Own the Eights Maybe Baby

by Krista Sandor

  He couldn’t believe it, but he honestly didn’t give a damn either.

  “What is all this Beaver talk?” his dad asked, looking downright mortified.

  “I’m the Beaver. Chad Beaver,” the doctor replied, flashing his toothpaste commercial smile.

  “Georgie’s lady doctor is named—”

  “Dad!” he said, cutting him off. The Beaver talk needed to end.

  “Let’s go wait for the ambulance, hun,” Maureen offered, taking his father’s arm.

  The pair headed for the entrance as Dr. Beaver moved to the end of the chaise lounge and got down on his knees.

  “I’m going to check you, Georgie. Keep breathing.”

  Everything seemed to be moving a mile a minute—as if the universe hit the triple fast-forward button.

  Lorraine draped a tablecloth over Georgie’s lower half to give her a little privacy. Because, one, they were still smack-dab in the middle of brunch, and two, they’d garnered quite a crowd, and three, Barry was there, capturing footage.

  You know, your run-of-the-mill birth for CityBeat’s sweethearts.

  “Gustavo assured me that the tablecloths were laundered this morning and are of the highest thread count,” Lorraine said, adjusting the pristine linen.

  “Got it. Clean sheet. High thread count,” he replied, kneeling down to be eye to eye with his wife.

  “Doctor, do you need anything?” Lorraine asked.

  “No, my husband’s gone to the car to get my medical bag. But this baby is coming, and it’s coming fast.”

  Georgie’s mom paced back-and-forth. “Can we give my daughter anything for the pain? This is a country club. It’s crawling in valium.”

  Dr. Beaver shook his head. “That’s not a safe choice for Georgie. She’s having this baby the old-fashioned way.”

  “Jordan,” his wife said, eyes wide with fear as she tightened her grip on his hand.

  He rested his hand on her belly. “Hey, messy bun girl. You’re doing great. Just think, we’re about to meet our alien peanut pineapple surprise,” he added, trying to make her smile.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, her voice shaking.

  Dr. Beaver looked up and held his wife’s gaze. “The baby’s head is right here. A few good pushes are all you’ll need. I’ll tell you when.”

  “Mom,” Georgie said, glancing up at Lorraine.

  The woman held up a pool towel. “You’re doing a terrific job, pumpkin. I’ve got this gorgeous Hermes pool towel. The best quality towel available, and it’ll be perfect for swaddling the baby. Oh, and Gustavo said your baby can be a member for life. This is the first country club birth. You’re quite a trendsetter,” she finished as Howard twisted his body into a pretzel shape and chanted a bunch of gibberish in a language he couldn’t recognize.

  Georgie turned to him. “I’m still not totally sure this is real.”

  “I promise you; it is. You can do this. I’m right here with you,” he answered.

  “What if something happens and the baby needs medical care? I can’t imagine there’s a neonatal unit, let alone a scale in this place,” she blurted out, her nerves kicking in.

  “We’ve got a scale!” Gustavo called, holding up one of those scales you see in the grocery store.

  She glanced around. “How many people are watching me have a baby?”

  He looked up. A shit ton of people—but he wasn’t about to say that.

  She needed a distraction.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, then pulled a small envelope from his pocket.

  “What is it?”

  “An addition to your bracelet.”

  She gave him the hint of a grin. “Let me guess. It’s a pineapple.”

  “One of them is. The other is this,” he replied and held out a delicate infinity charm. “Because we’re more than just a number.”

  “Infinity isn’t a number. It’s a concept,” she said, still able to take him to task, even in labor.

  He hooked the charms onto the bracelet. “You’re right. It’s the quantity larger than any number, and that’s how much I love you and how much I’m going to love this baby. Our baby.”

  He leaned in, and Georgie rested her forehead against his.

  “Thank you for being my messy bun girl and for making me a better man. You’re my whole life, Georgiana. You are the sassy eight to my asshat ten, and together, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

  “I needed that,” she said, relaxing a fraction.

  He listened as she took two deep breaths as if her body were preparing for the final push. As a trainer, he’d worked his body to the max and could sense Georgie’s body responding as instinct and biology prepared to take over, ready for the endgame.

  The all-or-nothing moment—where nothing wasn’t an option.

  He lifted her chin. “Look at me and focus on my voice.”

  She held his gaze.

  “Today, when we walked to the shop, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and our life.”

  “Goats and alpacas and spiders, oh my,” she bit out through another contraction.

  She was even funny in labor.

  “I never dreamed of finding someone like you, Georgiana Jensen.”

  “That’s because you were following your flawed Marks Perfect Ten Asshat Mindset,” she replied on a tight breath.

  He brushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her forehead. “All I know is that the minute you came into my life, I knew I would never be the same. Do you know how tough you are? Do you know what a hard-ass you were when we first met?”

  “I was actually a nice person until I met you,” she teased through tight breaths.

  He gave her a cocky smirk. “I bring out the best in people.”

  She blew out a ragged breath. “Jordan, I’m scared.”

  He was, too. But, right now, it was his job to be her rock.

  He held her gaze. “You can do this, Georgie.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You’re the strongest person I know, MBG. And don’t forget.”

  She blew out a breath. “Forget what?”

  “There’s nothing we can’t conquer together—nothing we can’t get through. Well, maybe not a virtual reality baby simulation. But besides that, we’ve got this. The baby, you, and me. We’ve got this.”

  Dr. Beaver patted Georgie’s leg. “All right, Georgie, we’re going to countdown from ten, and then I want you to give me a big push.”

  “Can we count from eight?” she asked.

  “Um…sure. The number is arbitrary,” the doctor replied, a little confused.

  “It’s not arbitrary to me and Jordan, is it?” she answered, turning to him.

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Georgiana Jensen, owning the eights even while giving birth.”

  “Okay, here we go. Start counting. After this contraction, you’re going to push,” Dr. Beaver instructed.

  Jordan held his wife’s gaze.

  Eight.

  Seven.

  Six.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  “Big push, Georgie!”

  Georgie squeezed his hand, bearing down. He watched his wife in utter amazement as the image of a little girl flashed in his mind. Bubbling with sunshine, skinned knees, and a read-one-more-chapter-daddy smile, this mini Georgie gazed up at him with blue-green eyes.

  He blinked, then focused on his wife as she gritted her teeth.

  Dr. Beaver glanced up. “Keep going, Georgie. The head’s out. One more push, and you’ll get to meet your baby.”

  Georgie fell back, breathless. “Next time, we’re doing this at a hospital, and I’m getting all the drugs.”

  He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Deal—all the drugs. But you can do this, babe. Think of it as the final mile of a 5K where we get to meet our little girl at the finish line.”

  She stared at
him. “You think it’s a girl?”

  He nodded with tears in his eyes, overcome with emotion. “I do.”

  “Now, Georgie! This is it. Push!” the doctor called.

  He held his wife’s hand as the fast-forward mode switched to slow-mo.

  People clambered around them as he caught a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision. He could hear the wheels of the stretcher coming. But all that was white noise—a blurry background bringing this moment with Georgie into sharp focus when the piercing cries of a baby cut through the air, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “It’s a girl. A healthy baby girl.”

  Jordan glanced down and saw two EMTs crouched beside the doctor and couldn’t even remember when they’d arrived. All he saw was his wife—his strong, beautiful, warrior of a wife.

  “Can I hold her?” Georgie asked.

  Dr. Beaver looked up and waved him over. “After Dad cuts the cord.”

  Jordan glanced over his shoulder and found his teary-eyed father.

  “Not me, son. The doc means you.”

  The weight of who he would be to this tiny person sank in.

  Daddy. Dad. Father.

  He kissed the crown of Georgie’s head, then joined the doctor and the EMTs.

  Partially wrapped in a designer country club pool towel, his daughter stared up at him with her mother’s blue-green eyes. And for the second time in a year, love at first sight struck again.

  Now he was the one blowing out a nervous breath as the doctor instructed him on how to cut the umbilical cord.

  And with a snip and a few quick movements by the doctor, the EMT swaddled his baby and placed her in his arms. This tiny, beautiful baby was their daughter.

  Carefully, he brought the baby to Georgie.

  “You’re going to be smart and sassy like your mom, aren’t you, Lizzy?” he said softly.

  “Lizzy, like my Lizzy Bennet?” Georgie asked with a sweet, weary smile.

  “It suits her,” he said, running his knuckle over the baby’s cheek.

  “Lizzy Lorraine?” Georgie asked, glancing up at her mother.

  He wrapped his arms around his wife and child. “Welcome to the world, Lizzy Lorraine, we can’t wait to watch you grow.”

  “Can we get a quick weight?” an EMT asked, swooping in.

  The woman took the baby and set her on Gustavo’s scale.

  “Eight pounds and ten ounces.”

  “Eight pounds, ten ounces,” Georgie repeated, wonder coating the words as the EMT passed the baby back to them.

  He gazed down at his daughter. “With numbers like that, Lizzy Lorraine, the sky’s the limit.”

  Epilogue: Part One

  Georgie

  “Good morning, messy bun girl,” came the voice that made Georgiana Jensen-Marks’ toes curl.

  Georgie arched into the wall of hard muscle pressing against her back.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said, then gasped when she reached for her husband and found him wearing…

  Chaps.

  Sweet dirty cowboy!

  “Remember these?” he purred, sliding up her nightgown before trailing his warm hand between her thighs.

  She sucked in a titillating breath and instantly grew hot and wet.

  “Oh, yes! The naughty rancher’s daughter remembers. Where did you find them?”

  “I was up early with the baby and found them in a box when I was looking for my jump rope.”

  “I need to thank that jump rope,” she replied, then released a low moan.

  He kissed the back of her neck. “I’m surprised they fit.”

  She wasn’t. The man looked as good today as he did the first time she saw her Emperor of Asshattery run past her bookshop.

  Georgie hummed her pleasure as her husband’s hard length rubbed against her ass. The smooth slide of the leather chaps against the back of her legs sent sparks through her body.

  “Are you kidding?” she said, turning to face him.

  She ran her fingers down his ripped abdomen and licked a trail to where the chaps revealed her husband’s perfect hard length.

  She’d never tell him, but yeah, he definitely had the Marks Perfect Ten cock.

  She wrapped her lips around him and took in every inch.

  “Georgiana,” he growled as his fingers tangled in her hair.

  Her body ached to have him inside of her, pumping and filling her to the hilt. But he’d gone to such lengths to brighten her morning with a chaps-wearing surprise that the naughty rancher’s daughter felt compelled to show her cowboy a little dirty girl love.

  His grip tightened as deep, dirty moans emanated from her fitness god. She increased her pace, taking him faster while grazing her teeth on his velvety smooth cock, using just the right amount of bite to bring her cowboy to the edge. He bucked his hips and twisted his hand in her hair. The delicious pull on her scalp sent tingles to her most sensitive place.

  She might get off just listening to her husband.

  He pumped, once then twice before pulling her back. His rock-hard cock stood at attention. This man was not done yet.

  Not even close.

  She licked her lips. “Why’d you have me stop?”

  He met her gaze as his eyes positively devoured her. “We don’t want this to end yet, do we?”

  “We don’t?” she replied, playing coy.

  He gave her a cocky grin, and God help her, she still couldn’t resist it.

  “Doesn’t the naughty rancher’s daughter want a ride?” he said, his grin growing positively carnal.

  If she were wearing panties, they would have melted off her body.

  They had taken the dirty talk role-play to the next level—which took steadfast dedication and was no small accomplishment for busy parents.

  She ran her hands up his powerful, leather-clad legs and inhaled her husband’s earthy, sensual scent. He gripped her waist and sat up to take her tight nipple into his mouth as the tip of his cock teased her entrance.

  “I’m ready for my riding lesson,” she purred, her lips parting as Jordan licked and caressed her breasts.

  “How do you want it, cowgirl?” he growled like a rough and ready ranch hand.

  She rocked into him. “This naughty rancher’s daughter wants it hard and fast.”

  “Jesus, Georgiana,” he bit out, thrusting his cock inside of her.

  The searing connection between them hadn’t dampened. Each time his hard length entered her body, the sweet sting of him filling her completely made her bite her lip as she reveled in wanton pleasure.

  He rolled his hips as she rode his cock. Arching her back, she ran her fingers through her sex hair as he gripped her ass—his strong hands guiding her up and down in heated strokes. Their bodies grew slick with sweat as she rode him, true to her word, hard and fast. The slap of skin, coupled with the sweet grind of his pelvis against her tight bundle of nerves, had this naughty cowgirl teetering on the edge of oblivion before you could shout yeehaw.

  “Georgiana, you’re so damned beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky and exactly what she needed to hear to let go.

  She collapsed into him. Her world shrank into one tiny ball of light before exploding into a spray of heated, frenzied energy as they met their earth-shattering orgasm. Their lips crashed together as he swallowed her lusty cries. Her greedy body writhed with his, drawing out every ounce of gratification.

  “You should keep the chaps in the bedroom,” she said on a winded breath.

  “You were the one who said they were never going back to the costume store.”

  She maneuvered her body off of his, and they turned to face each other, lying side by side. She traced her finger down his jawline and stared at his handsome face, unable to imagine a life without this man. Together—and often with the world watching—they’d crafted a life that was uniquely theirs.

  The eight and the ten who became more than just a number.

  “Look at all the things I’ve been right about,” she tease
d, reaching down to see if her randy ranch hand was up for round two when the door to the bedroom swung open.

  “Look, Mommy! Daddy’s dressed like a cowboy who lost his underwear!”

  Epilogue: Part Two

  Jordan

  “Cowboy Daddy! Mommy! Come quick! You have to see what Janey did!”

  Jordan pulled the bed covers up to his chin and plastered on an oh-shit grin.

  No parenting manual teaches about the oh-shit grin. This is the face you make when your kid busts in on you while doing the naughty, and you try to appear as un-naughty as possible—which is harder than you’d think, especially in assless chaps with your dick hanging out.

  “What is it, Lizzy? Is everybody okay?” He glanced at the clock. It was barely eight in the morning on a Saturday, but that didn’t mean anything to kids.

  His precocious six-year-old daughter cocked her head to the side, looking like an exasperated version of her mother.

  Yep, Elizabeth Lorraine Marks, who’d come into the world on a chaise lounge at the Denver country club, was six years old.

  Another whopper?

  He’d become a girl dad—three beautiful times over.

  “Lizzy, sweetheart, give Daddy and me a minute, and we’ll be right there,” Georgie said, modifying her oh-shit grin to the slightly nuanced, I-may-look-like-I’m-composed-but-I’m-in-bed-with-a-man-wearing-assless-chaps face.

  Another thing they don’t teach in VR simulations.

  Lizzy pursed her lips. “You better hurry. They’re in Mimi’s room, and Janey’s got the markers out.”

  He frowned. Oh, shit—his real oh-shit face.

  He shared a look with his wife, who was rocking some amazing sex hair—something he’d love to mess up, even more, but…kids.

  “Wrap the sheet around your body. You don’t have time to take the chaps off!” Georgie cried, springing from the bed and throwing on her robe.

  Why didn’t he wear a robe?

  A question for another time when his four-year-old daughter wasn’t armed with a Sharpie. He took his wife’s advice, yanked the sheet off the bed, and wrapped it around his body like a toga-wearing cowboy. It would have to do.