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But she chirps, “I want to. You know, just in case.”

Just in case…

We strip, and I spot the shadow of her wrapping the robe around her body and hopping up to the table. I follow suit.

I bob my feet as I lie there, my pulse picking up speed. She’d texted me right after we hung up and told me to take a painkiller, but it can’t be that bad, right? People do this all the time.

But they also give birth all the time too.

“Juliet,” I repeat the name she’d said. “Hawke’s mom?”

“Yeah.”

Juliet Chase writes Young Adult novels about a world happening right under our noses where ninjas, pirates, knights, and other elite warriors still exist. It usually centers around young women finding their power and leading, no fear, strong, etc.

I try to picture someone like that raising Hawke, and how he is makes total sense and then none at all. Does he like her books?

“She and my mom are besties from high school, but I don’t dare tell my mom about this,” Dylan continues. “She’ll tell my dad, because she tells him everything, and then that’s going to be a tantrum I don’t want to deal with.”

“Your dad seems like a baby.”

She laughs quietly. “He’s set in his ways, but it’s more than that.” She pauses and then continues. “He was a right asshole at my age, you know? Now that he has a daughter, he knows he’d kill anyone who treats me how he treated my mom at first. I’m pretty sure he still thinks he doesn’t deserve her.”

Well, regardless of what their parents were like, it’s clear they’re a big family. All three of those men I ran into at the park helped raise Hawke. They must’ve done something right.

And Dylan, I hate to admit, isn’t all that bad. “They seem like good parents,” I tell her.

“I’m not complaining.”

A knock hits the door, and then the dark-haired one pokes her head in. “Ready, ladies?”

“Let’s pluck!” Dylan calls out.

Pluck? Not with tweezers, right?

I flinch a little, dread curling my insides. It goes quick, she said.

“Okay, lift this leg,” the lady tells me, opening my robe.

I don’t, tempted to pull the garment closed again. I don’t know what I was thinking, but she’s staring at all my business.

She scrunches up her face in sympathy. “First time?”

A rip that sounds like a Band-Aid the length of my leg getting torn off goes off to my left, followed by a long, sharp intake of breath. “Oh, motherfudger,” Dylan pants.

I blink wide eyes at my tech.

She just smiles. “I’m fast. Don’t worry.”

She takes a Popsicle stick of wax and smears it in the crease between my leg and hip, and I stop breathing for a second. “Ohhh, that’s warm.”

Hot, actually, but it’s getting better.

“So, why did you want to get waxed?” Dylan asks.

Another rip from her side, and I hear her whimper.

I gulp, but then blurt out. “None of your business.”

I’m not going to tell her that her cousin might want to take off my underwear next time.

“Why do you want to get waxed?” I lob back at her.

The tech smooths over a piece of cloth or paper towel, I’m not sure.

“It’s cleaner,” she shouts. “No shaving rash. Makes exfoliating easier. I’ll look great in a bikini…”

I nod. “Same.”

Good enough answer for me.

But then she starts to peel the paper up, and everything inside me tightens. Then, riiiiiiiiip…

Fire spreads over my tender skin, and it feels like two dozen pairs of fingers are pinching me simultaneously.

I growl. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Are you okay?” the tech winces, like she’s the one in pain. “I know the first time is rough.”

“The first time?” I look down seeing a clear strip of skin. “Screw this.”

It’s going to be at least twelve more before she’s completely done.

I start to rise, but Dylan’s voice stops me. “Well, look who’s the baby now,” she teases. “Run, Rebel, run. I got this.”

I arch a brow, hearing her third strip being pulled.

I slam back down onto the table, balling my fists. “Hurry,” I tell the tech.

Dylan’s a year younger, and Weston women can handle anything.

The techs do their work, and I get the hang of it, really only panicking when they start to peel up the tape. The pain dissolves pretty quickly. Not sure I’d want to put up with this every few weeks, but we’ll see what happens.

“Almost done!” Dylan calls out.

“Who are you…” I stammer, waiting for the strip to get pulled off. “Who are you trying to look good in a bikini for?”

I hear the smile in her voice. “Me. Just me.”

Either she doesn’t want to say, or she’s experimenting. Nevertheless, I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to do this alone.

“Do me a favor, would you?” she asks.

Another rip. I suck in air through my teeth. “What?”

I groan as the pain fades.