“Now.” Smiling sweetly up at him, I leaned back on my elbows and wiggled my toes. “Blow.” Joey looked at me like I had grown an extra head. “You are fucking crazy if you think I’m blowing on your toes.” “Come on, Joe,” I whined, toes still wiggling. “I’m pregnant.” “So?” he shot back, looking personally insulted. “I don’t want the polish to smudge.” “Then don’t smudge it.” “Blow.” “No.” “Blow on my toes.” “Absolutely fucking not.” “Joey Lynch.” “Aoife Molloy.” “You said you’d be there for me.” “As your boyfriend and the father of your baby,” he spluttered, throwing his hands up. “Not as your
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