He kissed her hard, laughing against her mouth-a deep, happy rumble that vibrated between them.
"I got another really important question." Preacher broke their kiss. Holding Debbie's face between his hands, his expression suddenly grave, he searched her eyes.
"Was that shithead doctor serious? Do we really gotta wait that long before havin' sex again?"
Chapter 31
"What about this one?" Sylvia held up an infant-sized dress-pink, with a white lace bib, and thick white tulle lining the underside.
Earlier this morning Sylvia had phoned Debbie in a panic-she'd been overwrought, desperately needing to prepare for the quickly approaching birth of her second child, claiming she didn't have nearly enough clothing, or bedding, or toys.
Debbie, having still not mastered the art of talking her way out of something Sylvia had her mind set on, found herself inside Macy's department store, rifling through racks of overpriced infant clothing.
Debbie eyed the dress skeptically. "You don't even know if it's a girl. What if it's a boy? You're going to dress him in that?"
Sylvia shrugged. "Who's gonna know when they're that young?" She laughed. "Besides, I just got a feeling about this one."
Tiny pried his eyes away from the blonde he was ogling. "You can't be puttin' boys in dresses, Sylvie."
Scowling at Tiny, Sylvia slammed the dress back on the rack and huffed. "I just want a little girl so bad," she said. "I can't very well be doin' hair and nails with this one!"
They both glanced at Trey-seated in his stroller, he was grabbing fruitlessly at the clothing on the racks. In a covered carriage beside him, Eva lay sleeping soundly.
Debbie reached out and touched Sylvia's arm. "I know you want a girl, but a little boy is just as good … and you'll always have Eva. I'm sure she'll love having an aunt to do hair and nails with."
Smiling, Sylvia covered Debbie's hand with her own. She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned. Eyes wide and mouth falling open, she grabbed Debbie's hand and squealed.
"That's the ring?" she shouted. "Oh my God, Debbie, it's huge! Why didn't you tell me that fool had finally gotten you a ring?"
Embarrassed, Debbie snatched her hand back. "He just gave it to me last night."
Weeks had passed since Preacher had asked her to marry him, and Debbie had all but forgotten his promise to get her a ring. She'd been shocked when he'd come home from the club early last night and proposed to her all over again.
Shaking her head, Sylvia's eyes gleamed with envy. "It's just gorgeous," she breathed. "How many carats is it? Two? Three?"
Debbie glanced down briefly at the sparkling diamond adorning her ring finger, then at the butterfly ring on her index finger, and shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask."
In truth, she much preferred her own ring-the little silver butterfly that Preacher had proposed with meant more to her than a diamond ever could.
"So when's the big day?"
Debbie looked up. "What day?"
"You're wedding, silly! When are you and Preacher planning on gettin' married?"
Debbie bit down on her lip. "Um … "
"Oh, and you've got to let me go dress shopping with you! My aunt owns a boutique in Jersey City-she can get you whatever you're lookin' for … What kind of dress are you lookin' for?"
Debbie only stared at Sylvia.
"Well, it's gotta be beautiful," Sylvia continued. "And white. Or, maybe pink? I was reading this magazine the other day and … oh! Speaking of beautiful things, did you see Burt Reynolds on the cover of People? Mm-mm-mm. I don't know what it is about a man with a mustache. I keep tryin' to get Joey to grow one."
"What kinda mustache we talkin' ‘bout here?"
Sylvia's eyes were like ice, frosting over as her gaze snapped to Tiny. "Who asked you?" she bit out. "Mind your own business."
Whereas Debbie had long since grown used to Tiny's presence, Sylvia had begun to resent it and made no effort to hide her feelings about what she perceived as a needless nuisance. Coupled with her contempt for the club, Tiny didn't stand a chance.
Shrugging, Tiny stroked his cheek. "I'm just sayin', I think it all depends, you know? Are we talkin' about a Fu Manchu or a John Holmes? And is this mustache on a big guy or a little guy? ‘Cause us big guys can pull off most mustaches, but those scrawny little assholes can't do it. They're walkin' around lookin' like a broomstick with a squirrel on top. But I'm thinkin' Joe could probably pull off a John Holmes-he ain't so scrawny."