Page 95 of It's Always Us

Krissy grins at Trig, knowing it will drive Slade bananas. “You any good at planning baby parties?”

These two flirt like love-sick teenagers just to piss Slade off.

Trig leans up against the Toyota he’s working on, looking brave. “I’m good at a whole realm of things.”

Carson’s hand falters on the screwdriver. He mumbles a few choice words, looking like he’s about to take out the SUV in front of him.

“Take all that mushy shit somewhere else,” Wind yells.

“They’re not taking anything anywhere,” Slade dictates. “There isn’t a single thing having to do with babies the two of you will be involved in . . . together.”

Krissy ignores him, keeping her attention on Trigger. “I’ll be in touch, and we can plan,” she winks. “We need double the party.”

Trig grins.

Slade points at him. “I know you think this is funny, but I’m about ready to take your ass out.”

“All right. We’re leaving,” I say, waving goodbye. “Don’t get any blood on the vehicles.”

Krissy laughs and blows Trig a kiss, which just about sends Slade through the roof.

“Kris, if you don’t want to find all your shit on the lawn, I suggest you knock it off.”

She laughs, “It’s too easy, Slade. Maybe you should get out there and find yourself a woman, and then you won’t be in such a pissy mood all the time.”

“Yeah, man,” Wind adds. “If you ever find someone who can tolerate your stoic, boring, ritualistic lifestyle. You need to have a little fun.”

“And you need to mind your own fucking business,” Slade shoots back.

I grab my coat, leaving the guys to their grunted comebacks.

“Where are we heading?” Krissy asks, pulling the door open, not giving a crap about the large masculine pot she stirred.

I shrug. “I was hoping you’d know. I need a dress.”

She raises a perfect eyebrow. “A dress or adress?”

“Is there a difference?”

She laughs. “Let’s go. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

Twenty minutes later, Krissy thrusts me into the dressing room of an uptown boutique I’ve never set foot in and hands me an armful of dresses. I take them, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.

As if she knows I’m not undressing, she pops her head inside the curtain.

“Scoot. This might take us the rest of the afternoon. You need a whole new wardrobe, plus a killer dress. Those won’t take another second of that.” She waves her finger toward my completely unzipped jeans being held up by luck and a tight tank.

I shimmy out of my clothes and tug on item after item, hoping it will work for this weekend, but still feel like me. I’m not into playing dress up or wearing bright colors or flowers or things that make me look like I stepped out of a Target ad.

I pull on a navy and white striped three-quarter length sleeved dress that hugs my body and is not completely terrible.

I step out, searching for Krissy, my arms at my side.

“Oh, that’s really cute. It hugs all the right things.” She comes closer to inspect. “This would work for a casual party or dinner.” My stomach fists at the thought of going to one of these highfalutin sponsor parties that Mark mentioned. “With your blonde hair, you look like a cute little pregnant beach babe.”

“I feel like a sailor.”

“You’re a cute one, and I think you could get by with some sneakers.” That ups the appeal. “Try on that fitted, black T-shirt dress. I bet it would go with a cute jacket or one of your flannels. Totally you.”

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