Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Her mouth opens, then closes. Next, she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Yeah, that happened. To me. Flynn told me he thought it was something to do with cars, and because I was about Wilder’s age and I really loved the idea of fast cars, he suggested I ask Dad first. So I did.”
“And he said?”
“Ask your mother.”
A bark of laughter explodes from her throat, and though she presses her hand over her mouth, it’s a bit late to contain it. “Should I ask what her answer was?”
“She told me I’d find out about it at school later. I guess she meant when I was older, then she muttered some shit about me being her baby. You can imagine what happened next.”
“You didn’t wait for later?”
“No, but I reported my findings back to Flynn first, and he then directed me to my teacher. But not before giving me a list of other questions to ask, like what did cherry popping mean. And was a blow job something you did with a lolly. And that’s how my parents were called into school and asked if they’d considered therapy for seven-year-old me.”
“Oh, my God,” she says, laughing. “I am so happy I only have one boy.”
“For now.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” I take her hand and wave at the party planners as they make their last trip to their van and bring it to my lips. “No more, Drew,” I murmur, bringing my teeth down over her knuckles.
“I thought jealousy was hot,” she murmurs, kind of saucy.
“I’ve been patient, Kennedy. Bided my time waiting for you to see what you mean to me, and I’ve behaved myself.”
At this, she barks out a laugh. Taking back her hand to cover her mouth, her eyes dance with mirth above those slender fingers. “Oh, God. You’re serious?” Her mouth disappears again, her giggles the most infectious sound. “Roman, I’m sorry,” she says, tapping her palm to my chest. “You couldn’t behave yourself even if you tried.”
“Hah.” Covering her hand, I bring it to my mouth. “Shows what you know. It’s been hard to deal with. I’m pretty competitive.” And I want to crush the bastard, even if I think he’s a tool.
“There is no competition,” she murmurs, her gaze softening.
“Good, because I was about to go all silverback.” And tear him a new arsehole, I manage not to add.
“You have the pelt,” she retorts cheekily. “Maybe even the whole underdeveloped brain thing. But seriously, no more Drew.”
“Good.”
“I’m exhausted,” she says, stretching.
“Come on.” I pull her to my side, settling my hand on her hip. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Are you going to tuck me into bed?”
“I can, but I was kind of hoping you’d show this naïve Australian exactly what a sixty-nine is?”
32
Kennedy
PRESENT
A SIGN FROM THE UNIVERSE
“I love flicking through Instagram.” Jenner gives a happy-sounding sigh. Meanwhile, I’m still pulling faces at the new and confusing piece of High Grounds technology.
“Oh, my. He is hot. One night with me, and he’d leave my place looking like a mayonnaise truck hit him.”
“Are you trying to make our customers faint or throw up?” My gaze flicks toward our last two customers of the day.
“Relax, Betty doesn’t have her hearing aid, and Ursula is too busy with her crossword,” he says dismissively and without the honorific prefix that would earn him a flea in his ear . . . if they could hear.
“Dammit.” Pushing the tablet into the cradle of our new point of sale terminal, I tap my lip. “I’m beginning to wonder why I bothered upgrading. The cash register didn’t give me attitude,” I add as the thing bleats again.
“You upgraded to help with the banking. The cash register might not have given you attitude, but it gave you problems. The sticking drawer, for one thing,” he adds, his tone bordering on supercilious.
“Well, I give up. Wilder can help me with it when he gets back from school.”
“You mean tech support?”
“Yup.”
“I think this might be a little beyond his seven-year-old pay grade of ice cream and cookies. Maybe you can ask baby daddy to take a look when they get back from shopping. Or hiking. Or whatever those boys had planned.”
“Maybe,” I say, playing it cool and as though I don’t see Roman every day. As though he hasn’t spent every night in my bed since Wilder’s birthday last week. We’re careful about it, careful that Wilder enjoys spending time together with us individually as well as in our little family unit. But we’re even more careful that Roman is nowhere to be seen in the house come morning. It’s a good thing he’s an early riser.
In more ways than one . . .
I give myself a little internal shake, refusing to get swept up in this tide of feeling. As strange as it may seem, as impossible as I’d thought it in the beginning, Roman and I just seem to make sense. Except for that one thing I can’t tell him.