jesus, that was graphic.”
“God, Morgan. What am I going to do?”
“Well, first, you are going to stop whining, pull up your big girl panties, and get your shit together. So no more binge-watchingGame of Thrones.I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but Jon Snow isn’t coming to rescue you. Oh, and while you’re at it, throw away that stupid Eiffel Tower you’re making, or at least make some damn spaghetti with the noodles. Then you are going to march your ass back over to city hall and get your job back, ’cause, honey, you are going to need the income. Playtime is over, Dev. Time to grow up and be responsible.”
“Says the woman who only two days ago bought a dress off eBay with no place to wear it.”
“It’s vintage!”
“Look, Morgan, I hear you.” I sighed, sitting back in the booth. “I need to start making better decisions. I just don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
