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Hope hops into my best friend’s expression. “Wilcox finally came out of hiding?”
“No.” Carelessly throwing the wet article into the bottom of my open locker is followed by me yanking on the dry one. “And the only thing worse than wedding planning for ‘the wedding of the century’ is doing said wedding planning alone.” I slam his locker closed. “Not that I’m even sure there is going to be a wedding at this fucking point.”
“You don’t wanna marry him anymore?”
“I don’t even know if I wanna be with him anymore.”
Calen’s mouth drops to retort when Raquel unexpectedly interjects, “Connelly, Winters, transport is about an hour out.”
Her surprise appearance forces a more professional demeanor to appear during my step back away from the lockers to make eye contact. “Understood.”
The fact she’s barely put more than her head in the room indicates this was simply an unplanned pitstop on her way to destroy other people’s happiness.
Lucky us.
“Winters due to your…current status you are on verbal prep, evaluation, and paperwork transferring only. You may not drive the escort vehicle. You may not be in the transport vehicle with the creature. And you may not have any direct contact in which you are required to be in unsafe surface areas.”
Forfuckssake, slipping once during your whole career shouldn’t you get banned for life from wet territories.
“Connelly, you’ll be hands-on overseeing each portion of the transition as well as responsible for driving the escort vehicle for you and Winters. The transition of care from us to K&T is likely to expand what’s left of the day; therefore, I went ahead and had a room booked for the two at the usual hotel.”
“Yes ma’am,” Calen politely acknowledges only to instantly receive a girlish grin.
“You know better than to ma’am me,” she practically coos. “I’m not that much older than you.”
Older enough.
He’s damn near the exact halfway mark between her and her preteen daughter.
A much less kind expression is abruptly presented to me. “I expect your pre-evals in my inbox in the next twenty minutes.”
Rather than wait for me to respond, she slips back into the hallway with the same ease she poked into the room with leaving me the perfect opportunity to grumble, “It’s like Picard having to report to Armus every day.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
My face shoots him a sardonic smirk, “That’s because it’s not, Spock.”
“Yeah, well, neither is you ending your relationship with The Billionaire Kahuna because he skipped out on a couple scheduled wedding planning dates and a few social cal events.”
“How about because he missed the OB/GYN appointment?” Securing his lock in place occurs prior to me sliding back in front of my own locker. “How about because for the past two weeks I’ve been talking to his voicemail more than him?” I squat down to rummage around in my bag for my blue eyeliner. “How about because I’ve been having a more intimate relationship with our text thread than him?”
“Intimate relationship?” Calen promptly teases, warranting my glare. “Being preggers is seriously making you more chicklike.”
“And more irrational.” The snatching up of the object precedes me pointing at him. “So, be careful before I use this tube to create a different type of blue balls than you’re used to.”
“They rarely get that blue.”
“But it has happened.”
“And thanks to you being the wing woman you are, it probably won’t happen again.” His compliment receives a crooked grin that he encourages me to stick around with bribery. “Lock up your shit and come eat my pineapple.”
“God, I love it when you talk fruity to me.”
My theatrical winking gets him snickering and shaking his head in amusement. “It’s like you want your Bruce Wayne wannabe to have to shell out for a sexual harassment lawsuit.”
“It’s like I no longer care what my Bruce Wayne willneverbe does in general.”
Calen waits for me to complete the task of stuffing my bag away and locking up to counter, “Except that you do.”
