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

by Meghan Quinn

Eli: She hasn’t come back yet. It’s been two fucking hours, and she’s not home. Posey: I don’t know what you want me to say. Eli: Tell me what the fuck she’s doing. Posey: Surprisingly, I don’t have a homing device hooked up to her leg.

When the door clicks shut, she turns to me. “Let’s do it here.” “Let’s do what here?” I ask. “The sex.” “What? No, Penny.” “Oh, it will be really quick. You shoot off early sometimes.” “That was one fucking time, and it was because you put a vibrator against my balls. I wasn’t prepared for that sensation.” “Well, guess what I have in my purse?” “Jesus,”

And even now, holding you in my arms, I know I’m lucky, I know I don’t deserve you, I know that I fucking hit the jackpot even when you’re insane and painting weird things on the baby’s wall, planting God knows what in my loafer, and desecrating significant pictures.” I am not going to mention her crazy mood swings.

She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Do what you want. If I have to paint this room with a goddamn erection, then I will. We have one month, babe. We have all this stuff from the baby shower. We have to start nesting.” “Aw, look at you using the terms.” “I’m serious.” I dip the roller in the paint and soak up the gray. The room has already been edged and taped off. I just have to get the main space of the walls done. It shouldn’t take me that long, at least that’s what I’m hoping. You can never tell with the woman sitting in front of me . . . now circling her nipples. “Oh my, look at this, my nipples are getting hard.”

I found her on the bathroom floor, holding her naked breasts and asking God why they were leaking.

She sat in paint and then sat on a canvas and gave it to me. It was just a blob of paint. She cried for an hour about it.

“Why are you on the floor with the cupcakes?” “I was sniffing them.” “On the floor?” She nods. “It was easier than standing once my water broke.” “Your what?” I shoot to my feet. “Your water broke? Penny?” She nods as she pushes her hair out of her face. That’s when I notice she’s still wearing oven mitts. “Jesus Christ, Penny, we need to get you to the hospital.” “Do we, though?” “Yes,” I answer in hysteria. “Penny, if your water broke, you’re in labor, and we have to get you to the hospital. When did it break?” She shrugs as she leans back on her elbow and grips her stomach with a wince. “Like half an hour ago? Can’t be sure.” “Holy fucking shit, Penny, why didn’t you call me?” “You were at hockey.” I’m going to freak out.

“Baby, listen to me,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “It will hurt. I’m not going to lie about that. But I can guarantee you, no matter what happens, I’ll always love you, I’ll always want you, and even if you are a flappy-vagina woman, whatever the hell that means, you will be my flappy-vagina woman.” She groans again, this time buckling over. “Oh God, you’re so good at saying all the right bullshit things. I love you.” If I weren’t so scared, I’d laugh.

“Meet Holden Hornsby,” I say, my eyes falling on Holmes, whose eyes are lit up with tears. “We thought the name should live on.” And it does. The name lives on to be one of the greatest there is.