Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
It was my heart, though, that grabbed my attention with the way that it was beating out of control. With just that one single sweep of the room, his gaze briefly locking on me, and I was nearly shaking in my pretty, new boots.
“I really like those leggings,” Ellen broke into my contemplation. “I wouldn’t have thought that the octopus print would’ve been very cute, but they are adorable. I sell leggings at my store. I’ll have to see if I can order any like that.”
I looked down at my leggings.
They were my primary wardrobe choice now after a woman from work got me my first pair for my birthday. Every time a pop-up sale would show up in my Facebook news feed—I followed over ten leggings sale pages—I would buy at least one pair. Most of the time, it was more like two or three pairs.
Now, I owned more than fifty-five pairs, and I probably would’ve owned even more than that had I not given away a few pairs to friends as birthday presents over the last year.
Yes, I was addicted to leggings.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I didn’t think they’d be all that cute either, to be honest. I originally ordered these for a friend for her birthday, but when I saw them after I got them, I couldn’t give them away like I’d originally intended. This is one of my favorite pairs.”
She nodded. “I tried to wear leggings out of the house once, and my husband told me I needed to go change. I’d love to have some, but they wouldn’t be practical.”
“That’s a good thing, Elle,” Jessie offered his two cents, not bothering to act like he wasn’t listening to our conversation any longer. “Because I’d seriously have to spank your ass, and those leggings wouldn’t offer much in the way of protection.”
I grinned. He was, of course, correct.
“I don’t have a husband to tell me no.”
I heard something crunch behind me, and saw that Ghost was standing there, next to the food table, holding a beer can in his hand that he’d somehow crushed.
I looked up to see his eyes, but was caught with the glare of the glasses covering them.
He stared, but that gaze was too intense for me, so I looked away.
And I felt him there, for at least twenty minutes, while he spoke quietly to another member of the club, this man was huge and bulky with kind eyes and had been introduced to me earlier as Sunshine…or something similar to that.
I felt like my skin was about to burst into flames.
“Can you give me a drink, Mister?”
I turned at the sound of my child’s voice, and I saw that she was standing in front of Ghost, pointing to a pitcher of tea.
Normally, she would’ve just gotten it herself, but the pitcher was completely filled to the brim, and she didn’t have the arm strength yet to lift it up and hold it without spilling.
“Yeah, Sugar Girl. I can get you a drink,” Ghost said, picking up the pitcher as easily as he would lift his own hand. “You got a cup?”
My entire body locked.
Sugar Girl.
It could’ve been a coincidence. Sure, it could. It had to be.
No one else would know to call her that but my husband. It had to be a coincidence!
Memories of the first day that Tunnel called our child ‘Sugar Girl’ assaulted me.
“Go give Daddy a kiss, baby,” I patted my daughter’s diapered bottom.
She toddled over to her daddy, who was in his chair in front of the TV, still in his police uniform, and tried to pull herself up.
Automatically, Tunnel hooked an arm under her diaper-clad butt and pulled her into the chair.
She did the rest of the work and scrambled up his chest to get to his face.
Then she started laying kisses on his face. Except they weren’t normal kisses. They were open-mouthed kisses with lots of slobber and a little bit of tongue.
“Ohh, thank you, Sugar Girl.” Tunnel said laughingly. “I love you, too.”
Sienna gave him a gummy smile, her lone white tooth glinting along the bottom of her mouth, and then fell face forward into his chest.
And, just like she always did, she was out like a light a few seconds later.
“I wish I had your superpowers,” I murmured.
He grinned, then lifted his forearm to wipe the drool from his face.
“One day you’ll be her everything, baby. So, right now, just let me enjoy our Sugar Girl.”
He had no clue how right he was. He’d enjoyed the best of Sienna’s baby years and had died right before she’d turned two.
A lump formed in my throat at those thoughts.
My husband had a name problem. He never once called any of us by the same name. Sometimes he would cycle through about four names. For our daughter it was Sienna, Dee, a shortened version of her middle name, Sugar Girl, or See. For me, it was Mina, Minnie, Philly, a shortened version of my actual name, Philomina, or Min. I never knew what would come out of my husband’s mouth, so we really had to be ready to answer to any of them.