Willa groused, resting a plate of loaded fries covered in what smelled like pickle juice onto the swell of her stomach. Alyssa slurped down the rest of her Long Island Iced Tea. “Not big, just carrying multiples.” “This is all your fault,” Willa said, pointing an accusing french fry at her mate, Matt. Matt looked proud as hell as he reclined back on two legs of his chair in Sammy’s bar. “What can I say? My sperm is potent.” “I want a second opinion,” Willa said around a giant bite, twitching her dyed red hair out of the way. “I swear I’m carrying a litter of bears, a dozen at least.” “Just two,” Matt said. “I’ll try to put more in you next time.” “Next time?” Willa asked. “Fuck no, you’re never getting near my snake-hole again.” Matt shook his head at Jason and Creed’s snickering.
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