Could that be right?
She didn’t have a second to consider the smell when the gentle hum that had lulled her to sleep was replaced with a violent shake.
An earthquake?
Did they get earthquakes in Denver?
She jolted upright. “I’m awake! We have to get out of here!”
“Georgie, it’s just a gravel road,” her husband said with a reassuring pat to her leg.
She collapsed into the seat. “For a second, I forgot we were in the car.”
“You’ve been out like a light for most of the drive.”
She nodded and smoothed her dress. Thankfully, they’d had enough time to race home and grab a shower before leaving for the Battle of the Births event.
“Look, messy bun girl! Check out where the gender reveal challenge is being held,” Jordan said as they continued up the bumpy road, and her jaw dropped—like, catch-all-the-flies dropped.
“The baby goat yoga farm?” she said, hardly able to believe her eyes.
“Yeah, crazy, right?”
She rested her hands on her baby bump. “Thank goodness I was able to cure you of your goat phobia. Who knows what kind of scene you would have made today?”
Jordan chuckled. “I’m a lucky guy,” he said and rested his hand on top of hers.
“A lucky guy who’s no longer afraid of baby farm animals, but alpacas—”
“Hey,” he shot back, cutting her off playfully. “We agreed. Alpacas can be real assholes when they want to be.”
“Very true,” she said, shaking off the heebie-jeebies from the memory of being spit on by one serious asshole alpaca, as they continued down the country road toward a sea of cars.
For both her sake and her husband, hopefully, this place was still alpaca-free.
Jordan parked their SUV between two sedans, then gazed at all the cars in the makeshift dirt lot.
“It’s pretty full. They must have another event going on.”
Last time they were here, it was just the two of them, and, for a short while, the brother and sister blogger team turned convicted felons they’d competed against in the Battle of the Blogs. But today, there had to be more than twenty cars packed into the dusty lot.
“What do you think we’ll have to do for this challenge?” he asked, cutting the ignition.
“I’m not sure how goat yoga could be a Battle of the Births challenge. Goat yoga isn’t a challenge unless you’re afraid of things that go baa in the night,” she replied, biting back a grin as her trifecta nodded in appreciation at her clever wordplay.
Jordan unbuckled his seatbelt, then leaned over the console. She met him in the middle.
“When did you get so funny?” he asked on one heck of a sexy rasp.
Her prego-libido revved. “I’ve always been this funny.”
He closed the distance and pressed the sweetest kiss to her lips.
“What do you say, messy bun girl? Whatever this challenge is, I think we’re golden. We know this place. We’re ready for whatever they throw at us.”
“What’s the score?” she asked.
Jordan pulled out his phone. “Eleven couples competing.”
“And?” she asked, trying not to cringe.
After the simulation from a diarrhea-infused hell and their no-show at the hospital this morning, it couldn’t be good.
“We’re number ten,” he reported.
“Okay, not dead last.”
A muscle ticked in her husband’s jaw. Oh, her competitive asshat!
“I have an idea,” she said in her best dirty girl voice.
“What’s that?” he asked, lowering his as the twitch disappeared.
“After we rock this challenge and jump to the head of the pack, we should go by that barn we passed last time we were here. You know, the one where…” she trailed off as a blush heated her cheeks, her prego-libido raring to go.
A cocky grin stretched across Jordan’s face. “Where I rocked your world.”
She lifted her chin. “No, no, it’s where I rocked your world.”
A whole lot of naughtiness glimmered in his eyes.
Look at that! She was a bona fide cocky, competitive asshat calmer.
A BCCAC.
She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to hold in a bout of giggles. “I’m just amusing myself.”
She was ready for him to toss back a feisty reply. But his expression softened as his gaze slid to her exposed wrist and settled on her charm bracelet—the bracelet he’d given her on their wedding day.
“You wore it,” he said with that boyish grin she loved.
She glanced at the charms, taking in the silver ten and eight, the computer mouse, the tiny barbell, the mini sandal, and the trowel before tapping the cookie charm.
“For so long, even thinking of vegan cookies made me want to hurl. But when I caught a glimpse of my bracelet in my jewelry box, I didn’t feel like losing my breakfast. And for some strange reason, it seemed right to wear it today.”
“Our good luck charms?” he teased.
“I think so,” she answered, jangling the silver charms.
“We need to add another.”
“For the baby?”
“I was thinking a pineapple,” he said with a wink.
“That would actually work for the baby, and I could totally pound a pineapple juice right about now,” she said, then sighed longingly.
“Would you now?” he asked with a sly expression, then popped open the glove box to reveal a tiny, lunchbox-sized can of her drink du jour.
She plucked the can from its resting place, popped the top, and downed the liquid like a frat boy pounding a Natty Light.
“God help anyone who gets between you and a pineapple. And by the way, that’s the last one. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way home after the challenge and stock up,” he said, clapping the glove box closed.
She set the drained can on the dashboard, sweetly sated by the drink. “Noted. We’re pineapple or bust after the challenge ends.”
He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. “All right, messy bun girl. We’ve got you properly juiced-up. Let’s go kick ass in this challenge. I’ll help you and Faby out.”
She lifted Faby from the floorboard, then gazed into its, thankfully, not demon-red face. “I think we’re okay to get out of a car on our own,” she said, opening the car door and immediately wishing she hadn’t.
Sweet cow patties! The smell!
“That’s awful! What do you think that is? A buffalo?”
“Um…Georgie,” Jordan said as a couple, looking like they’d walked straight out of the caveman exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, got out of the car parked next to them.
“That’s the smell of an environmentally-friendly pregnancy. We’re a part of Nadine’s natural birth group. We’re here for a prenatal goat yoga session,” the hairy pregnant woman barked.
Cornelia was not kidding. Nadine’s birthing group was hardcore. And Georgie couldn’t fault the woman for being in a bad mood. Walking around like a pregnant Oscar the Grouch couldn’t be fun.
“That sounds lovely. It’s a perfect day for goat yoga,” she answered like a ventriloquist, keeping her lips pressed together and wishing she could clamp her nostrils shut.