Page 33 of Infinite

“My, oh, my, Hale,” she purrs. “And the way you were eyeing me on the plane and in the limo, I was sure you’d take a bite right out of poor little ol’ me.” She snaps her teeth.

Yup. I be swimming in dark waters now.

Her Wonder Woman ring tone announces another call. The shark offers me a small pinky wave, tosses her long hair over her shoulder, and struts off. You might say this Southern Belle is capable of bringing any heterosexual man to his knees.

She pauses, just long enough to pretend she forgot her manners. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, sugar?” she asks. “I have to take this if I’m going to save that sweet ass of yours.”

I rub my chin. Okay, Becca. It’s going to be like that? Darlin’, it’s on.

Chapter Seven

Becca

Trin and her family bring over dinner as promised, as well as all the media equipment my assistant delivered to their house. I need all of it. Their support and this high-tech equipment.

“I’m glad you know what you’re doing,” Trin says, staring at all the gadgets. “Alexa and I are always fighting. I can’t help myself, really. I don’t like machines that are smarter than me. I don’t think it’s natural.”

She settles into the chair, shifting her hold on her baby. “Ever see the Terminator?”

“Only ’cause you made me,” I remind her, adjusting the strap of one camera so it’s easier to fit in the case.

“Someone had to,” Trin says. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s a lesson in the making.”

“Meaning?” I ask.

“Meaning one day, you’re asking Alexa for the weather, the next she’s rigging the microwave to turn on you and ordering the furnace to set you on fire.”

I laugh, knowing it’s really what Trin is after. I don’t know what I would have done without her in my life. Sure, we’ve shared some sad moments, but when we’ve laughed, we’ve felt that humor down to our toes.

I take a moment to stroke my Godchild and namesake’s hair. Sylvia Becca, named after Trin’s momma and me, is about the prettiest baby I’ve ever laid eyes on.

My ovaries give a little twitch. I wasn’t sure about having children, ever. After the way I was raised, I couldn’t be positive I’d make a good momma. But Little Silvie, the name she goes by, as well as Trin’s first born, Cal, Jr., make me want a baby every time I see them, and some days, even when I don’t. There’s something special that happens when the friends you love more than life create a new life of their own. All the love you feel for your friends extends to their little ones. It’s nothing you think about, nor is it forced. It just appears like the rising moon to thrive among the stars.

My thoughts of babies and holding my own make me a little sad. I return to the equipment laid out across the dining room table. There’s not much to it, a tripod, a camera, a few small mics, and one of those mini recorders you can pin to your clothes. I don’t think I’ll need most of this high-end, high tech, bordering on spy, equipment. But I have it, just in case. Hale needs to show the side of him the world doesn’t yet know. In case he can’t manage that with the camera nearby, something subtle may come in handy.

“I saw Hale giving you the eyes,” Trin says, adjusting Little Sylvie when she wakes so she can nurse her. My bestie is still as thin as ever. Seeing how much her baby eats, I think Trin gives every last calorie away.

I slice a piece of blackberry pie and place it and a fork in front of Trin.

“Thank you, Becks.” She takes a bite. “Did you hear what I said?”

I double check the camera lens when I think I see a crack, doing my best not to happy dance all up in this bitch. “Hmm?”

“Don’t hmm me,” Trin says, wiping her chin when the crumbling crust explodes. “I’m serious. I think Hale still…you know.”

“I don’t know,” I say. I try not to smile or think too hard about how good Hale looks in those jeans he changed into or that tight white sweater. I’ve seen D&G ads that were less erotic and naughty. “Trin, I officially declare this house a place of business. Not a brothel.”

“Hey,” I say when Trin smacks me in the rear.

“There,” she says. “Now you can declare it a brothel.”

“Cut that out,” I say laughing. “You’re a grown woman with kids. You shouldn’t be touching anyone’s ass unless it belongs to your hot husband. Even then, it should only be in bed, naked, with the windows and doors locked.”

“I do that plenty,” she drawls. “How do you think I got these two babies I have? I swear, Becks, with the amount of hormones raging through me, it’s a wonder Callahan doesn’t need a whip and wooden stool to keep me back.”

“That could be fun,” I add.

“Oh, and it is.” She sighs. “You know how we used to love our men, sandy, muscular, and athletic?”

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