Page 6 of The Holy Grail
Maybe her New Year’s resolution should be to quit thinking about Malcom in any way, shape, or form, and to rip up his business card. Of course, she probably should’ve made thatlastyear’s resolution, because if she had, she probably wouldn’t be in this mess.
As Paige and her husband, David (whom she’d recently re-married six months ago) broke apart from their energetic lip-lock, Jules knew before a word was said the two of them were going to be leaving, pronto. It was written all over their faces, the need to go and have sweaty, needy, mind-blowing sex.
Jules didn’t blame them, as she wouldn’t mind having some of that herself.
“David and I are going to head out,” Paige whisper-shouted in Jules’ ear as the local band started playing a new song.
“Okay,” Jules whisper-shouted back. “You two kids go have some fun! And come at least twice!”
“She will,” David promised over Paige’s shoulder, before pulling her out of the bar like the building was on fire, and the roof was about to collapse.
Evan, the head bartender and one-third owner of Three Amigos—as well as David’s best friend—shook his head at the abrupt departure. “If I wasn’t so happy for the two of them, they’d be really annoying,” he said.
Jules chuckled. “Same.”
He leaned against the bar, closing the space between himself and Jules. “So …” he trailed off to glance around for a second before continuing. “Is Cat Lady knocked up?”
“When are you going to quit calling her that?”
“Well, since it’s become an established nickname … never?”
“It’s the worst nickname in the world.”
“I beg to differ. It’s not worse than ‘Dick’.”
Jules considered David’s nickname for Evan, which had come about when the two men had met years ago, and after pretending to flirt with David and getting him a little flustered, David had told Evan he was being a dick. “Yes, it’s worse than that, because ‘Dick’ could be construed as referring to your actual dick, and your potentially large endowment—”
“Potentially?”
“Yes,potentially, since I haven’t seen it.But ‘Cat Lady’ conjures up disturbing images of a mentally ill, old woman wearing dirty clothes, with fifty cats running around her dilapidated house, which is filled with overflowing litter boxes.”
“That was oddly descriptive.”
“Thank you.”
Evan cleared his throat. “Okay, I get your point, but it’s too late to change her nickname.” Then, after an unrepentant shrug, he repeated his question. “So … is Cat Lady knocked up? She was only drinking virgin margaritas tonight.”
“She actually quit drinking alcohol when she and David started trying to make a baby,” Jules explained. “She didn’t want anything to potentially interfere with the process, or possibly ingest any alcohol right after conceiving.”
Evan paused for a moment, figuring the extra precaution was a result of the miscarriage Paige suffered years ago, and his voice softened. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. Why would I knowthat?”
“David could have told you.”
“He and I talk about a lot of things, but the finer points of impregnating his wife hasn’t come up. Mainly because it’s kind of personal and probably none of my business.”
“Hmm. I’ve never let that stop me from getting information.”
Evan’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure you haven’t.”
She shook off the sarcasm. “Well, then I’m surprised you haven’t noticed she hasn’t had a real drink in six months.”
“If I’d spent any real time with them in the past six months, I might have. But, I’ve been working my ass off here almost every night and hardly see them unless it’s for an hour or two on a Sunday afternoon. And the last time I was at their place on a Sunday afternoon, I fell asleep on the couch.”
“Oh.” Jules gave him a sympathetic look (because his work schedule sounded really awful), then leaned forward a little, as if to share a secret. “Well, in answer to your question, Idothink she’s pregnant.”
