“Whose fault is it that it smells like kielbasa in here?” Deeks asks, tilting his head to try and see the milepost marker. Still 92 miles to go. Yay.
Kensi huffs but doesn’t lift her face from her phone. “The fetus’.”
“The fetus made you drop sausage into the space between the seat and the back?”
“It made me want the sausage in the first place.”
“Oh,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “you wanted the sausage long before the fetus came into the picture. The big, meaty hunk of man sausage.”
“Great, now I’ve got another craving.” She clicks off her phone. “Take the next exit.”
Hell yes. He speeds up to get past a truck and into the turn lane. Road-side quickie. They haven’t had one of those forever. Maybe the second trimester really is as horny as all those pregnancy books claim.
“Take a left,” she instructs.
Deeks takes the turn and his eyes land on a giant red and orange sign. His heart sinks. “Wienerschnitzel? Really? I thought you wanted…”
Kensi makes a sour face. “There’s no way I’m doing that in this car. It smells like kielbasa in here.”
“Oh.” Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
“We’re doing it in the bathroom,” she says as she swings open her door. “Meet me there in three. I have to pee first.”
Best. Trimester. Ever.