Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“No, I could use a tow. You definitely needed the business.”
“Or,” good naturedly interrupting them is done between snickers, “we have you and you have us because Christmas simply came early this year…”
“Ugh,” Bunny girlishly groans and pulls me closer, “you sound like a Mariah Carey Christmas song that I didn’t know I needed.” Smugness starts to slide onto my face but is abruptly stopped by a firm finger point. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Mariah Carey is.”
“Anyone who’s ever been in a fucking department store during the holidays knows who she is,” I chortle as we descend down the stairs.
“Yeah, how the fuck did she just conquer Christmas like that?” Nolan tosses us an amused expression. “Did she seduce Santa?” Our arrival in the garage is accompanied by more chuckles. “Is that what her ‘Oh, Santa’ song is really about?”
“The fact that you know that song actually turns me on a little bit,” our girl confesses with a wicked smirk.
“You two don’t have to play tag team cock tease,” he mirthfully grunts prior to gesturing his hand towards the driveway. “You can just put fucking coal in my stocking instead.”
Initially, we laugh together; however, mine is cut short by the surprising sight that’s behind his truck. “Is that a fuckin’ minivan?”
“Yup.”
In tandem, Bunny and I shoot him baffled expressions.
“We’re gonna need somethin’ to travel around in as a family-”
“I’m not driving that,” the mother of our child loudly proclaims.
“-and minivans are safer for families when compared to SUVs.”
“SUVs do have a high tendency to roll.” My arms fold across my chest. “But like we could just install a roll cage.”
“We’re not drivin’ our junior-”
“We’re damn sure not having a junior,” Bunny instantaneously reminds.
“-around in a stunt car, Kid.”
“But you wanna drive him around in the soccer mom mobile?!”
“We don’t know it’s a him,” our pregnant partner pipes up once more.
“And we don’t know that he’ll play soccer,” Nolan casually argues prompting our girl to huff in frustration. “But I do know that with you workin’ on this thing, it’ll be the safest, fastest, best dad shit in the whole lot.”
“Good point.”
“Yet my point is being completely ignored,” murmurs Bunny.
“I figure you can work on this while I’m workin’ with the contractors from the De Luca Construction Company on the house.”
There’s no stopping a loving smile from sliding onto my face.
“What do you think, Kid?” He shoves his hands into his pockets and presents me with a loving grin. “You ready to build our first family vehicle?”
Chapter 18
Bunny
I can’t hold in the heavy sigh that’s desperate to escape. “This is the saddest Christmas tree I’ve ever had to decorate and that includes the plastic palm tree that one of my neighbors left me last year.”
Kipp cringes at the four-foot fake tree that’s noticeably leaning to one side. “I don’t remember it being this crooked last year.”
“That’s because we didn’t put it up,” Nolan announces, arms folding across his work shirt.
“Why not?” There’s no stopping my attention from cutting to his. “Is it because you didn’t wanna display a limp dick Christmas tree?”
“It’s not limp.”
“Should I blow Kid in front of it to see if it’ll get hard?”
“You are always welcome to mouth bang me, baby.”
“I won’t pass on the season’s skeeting or whatever, Rabbit,” the corner of his lips kicks upward, “but our tree is not limp.”
“Well, it’s not straight!”
“Why are you identification shaming our tree?” Kid playfully pokes, pulling my glare back to him.
“We don’t do that shit in this house.”
“Santa is watching,” our other boyfriend mockingly reminds.
“You’re both about to be on his naughty list yet my shit list.”
Hearing the two of them erupt into laughter threatens to have me joining in against my own volition.
It’s…getting a tax extension on your extension’s extension next level of difficult to not indulge in the activity with them.
I love it too much.
I love watching them laugh almost as much as hearing it.
It’s this irresistible sight that I have no doubt whatsoever they’re going to give to our little one.
How I’m gonna get anything fucking done once our kiddo is born is becoming more and more of a new contradicting guidelines mystery to me.
“Should we just go get a new one?” Mutt offers once his chuckles have officially died down.
“A real one?” Kipp cautiously inquires. “Haven’t had one of those since I was a kid.”
“You’re still a Kid,” our boyfriend cheekily reminds.
“I’m The Kid,” corrects our partner. “Remember…just like when it comes to custom jobs…the details make all the difference.”
“Real trees make bigger messes,” I gingerly remind while attempting to lift one of the saggy branches. “And between construction shit and baby shit and regular shit, I really don’t think adding more, unnecessary messes is a good idea.”
“At least not the types she can’t clean up with her tongue.”
Narrowing my mirth-filled gaze at Mutt is instant. “Did you say you wanted your nuts roasted over an open fire or Jack Frost kicking you in the nose?”