America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(85)

Beck’s eyes go wide, and he pats my back. “You okay?”

“Woman problems,” I blurt.

And then I go so hot that half my makeup is probably going to melt off.

My mom, Beck’s mom, and Ellie all lunge for their clutches. Most likely to grab tampons.

“Dress problems,” I correct quickly. Dammit, I swear the people at the two tables behind me heard that.

“Just breathe shallow, honey, it’ll be okay,” my mom advises.

“My Slimzies are killing me too,” Ellie says.

“I told you not to wear that shit,” Wyatt mutters.

I like him. He’s very practical.

“I’m okay,” I tell Beck, who’s still watching me so closely that I’m starting to wonder if I have an errant nose hair or something. I nod to his plate. “Are you sure you don’t need more food?”

“We’ll grab takeout somewhere later. After we get you out of that dress. Ow! Mom! It’s physically hurting her.”

He still grins at me though, and my heart takes up a new rhythm at the implication that I’ll be with him for takeout.

And out of my dress while we’re eating it.

“I gave birth to you. I’m aware of what’s going through your head,” his mother says.

Nope.

Not killing the buzz at all.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me after all.

“Serendipity’s staying with us tonight,” my dad growls.

“Um, no, we’re having a girls pajama party,” Ellie corrects.

“We are?” Wyatt asks. And then he, too, mutters ouch and rubs his leg under the table. “Oh. Right. I guess you are. Without warning me. Ouch! Okay, okay, I’m shutting up.”

The curator of the zoo suddenly rushes to the front of the room, where staff are hastily pulling up a projector screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for one moment,” he calls, “I’ve just received word that Persephone is in active labor.”

I straighten. Beck shoots a look at Charlie two tables over, like she arranged this and he’s going to need to give her a raise. She rolls her eyes and mouths back only you.

I snort.

Because I think she’s right.

Only Beck could have this kind of luck.

“He’s just saying that to get a few more donations, right?” he murmurs to me.

A projector flickers to life, and a woman three tables back screams.

“Ah, nope,” I tell him while I look at the very pregnant, very squatting, very delivering giraffe on the screen.

“Oh my,” my mother murmurs.

The Ryders all put their forks down.

My dad goes pale.

Persephone gives a mighty push, expelling baby giraffe legs and amniotic fluid, and my dad wipes his brow.

The mayor’s still eating at the next table.

Murmurs are going through the crowd.

“I can’t eat through this,” someone whispers.

“It’s nature, Felicia. You can too,” someone else whispers back.

“Oh, god, she’s so beautiful, I might cry.” The curator shakes out a white handkerchief and wipes his forehead.

Persephone snorts and shakes her head atop her long neck.

Beck’s enraptured. “She’s so fucking strong.”

“Most women are, dear,” his mom says.

Persephone pushes again, and I poke my mom and point to my dad.

“Oh, here we go again.” She scoots her chair back and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Head between your knees, Judson. Just breathe. Breathe the love in, and breathe the pain out. Love in, pain out.”

Nearly all sounds of silverware clanking on plates have stopped. Beck’s still watching the screen, but he drapes his arm over my chair and leans in close, smelling like cinnamon and cloves tonight. “You ever seen anything like this before?”

“I saw a documentary about elephants giving birth once, but not live. And I watched that eagle cam, but birds hatching isn’t quite the same.”

“She’s just—wow,” he breathes.

He’s not at all grossed out, or horrified, and his stomach gives a rumble that he doesn’t seem to notice.

I squeeze his leg and press a kiss to his clean-shaven cheek, because I can’t help myself. He turns a smile to me, not a smolder, not a face for the cameras, but a soft, honest smile that sets the bees buzzing through my belly.

He scoots closer and instead of keeping his arm casually draped around the back of my chair, he wraps an arm around me, and I lean into him, breathing in his scent, my hand resting on his long, lean, solid thigh while we watch Persephone give birth to a brand-new baby giraffe.

A gasp goes up through the room when the baby plops to the ground, but within minutes, Persephone has helped the little one to its feet, and I’m not crying, but I’m definitely choked up.

The curator is weeping.

And Beck just breathes, “Wow.”

“One more giraffe in the world,” I whisper.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” someone calls.

The curator blows his nose and holds up a finger.

“They won’t know until they can examine it,” I tell her.

The curator points at me, then at his nose.

My dad’s still doing the breathing exercises with my mom, his head under the tablecloth.