Page 13 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Wow.” Izzy leaned over, dreamy-eyed, and touched the soft, orderly garter stitches. “It’s beautiful. I wish I had the crafty gene.”

“You’re plenty crafty,” Bridget quipped. “Were it not for your craftiness in the arena of legal diplomacy, I’d be working for this guy right now.” She patted Archer’s cheek affectionately.

“You’ve got the knitting gene,” Wing assured Izzy.

“What makes you say that?” Bridget asked before Izzy could reply.

He shrugged, oblivious to the warning lights in her eyes. “Knitting, sewing…those kinds of domestic skills come with the double X chromosomes. Men have the hunting and strategizing genes.”

Bridget leaned in, smiling so her teeth showed. “Is that so?”

“It’s a scientific fact.” Belatedly, he caught the lethal undertone in her voice. “Right?” He addressed the question to the other men at the table.

Trace showed a sudden interest in the state of his left thumbnail. Ford took a long, deep drink of his beer. Archer typed something on his phone. Lilah concentrated on her knitting. Had there been crickets, the chirps would have been deafening. Mad eventually took pity and tried to nudge Wing out of Bridget’s crosshairs by laughingly replying, “Oh, sure. All women possess inborn domestic skills. Are you high, man? Can you picture Bridget here knitting a blanket?”

Wing took the lifeline. Sort of. “Uh…maybe?”

“Fuck you, Wing.” Bridget smiled pretty as she said it.

Trace laughed. “Aw. I bet you could knit a whole nursery’s worth of baby stuff, Bridge.”

She turned to him, eyes narrowing in a way that told Lilah her best friend had a new target in her crosshairs. “I bet you could.” With that challenge hanging in the air, she broadened her sights to all the men around the table. “I bet you all could.”

Ford put his beer down, took his phone from his pocket, and did his duty. “Define the bet.”

Bridget leaned across the table to Izzy, conferred for a moment in whispers. Ultimately, Izzy nodded. Lilah then found herself the target of Bridget’s extended index finger. “Trust me?”

“Um…okay?” Oh, dear.

“Course she does.” Snapping her fingers, she turned to Ford. “Here’s the bet. Lilah, Izzy, and I challenge three of you—your choice—to a sudden-death round of capture the flag, pitting our hunting and strategizing skills against yours. Losers knit baby booties, blankets, caps. All the things.” She took a sip of her drink, placed it on the table, and added, “Just to be clear, everyone sitting here in possession of a penis is part of this bet.”

Ford typed notes into his phone. “Weapon of choice?”

Weapons?She stopped knitting.

“Paintball. I don’t want to argue about who’s hit. The splatter speaks for itself.”

He nodded, continued typing. “Field of battle?”

“The pond,” Bridget responded, but Izzy immediately muttered, “Uh-uh.” The infamous wild goose chase had started at the pond in Seward Park a few blocks down Main Street.

Bridget considered for a moment. “The sculpture garden.”

“Nice choice,” Ford commented, inputting the venue. “Varied terrain. Natural and man-made cover. Single flag, king-of-the-hill style?”

“Works for me.” Bridget sat back and crossed her arms.

“When?”

She shrugged. “Depends on who you guys draft to compete for Team XY. We’ll have to coordinate schedules.”

“This is a slam dunk, man.” Wing’s cocky smile matched his voice. Archer sent him the universal “shut it” order of a single hand slash across his own throat.

Izzy smiled. “How about if we pick the guy’s team, then? Would that even the odds?”

“Pfft. I don’t see how.” Wing circled his finger at his teammates. “We’re all good shots. Well, Archer’s an unknown quantity, but he’s got the vision and reflexes to fly a plane, so…”

Izzy inclined her head. “I’m sure you’re right. Archer’s one of your combatants.”

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