Page 152 of Puck Princess

“The problem is I just fucked you five times in six hours, Callie Coleman. I haven’t done that since college.” My voice is muffled. I also can’t see the face she’s making, though if I had to guess, it’s not a good one.

“You fucked someone else five times in six hours?”

I lift my head. “Objection, your Honor. This is entrapment.”

“Was it one woman or several?”

There is no right answer, but if you’re gonna dig your own grave, you better dig deep. “Multiple women.”

But just before I can start back pedaling, explaining that I was a cocky college kid, and I couldn’t pick any one of those women out of a line-up if my life depended on it, Callie’s face goes from pissed to shocked.

“Oh…” she gasps.

“I loveyou, Callie. We never had the numbers talk, but it doesn’t matter. You’re the only woman I want to be with you. You’re the only one?—”

“Shut up. I don’t care about who you’ve fucked.” She turns to me, eyes wide. “Owen, I think my water just broke.”

I scan from her face to the puddle between her legs and grin from ear to eat. “Whoa. Yeah, shit. You just—” Then the panic kicks in. “Shit! We gotta go!”

After some chaotic scrambling, a mix of Callie breathing like the midwife taught us and cursing like a sailor, and me driving us to the hospital like the calm, not-at-all-scared-shitless father-to-be I am, we make it to the hospital and get settled into our room.

Once the OB gets there and checks her, she lets out a long, low whistle. “For a baby who didn't want to give up room and board, she’s eager to get out now. It’s almost time to push.”

“Now?” Callie is already shaking her head. “But I haven’t had an epidural. My uncle isn’t here yet. Or my cousin. And what about Summer?”

She looks to me like this is my fault. In some ways, I guess it kind of is.

“We’re on baby’s schedule now. You better get used to it. It’s going to be that way for years.” She snaps her gloves off and tosses them in the trash. “And this one is impatient.”

I smile. “Like mother, like?—”

“Finish that sentence and die—” Calle gasps. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Ow! Excuse my French, but holy mother of God, this fucking hurts.”

“You come from a hockey family. We expect nothing less,” Kennedy says as she walks in the room.

She stops next to the other side of the bed and grabs Callie’s hands. “Let’s have a baby, cuz.”

The next minutes—hours?—are a complete and total blur.

Callie is crying, pushing, breathing, cussing.

Kennedy crying, smiling, cussing when Callie is too busy breathing to cuss and someone needs to fill the silence.

I kiss her hand while she nearly rips mine off, cheering her on the best way I know how.

“Callie Coleman is the star of this show. Just when you think she has nothing left to give, she digs a little deeper. I think we know who our MVP of this labor and delivery is, isn’t that right, folks?”

I don’t think she’s impressed with my sports announcer voice, though, because she shoots me a look to kill.

Then it’s the OB’s turn to make an announcement. “There’s the head.”

“Yay! Your baby has a head,” Kennedy sobs through a smile.

“Does she have hair?” Callie asks, gritting her teeth.

Kennedy peeks down and goes pale. “So much hair. That’s basically all I can see. Even though she’s like, hanging out of your hoo-ha, I love her so much.”

“Bear down, Callie,” the doctor instructs. “We need to get her shoulders out, and then it’s over. One more big push, and you’ll have your baby in your arms.”

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