Those Three Little Words (The Vancouver Agitators, #2)

by Meghan Quinn

I don’t do well with crying women. I don’t know how to act. Do I pat her on the shoulder, tell her “there, there, you’ll be fine”? Do I give her a hug and not say anything? Do I offer her a tissue? What’s a man supposed to do in this situation? We went from farts to tears because I got her breakfast. This is way past my comprehension level.

“No,” I say to her. “I’m not going to let this guy dick us around.” I pick up the sonogram wand, shove it at him, and say, “You fucking tell us if this baby has a vagina or a penis right fucking now, or I’m going to show you what it’s like to be defended by me on the ice.”