Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(62)

“Tell me more gossip,” I say, begging for a change of topic. “How’s Leo doing? Are you spending Christmas with his family?”

“Oh, definitely,” Georgia says. “I love his family. Except lately his mother can’t go an hour without asking when we plan to have kids.”

“Oh, brother,” Becca groans. “Nate’s mom has been dropping some hints, too. And we’ve only been married a few months.”

“Shouldn’t we be taking bets?” I ask. “Which of you two is going to be first?”

“Georgia is,” Becca says. “Leo has been angling since ten minutes after they got married. And Georgia doesn’t hate the idea, either. Trust me.”

“We’re still negotiating the number, though,” Georgia says. “I’m an only child, so I think one or two kids is plenty. But Leo thinks three is the minimum.”

“Leo just wants to have lots of baby-making sex,” Becca points out.

Georgia snorts. “Leo’s appetites are great, that’s true. But isn’t baby-making sex the same as any other nookie?”

“No way,” Becca argues. “I mean, I haven’t had any baby-making sex, so I’m just guessing here, but there should be trumpets and an angel choir. If you’re making a human life, that has to be beautiful.”

“The angel choir might mess with my concentration,” Georgia says, and I choke on a sip of Prosecco.

“You okay?”

“Sure.” I cough. And then I blurt out my strange question. “I wonder if the choir shows up at the fertility clinic I went to yesterday.”

There’s a stunned silence. “Omigod. Hello, mic drop!” Georgia yelps. “Are you having a baby? Did we bet on the wrong horse here?” She waves a hand over the three of us in our massage chairs.

Even the woman who’s buffing my cuticles looks up in surprise.

“I’m investigating the possibility,” I admit. “This was just a preliminary consultation. But I’ve been thinking about it a long time. And if Tank and I aren’t going to be together, maybe it’s time to take matters into my own hands.” The idea of going back to Tinder makes me want to curl up in a ball and howl.

“Wow,” Becca says. “You are impressive. So how does it work? Do you have to have a bunch of tests?”

“There will be a couple of tests. But then there are choices to make. IVF versus artificial insemination. IVF sounds a little intimidating, honestly. You have to inject yourself with a drug.”

Becca shivers. “I hate needles. But I guess I could stab one into my own butt if it meant I could have a baby.”

“Thigh,” I correct. “And I hear there’s no angel choir.”

Becca reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I just want to slap Tank.”

“And then give him a firm shake,” Georgia agrees.

“He can’t help it,” I say, jumping to his defense. “The man’s wife asked him to move out, and that was only seven months ago. He’s not over it.”

“He’s not,” Georgia says quietly. “Some people never get over it. Maybe you two are star-crossed.”

“It sucks,” Becca says. “And if you need someone to go to the clinic with you, I’m there.”

“You’re the best. Seriously. Getting pregnant in a doctor’s office does seem kind of weird and lonely.”

“When you’re holding a baby it won’t seem weird, and it won’t be lonely,” Georgia points out.

She’s totally right. “When I think of myself rocking a baby, it all seems worth it.” We’ll be a small team of two players. “I really want a baby.”

“Does Dave know you’re doing this?” Georgia asks.

“Not yet. Zara does, though. And the second I decide to go through with it, he’ll be my first call.” I can’t predict how he’ll react, either. He loves his child, and he’d want me to have one, too. But he’ll probably worry about me.

“We’ll be your second call,” Becca says, draining her Prosecco. “And then we can start looking for a bigger apartment for you. I can’t work my magic in that rental you’ve got now.”

“Okay. It’s a deal.”

The nail technician begins stroking Bruisers purple onto my big toenail, and—for a moment—all is right with the world.





Twenty-Six





Woo Woo Shit





Tank





“Nice goal last night.”

“Thanks. Every goal counts.” Grudgingly, I take my seat in front of Doc Mulvey. These sessions continue to be a waste of time, but the shrink is paid to talk to me, so here I am.

“So—did you visualize that goal ahead of time?”

I snort. “You know I didn’t. What is your point?”

The goal in question was the result of a messy rebound. The puck shook loose in front of the net after getting momentarily stuck in the goalie’s shin pad. Then the goalie’s own teammate overskated the puck while trying to clear it.

I pounced on it like a cat on a stunned mouse, poking it toward the net. And it only worked because my opponent blocked his goalie’s view of me. It’s what we call an ugly goal, and Doc Mulvey knows this.