Page 22 of A Labor of Hate
I blinked slowly, too shocked to feel embarrassed.Or to feel anything, really.What emotions were left when you’d already fallen butt-first into a suitcase?
Colt, to my surprise, stretched out his hand to help me up, his brow furrowed.Rather than laughing at my cringe-worthy predicament, he seemed almost… concerned.“Are you okay?”
I stared at his hand for a moment as my shock made way for mortification.With my face nice and crispy from the heat, I ignored his hand in lieu of blueberry-girl-rolling my way out.This time it involved crawling on hands and knees like a bloated hippo until I could get my feet back under me.
Not my best moment.
I took a deep breath and forced as much emotion off my face as I could.The effect was largely ruined by the burgundy shade my cheeks had undoubtedly turned, but it was all I had at the moment.Even plastic spoons could be a weapon if you were desperate enough.
“Just peachy,” I muttered, straightening my shirt before brushing past him.He couldn’t hide his amusement anymore, which was surprisingly easier to deal with than the concern he’d shown a minute ago.“But I’ll be better once I’m away from you.”
He didn’t pursue, likely already jumping at the chance to organize my shirts by color so they would be less offensive to look at.However, I didn’t miss his reply as I valiantly marched away, quiet though it was.
“Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
Lex’s Top SecretMental Log, Undercover Assignment Days 2-3:
Woke up to an intruder in my room.Threw a pillow at him and screamed, only to find out it was Colt getting his workout clothes from the closet.The maniac woke me up at five-thirty in the morning with a heart attack, so it is my conclusion he deserved the thwack to the head.
When asked why he didn’t turn the lights on, the intruder said he’d tried not to wake me because “you’re an absolute bear when you’re tired”.This statement was found to be slanderous against all bears, since I am easily twice as ferocious and five times as hungry.
Colt, heretofore referred to as The Spouse, criticized my choice to start the day with a cup of coffee like any sane person because the caffeine levels were bad for me and our fictitious baby.When I assured him the coffee was more for his survival than my enjoyment, he questioned whether I would also be drinking alcohol.“You’re supposed to be pregnant, remember?”I reminded him that the morning sickness wouldn’t be hard to fake, considering being in his presence made me nauseous.The Spouse had no more complaints the rest of the morning.
The Spouse also has a breakfast schedule, because of course he does.On a related note, I have eaten an actual, bona fide breakfast for two consecutive mornings for the first time since I was in high school.This has been an unexpected perk in an otherwise irksome living arrangement.
The Spouse started his new job at the accounting firm and established contact with McBride to ensure everything was in place for making first contact with Gauthier.
I had my first day shadowing the dancing class I will be taking over teaching while the normal instructor goes on—irony of all ironies—maternity leave.Rather than contemporary, ballet, or Zumba, I will be teaching ballroom dance.While extremely fake pregnant.Nothing canpossiblygo wrong with that, I’m sure.
I returned from my class to find my coffeemaker mysteriously missing.The Spouse woke up this morning to find his apple juice mysteriously half gone.War has silently but unmistakably been declared.
COLT SNAPPED ME out of my mental play-by-play of the last few days with yet another question—the main reason I’d intentionally zoned out as soon as we were in the car.That, and the fact I was so wired I’d throw up if I let myself dwell on it.
“How long did we date before getting married?”
I rolled my eyes, doggedly keeping my body facing the window as the hospital slowly came into view.“A year before getting engaged, then eight months before getting married.”
“When is our anniversary?”
“June seventh.Which, by the way, is only a month away.”Maybe I’d surprise him with a new clothes iron.Or maybe a bona fide pocket protector.
Romance, thy name is Lex.
Surprisingly, we hadn’t hit nearly as many hiccups over the past few days as I’d expected.That could be thanks to largely avoiding each other as much as possible, between unpacking—which Colt insisted we do immediately—and working.Whatever the reason, I’d take it.Now came the easy part: getting close to a drug mastermind and his wife without tipping them off to our real identities or scaring them off by being too interested in them.
See?Easy.
“And which anniversary will we be celebrating this year?”
I huffed in annoyance, twisting as best as my tummy would allow to face him.“Relax, Colt.We both know our covers—and each other’s—inside and out.Our social media accounts with our aliases are live and incredibly legit-looking as of Saturday, and I’ve only managed to bump the tummy against unintended items five times all day.We’ve got this.”
Was I convincing him or myself?The jury was out on that one.
His mouth dipped into a frown, his brows pulling together.“And what gender is the baby?”
“We’re going to be surprised.But I think we should name it Tommy if it’s a boy, and Bella if it’s a girl.”
