Page 53 of Cold Foot Croc

“Of course. You can have whoever you want in the room. We can get you set up with a doctor who can deliver the baby too, if you want.”

She huffed a nervous laugh. “That’s probably important.”

“Sooner rather than later,” Cash said. “Her belly button’s poking out of her dress like one of those timers telling us when a turkey is fully cooked.”

“Oh my gah, turkey sounds so good right now,” Kade said.

“Speaking of turkeys,” Cash said, standing. “I wrote a poem for you, Raynah, lovely mother-to-be.”

“Oh God,” Raynah muttered under her breath.

Cash cleared his throat and looked solemnly at a piece of notebook paper that he’d pulled from his back pocket and unfolded. “Raynah. Your derriere, it is shaped like a pear—”

“Wait, is this entire poem going to be about Raynah’s ass?” King asked. “Garret, kill him.”

“I kind of want to hear it,” Garret told him.

Cash lifted his chin higher into the air and began again. “Your derriere, it is shaped like a pear. Sometimes I have found, that it is round—”

“Booo,” Raynah called out. She wanted to throw something at him, but the only thing not breakable near her was the sparkly confetti on the table. Someone had custom-ordered eggplants.

Wreck told Cash, “Sit down, no one wants to hear this.”

Cash scoffed. “My talents are wasted on you Neanderthals. This is art,” he said primly, wadding up the poem.

He threw it across the table at Raynah, who unfolded it to find the page was completely blank. “Were you just freestyling a poem about my butt?”

“Yeah. I told you all I can rap, but no one believes me.”

Garret raised his hand. “I believe you.” He started beatboxing a beat.

Cash picked up the rhythm. “Her tushy is squishy and a little bit mushy, and when she says peep, her granny panties get—”

“Cash, for the love of God, stop. That’s an order,” Wreck told him.

Silence descended over the group.

Raynah pursed her lips against a laugh, because Cash looked like he was about to explode with unsaid lyrics. In a high-pitched voice, she said, “Peep.”

“Pushy!” Cash finished the rhyme.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Katrina pointed out. “Her granny panties get pushy?”

“And when her booty goes plop—”

Garret picked up beatboxing again.

“When she’s trying to mop—”

“I’ve never mopped in my life,” Raynah pointed out.

“And she’s in a crop top—”

“I will pay you a hundred dollars to shut up,” Reed told him.

“Okay,” Cash said, and immediately sat down.

Raynah’s shoulders were shaking with her laughter. “That was atrocious.”

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