Once I make sure my hair is not a bird’s nest, I cautiously open the dispensary door, only to come face-to-face with an incredibly curious Azalea. “Okay, sister-girl, wanna explain that glow you’re rocking?” She steps forward, urging us both back into the dispensary.
“Well, you know what they say—pregnant women glow.”
“Hmm. Wanna tell me why your man just walked outta here, looking like the king of the world while humming a little tune?”
I can’t help the smile that takes over my face at the picture she’s painting. I can just see him—a spring in his step and a smug grin. “Couldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, you most certainly can, and you will. Because if you leave me to piece this together on my own, I can only assume you just had some mid-morning delight . . . AT WORK!”
With wide eyes, I slap a hand over her mouth just as Seraphine steps into the room. “Azalea Josephine, you hush up.”
“Hush up about what?” Seraphine asks.
“Oh, Myles here just hooked up at work. Oh, Jesus! Did you Lysol?”
Seraphine, bless her, is trying her best to maintain her composure, but I can see it’s slipping.
“Oh, good gravy! There is nothing to sanitize. We made out, all hot and heavy, but no clothing was removed.”
“Oh.” Azalea sounds disappointed, and rightfully so. She’d love nothing more than to have something like this to tease me over. “Well, that sounds anticlimactic.”
“Not for me,” I mumble, causing the cord that is Seraphine’s composure to snap. She’s doubled over, clutching her stomach laughing.
“Y’all are some kinda mess. I seriously never know what to expect. Anyway, Myles, your client is here.”
“Thanks, hun,” I tell her with a smile as I head toward the reception area.
“Well, I’m still gonna Lysol!” Azalea hollers at my retreating back.