Page 2 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell

“Mom, it’s not a problem. I’ll just have to figure out the logistics. You know that I only have the one bedroom, and there’s no hide-a-bed in the couch.”

“Sounds like something Santa should bring you for Christmas.” Her mother laughed at her own joke, but Gracie was picturing the ugly-ass couch her mother would choose for her.

“No, that’s okay. Really. I’ll have everything set up before you get here.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let your father know. Oh, and can you order some of that coffee we like from Brazil? Several bags, so we can take it home with us. We’ll pay you for it.”

Gracie didn’t mind that her parents liked the coffee she served at her coffee shop and bakery, The Local Bean. She just wished sometimes that instead of asking her to order several bags at cost, she’d at least pay full price for one.

It was about the only thing her mom liked about Gracie being a small business owner: the family discount. Her mother had wanted her to go to law school and marry someone with a steady job and income. When she’d gotten a business degree and started The Local Bean, her mom had complained about small businesses not lasting in a stressed economy.

But her little shop had been thriving for nearly seven years, so her mother had stopped fussing about it…for the most part.

“Sure, Mom, be happy to. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Gracie clicked off the call and slid the phone into her pocket. She walked back into the house and picked up the two presents with a grunt of frustration.

Two weeks. Her parents were going to come to town and stay with her. Sleep in her room, bitch about her small kitchen. The house she rented was perfect for her under most circumstances, but not now. Not for this.

What in the hell was she going to do?

* * *

Eric Henderson had no idea how he’d ended up at a co-ed baby shower on a Saturday afternoon, but there he was, carrying two trays of his mother’s frog eyes while she bustled ahead of him with a delicately wrapped present in her arms. His little brother, Grant, and his dad had managed to bow out to work at the family owned business, Buck’s Shot Bar, and his sister was rather happy living a thousand miles away in California.

But since Eric’s friend was the father-to-be, he was shit out of luck.

“Oh, Gemma, you look beautiful!” his mother cried.

Gemma Bowers, his friend Travis’s wife, waddled over to his mother and gave her a hug. She was wearing a simple purple cotton dress that showed off her enormous stomach. She was six months pregnant with twins, and Eric thought she looked like she was ready to pop now.

“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. I’m so glad you could come.” Gemma smiled past his mother at him. “Hey, Eric. Travis is in the garage.”

Eric took the escape she offered and carried the food into the kitchen, setting the trays on the counter before he went out the back. He headed down the walkway and found Travis, Mike Stevens, Gabe Moriarty, Gregg Phillips, and Chase Trepasso standing in the open garage, drinking beer.

“So this is where all the men are hiding?” Eric called.

Travis grinned at him, his blue eyes twinkling. “Hell yes. I don’t know what I was thinking agreeing to a co-ed baby shower. Men were not meant to stand around wearing paper diapers with fake poo in them.”

Eric noticed the little white diapers pinned to all the men’s shirts and exploded with laughter. “Why in the fuck are you wearing those?”

Every single one of them grimaced and muttered a chorus of women’s names, and Eric understood. He was the only single guy there, besides Mike, but considering Mike was friends with Gemma too, it made sense he’d pin the thing on.

Eric took a beer from the cooler in the back of Travis’s truck and popped the top. “Thank God I don’t have a girlfriend to answer to.”

“I think the hot sex we get to have makes up for it,” Gabe said.

Chase shot him a disgruntled look. “Speak for yourself. My wife’s body pillow is getting more action than me.”

All the men chuckled, since Chase’s wife, Katie, was due the month before Gemma in January.

Eric held his beer up, toasting. “I get all the sex I want without the baggage, thanks.”

Greg shrugged. “Personally, I prefer the baggage to being single. Then again, my wife’s awesome.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Mike groaned.

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