Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“So far, so good,” I tell him. “I just wish she’d slow down on work.”
Miller scoffs, knowing the likelihood of that just as well as I do. Hell, Sophie thinks she’s Superwoman, and most of the time, she is. But right now, she’s pregnant and should be taking time to enjoy this experience rather than working herself to exhaustion. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Tell me about it,” I murmur as I lay a new toy down next to Mia, deciding more is definitely better despite the fact that she can’t grip onto them yet. They’re still pretty for her to look at. “She caught herself a murderer yesterday, a thief last week, and uncovered a prostitution ring the week before that.”
“Shit. At least no one can say she’s not good at her job,” Miller supplies helpfully.
“Yeah, I just wish it wasn’t so dangero—”
My sentence is cut off when Mia lets out a groan, moments before an almighty rumbling comes shooting out of her tiny ass. My eyes widen and I scramble away from the baby, the smell all but whacking me in the face.
Oh, fuck no.
My lips pull up in disgust as Miller’s face turns ghostly white. “Oh, please no,” Miller begs as he gets up and makes his way over to a very happy Mia. “You want to take the lead on this one?” he asks me as he looks down at his daughter in fear.
“Nah, man,” I smirk, enjoying this way too much. “She’s throwing down a challenge. She won the last round and now she’s checking if it was a fluke or if you meant business. It’s your time to shine, man.”
Miller shakes his head, clenching his jaw as he bends down and scoops her up by her underarms, refusing to hold her under her ass after an explosion like that.
As he walks past me, the smell wafts with him and I choke back a gag.
He takes her down the hallway and into her nursery again, and noticing the smell hasn’t faded away like it should have, I look down at the playmat and all my worst fears stare me in the face. Baby shit is spread far and wide over the playmat, and my heart races as I glance at the door, wondering just how far I could run before Miller hunts me down.
Though if there’s baby shit smeared everywhere here, that could only mean . . .
A grin tears across my face. I’ve got to see this.
Getting up off the floor, I scoop up the playmat by the edges and drop it in the laundry before making my way toward the nursery. Miller gags trying to wrestle his daughter out of her onesie, while also trying not to smear the shit further up her back, and I prop my shoulder against the door, more than enjoying this.
Managing to get the onesie off without making an even bigger mess of things, he drops the soiled garment into what I can only assume is a laundry basket before turning back to Mia. He takes hold of her before immediately pulling away, shit covering his fingers. “Oh, no,” he breathes as his daughter smiles up at him as innocent as ever.
Mia giggles, and it’s almost as if she’s done it on purpose, like a big fuck-you for trying to conquer her schedule. Wanting to get it over and done with, he tackles it head on, just as he does on the ice, taking charge and making the challenge his bitch. Within seconds, the naked baby is held out as he races to the bathroom, demanding I hurry up and run her a bath.
After getting her bath ready and checking the temperature, Miller gently lowers her into the water, supporting her head the whole time. He gives her a quick wash, rinses through her barely existent hair, then lets her have a splash before wrapping her up in a towel, all while I’m left wondering how the hell we got ourselves into this situation?
Miller passes her off to me to dress while he cleans up the rest of the poo explosion. I take her back to her nursery and lay her on her changing table, trying to figure out where to go from here.
Keeping a hand resting on her stomach so she doesn’t roll, I pull a new diaper out of the drawer beneath the table and study it for a moment. That’s when my can-do attitude burns to ashes around me. Shit. Do the tabs fasten in the front or the back? I look at it from every angle before checking the drawer to see if there’s some kind of instruction manual. Having those scratchy tabs in the front could be uncomfortable, right? I settle with hooking them in the back and try to figure out how to get the damn thing to stay on. Satisfied with my work, I go about getting her dressed into her little hockey jersey. The same one I know Dani has stashed in her closet.