Eat Crow (Cheap Thrills 6)

All the worries I’d been stressing over were organized, and I had answers to it that settled my mind, but I was also going to be mentally picturing a baby coming out of my dick the next time I went to the bathroom.

Maybe if I held off going for as long as possible and looked the other way when I did, it would all be okay.

No, I had plans for the future that I was going to focus on.

I was going to be a daddy—to a baby that wasn’t coming out of a teeny tiny hole in my body.

And hopefully a husband.

Three weeks later…

I felt like shit. I was soaked in sweat and ached all over with pain like I’d never felt before in my life.

“What about if we take the sticky pads off?” Grandpa asked, poking at one of the pads with his finger.

“I’m fairly certain,” I panted, “that it’ll rip my asshole out of my bellybutton.” Then, rolling onto my side as the next wave hit, I wailed, “Leave me to die.”

“Boy, what in sweet baby cheebus’s name did you think you were doing?”

“I wanted to show Bexley I cared by going through— Aw, shit, here comes another one,” I broke off, holding my stomach and curling into a ball. When it just made it worse, I tried straightening one leg and holding onto my ass. “Ask Bex to hurry up in the bathroom.”

“Damn fool kid,” Gramps mumbled as he walked away.

Yes, I’d bought the kit that made the modern man understand what his woman went through to give birth to his kids—at least, that’s what it said on the box. It also had a man with the pads on his stomach, smiling and looking happy about the experience.

Not that I’d believe that, but when I saw the dude’s muscles tensing on the video in the ad, all he’d done was frown and then hold a thumb up. What setting did he use?

I’d been doing it for almost two hours now, and up until ten minutes ago, I thought I was doing great. That’s when it’d gone up to the third level, and I’d had to hold my ass to stop my guts coming out of it.

Seeing my reaction, Bexley had run to the bathroom to throw up, and that’s where I was at now—still holding my ass.

Picking up the monitor, I looked at the screen and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the number four.

“How’s it going? She’ll just be a couple more minutes,” Gramps said as he came back in.

“It’s on the fourth level, I think that’s the max, so it should be over soon,” I replied, rolling onto my back and thinking really it wasn’t so bad.

I was wrong. Worse than that, I was so far from right that wrong wasn’t even the word to use for it.

“Four? Cheeseless crust, boy, there’s thirteen settings on it. You’ve got another nine to go.”

“What?” I whimpered, lifting my head up.

“Says right here that the fourth setting is what the woman feels when labor is just starting to establish a regular rhythm. The contractions are far apart, and it’s just a warning to let her know the baby’s coming and to prepare. Wait until the real shit hits you, you’re gonna pass out.”

“Why are you here?” I croaked, raising my head back up to glare at him. I was never, ever taking advice from a Townsend again.

“Because you called me crying. I came over to help you, and now I’m just going to watch you poop your pants.”

Just then, the next contraction hit, and in the process of rolling into a ball, I forgot to hold my ass, meaning that a loud fart burst out of me, which got a responding howl from Doyle.

Gramps’ deep chuckles grew louder until it was bursting out of him. “Holy hell, you’re the dog whisperer.”

Apparently, that’s what Doyle reacted to—my pain farts. With each contraction, another one came out of me until all you could hear was the damn dog howling away and Gramps bellowing out his laughter in time with it all.

“You sure you don’t want to remove those? You’re only on the sixth level.”

Looking pitifully over at Bex, who was looking pale as she sat on the other sofa watching me, I shook my head. “No, I want to go through this for you. Hyenas have babies out of their clitoris, I can do this.”