Page 145 of The Trouble with Flings

I arch a brow. “And it just happens to be when you’re on the island?”

“I don’t control his schedule,” Mia says.

“That smile says you don’t have to,” Leni says. “Have you finally broken out of the friend zone?”

“Ugh. Don’t ask,” Mia says.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Victory says.

“There’s a revolving door between the friend zone and the friend-with-benefits zone,” I explain.

“So my cousin’s an asshole?” Leni asks.

“No,” Mia insists. “He says he’s protecting me, as if I won’t worry about him if he’s on a dangerous mission unless we’re a real couple. Like when he’s on stakeouts. A couple of weeks ago he was on one, and I didn’t hear from him for five days. He thinks I didn’t worry every second of that time because we’re not a couple. He’s on another stakeout next week, and I know I won’t hear from him. But will I worry? You’re damn right I will.”

“Know what I think?” I ask. “When he shows up looking for sex, you should say no and tell him you wouldn’t want him lusting after you when you’re not around.”

“And slam the door in his face,” Victory adds.

“My rational brain hears you,” Mia says. “But that traitorous organ in my chest has its fingers in its ears and it’s going lalalalala.”

“Okay, everyone, gather around!” Keira shouts. “It’s time to determine this baby’s gender through highly scientific means.”

“Yes!” Jules exclaims.

There’s a flurry of commotion as everyone heads over to Keira.

“It’s going to be a girl,” Fitz says as he falls into step beside me, giving me a glass of water.

He’s said the same thing many times over the last couple of months. Usually while we’re tossing names back and forth. We’ve gone through every baby name book and list we could find, but none of the names have felt right.

“I hope not,” I say. “Can you imagine trying to wrangle a teenage me into submission?”

He waggles his brows. “Teenage me would have loved that challenge.” He laughs and hugs me, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Wild girl, I would be honored to raise a little girl as spectacular as you.”

There goes my heart again, tumbling faster down that bumpy hill.

“I’m warning you right now,” Dixie announces to the group, “if this involves dangling jewelry over Jennifer’s stomach, I’m out of here.”

“No. You have to stay,” Bellamy insists. “I want to hear all about the hot, single bikers you know.”

Dixie laughs, but Grant says, “I think not.”

“What’s wrong with bikers?” Jace asks.

“Yeah, dude?” Levi, a member of the Harborside chapter of the Dark Knights motorcycle club, asks.

“Nothing if they’re like you guys,” Grant says.

“Relax, Beast,” Bellamy says. “It’s a conversation. She’s not pimping me out.”

Laughter rolls through the crowd.

Keira directs me to stand on a makeshift stage, and over the next half hour, I’m scrutinized from every angle as everyone guesses if we’re having a boy or a girl based on the way I’m carrying the baby. I’m not one of those cute six-month pregnant women who gained all their weight in their stomach. I’m fluffy all over, and my belly looks like a misshapen basketball. You’d think there was a science to their madness, the way the women scrutinize my body. But between Jamison pointing out that there is no scientific evidence proving that the way a woman carries a baby has anything to do with the sex of the baby, the men talking about women carrying high or low like they’re experts on the subject, and everyone teasing one another, there is so much laughter, I don’t care.

“Time for the name game!” Bellamy announces and waves everyone over to a table with two large jars on it. One jar has a blue ribbon around it, and it’s filled with folded blue pieces of paper. The other jar has a pink ribbon and pink papers.

As we gather around, she picks up a pad and pen from the table and says, “You guys take turns reading the names, and I’ll write them down for you.”