Page 77 of Hunted: Season Two

“How about Jordana if it’s a girl?”

Pulling my lips to one side is done in brief contemplation. “I think that’s pretty.”

“Softyetstrong,” he theatrically emphasizes at the same time he drops his screwdriver onto the counter beside me. “Everything her mother will teach her to be.”

An awe sound slips out before it has the proper chance to be swallowed. Unfortunately for him, the adoration is short lived due to recalling the roots of his suggestion. “Wait. Isn’t Jordana the name of theactressthat plays Mia whomarriesBrian?”

Arrogance and amusement fuse in his expression during his confession, “I like the name Mia too.”

“Could you like working?” I chastise between giggles. “Perhaps on that car yourafterhours customeris expecting to be ready in the next twenty minutes.”

“I’m practically done,” The Kid reassures while making himself more comfortable in front of where I’m sitting. “I just need to polish off a few knobs.”

His playful eyebrow wiggle attached to his boyish smile results in me shaking my head a second time.

Rolling my eyes.

Resuming the doodling process I honestly don’t even remember starting.

I wonder if he or she will get this condition.

I wonder if it’s genetic.

I don’t recall my parents mentioning that.

I don’t remember putting it on my medical form either.

Maybe I should ask Doctor G – erVal.

Still getting used to calling her that.

Yes, she’s my doctor, but off the clock she’s becoming a bit more.

Someone to randomly text with.

Complain to.

Garcia claims she’s gunning for the role of a godparent – since he’s never gonna have kids – but I think that her doctor senses are just tingling.

Or maybe her “girl” senses.

I’m not too sure.

Friendship’s about as foreign to me as pregnancy is.

I’ll admit it’s been nice to have some female reassurance these past couple of weeks,andI’m totally looking forward to a “family dinner” with us, her, Garcia, and his parents and not just because she keeps promising to make me the besttacos al pastorI’ve ever had.

Which they will be.

They’ll also be theonly onesI’ve ever had, but I’m not gonna tell her that.

“Admit it,” he lovingly goads. “You’re havingfunthinking about our baby.”

The grin that grows on my face informs him of his rightness rather than my words.

“And that’s why you’re writing song lyrics that have the wordbabyin them.” I move over the pen over to resume writinganother b, unintentionally summoning him closer. “I bet I know ‘em all.”

“I bet you don’t,Go, Diego, Go.”

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