Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,69
think that sausage was a good idea for me.”
“I saw you at work today, and you were fine,” May says.
I pull off some toilet paper and use it to wipe my mouth before turning around. Trying to act casual, I shrug. “It just started. I threw up in the backyard, too. I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing, but you probably don’t want to get too close to me.” I hold out my hand, hoping they’ll back away.
Unfortunately, neither of them takes my very obvious threat into account. They both lean in closer.
I bend my spine as far backward as it’ll go. “Seriously, you guys . . . I’m totally contagious.”
Jenny narrows her eyes at me and then at my chest. “Your boobs are bigger. And you’re vomiting.” She smiles all sly-like. “I’m pretty sure what you have is not contagious.”
I look down at my chest. I did notice that my bra was a little tighter today, but I wrote that off as a laundry mishap. I have those more often than I’d like to admit. I look up at the two of them, trying to channel as much confidence into my voice as I possibly can. “It’s a different bra. It’s a push-up. With extra padding.”
May reaches over lightning quick and pokes the bottom of my left boob. “Ha! Liar, liar, pants on fire, again. That is so not a push-up bra.” She looks at her sister and nods. They share a quick high-five before turning their attention back to me.
I grab the offended body part and glare at her. “What the hell, man . . . Don’t touch my boob!”
May shrugs. “Hey, I know a push-up bra when I see one. I’m a photographer, you know. A professional photographer.”
I can’t help it; I mimic her voice, emphasizing the way it comes into my ear as the most annoying whine I have ever heard. “I’m a professional photographer.”
Jenny and May share a meaningful look. Then they nod again.
Jenny turns to face me first. “You’re extra moody, aren’t you?” She puts her finger on her lower lip and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Let’s see . . . Nauseated? Boobs getting bigger? Especially emotional? And all the males around her acting like idiots? What does this add up to?” She pauses and looks at her sister.
May nods and then looks at me, her face twisted up in a triumphant smile. “Pregnant.”
They both stare at me, and they wait. And they wait. And they wait some more.
I stick my chin out. “You guys are crazy.”
May matches my expression. “We may be crazy but we aren’t pregnant.” Her voice slips a little on the last word.
Jenny turns to look at her sister and puts her hand on May’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, babe? Are you sad?”
May shakes her head vigorously. “No. I’m fine.”
Jenny folds her arms and stares her sister down. “Now whose pants are on fire?”
May pushes her sister’s shoulder gently. “Shut up.”
I sense my opportunity and jump on it. “Is something wrong with you and Ozzie?”
May’s eyes open wide, perhaps with fear. “Why would you say that?”
I shrug, maybe overdoing the drama a little bit, but almost deliriously happy to have the heat off me. “Oh, I don’t know. We were just talking out back . . .” I leave her to draw her own conclusions, and it doesn’t take her more than a couple seconds to jump to the wrong ones.
“Did he say something to you?” She grabs my forearm and squeezes.
I shrug. “Not much. But you should probably talk to him.”
May turns to look at Jenny. “I told you there was something going on.” She scrambles to unlock the door and takes off from the bathroom, leaving me with just one busybody to contend with. We watch May disappear into the darkness of the unlit hallway. Then Jenny turns to me and nods slowly.
“Respect.”
“What?” I’m feigning an innocence I definitely do not feel. I seriously want to do a victory dance right now.
“That was one of the most amazing redirects I have ever seen in my life. Good for you. But you do realize, I hope, that this will now increase our curiosity tenfold.”
I walk around her to the doorway, wishing I weren’t sweating so much. “There’s nothing to be curious about.”
I leave to the sound of Jenny responding in a singsong voice. “Liar, liar, pants on fire, underwear’s hanging from a telephone wire . . .”
I slip out the front door before she leaves the bathroom