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)
I’m gonna wanna be around to help when our baby is born.
Grows.
I don’t wanna be fucking absent or take a backseat to all the shit.
No, I don’t wanna fuck things up, but I think not being around will fuck up our mini more.
Man, I hope it is a mini.
A mini mix.
The car gods know I couldn’t handle just a mini Kid or Rabbit.
I’d never sleep again, and my wallet would always be empty over random shit.
Forfuckssake, how can I say no to a pregnant woman who wants to make us “dirt pudding” at two in the morning?
Post’s name and photo unexpectedly interrupt my deleting, encouraging me to answer his call, unfortunately for him, however, it’s at the same time Monique investigates, “And how would you like the tags signed?”
Hitting ignore is done in tandem with replying. “Sir.”
“Okay.” She stands up a little taller. A little more professional. “My apologies.” Her slender face angles itself about an inch to the side. “How would you like the tag signed, sir?”
“What?” There’s no stopping my head from shaking. “No.” Shoving the device back out of sight in spite of its vibrating is followed by me sighing. “I wasn’t telling you to call me sir. I was saying that I want them signed from Sir.”
“Oh!” She squeaks yet remains confused. “I thought these were personal gifts for your significant other.”
“Others,” I effortlessly correct. “And they are. One is for my girlfriend, the other my boyfriend. Sir is…a nickname.”
“Oh…” Monique retorts in such a way, it’s obvious she’s jumping to shitty conclusions.
Doesn’t matter.
She can think whatever shit she wants.
It’s no one’s business but ours.
And I don’t have to justify our shit to anyone else.
“Crazy, huh?” Garcia smoothly steps in. “This asshole can be in a successful relationship of three while I’m still struggling to find someone to make mine a two.”
“Maybe your struggle is about to come to an end.” Mon suggestively winks before dropping her stare back to the tags.
Doubtful.
We’re talkin’ my unborn coming out of the womb and saying his or her first word right then and there doubtful.
Garcia doesn’t really do commitment.
And neither does Val.
The irony of course being that their parents have been married since they were eighteen.
Maybe that’s why?
Maybe the fear of not wanting to miss shit like they think their parents have is what’s led them both to racing around the Can’t Commit 500?
Doesn’t make sense to me because their parents seem happy.
They’ve always seemed happy.
Even when they were fighting, there was always a “love you just don’t like you right now” sense in the air.
Me, Kid, and Rabbit are happy like that.
Little fucked up most of the time but happy together.
How do we teach the little one she’s baking not to fear falling in love?
How do we teach it to have a healthy relationship someday when we’re still figuring that shit out ourselves?
Fuckme, how is it every day I wake up with a fresh from hell worry regarding messing this child up?!
I need a drink.
Is it too early?
Collecting my purchases doesn’t take long, and thankfully, neither does the two of them exchanging numbers. Our stroll back to the lot where I had no choice but to park – my tow truck isn’t exactly the clientele this high-end strip center wants around unless it’s to take away someone who has broken their beloved aristohat rules – is mainly filled with Christmas dinner questions I know he’s been ordered to retrieve and laughter regarding what to expect on the big night.
“Okay, so, Woods likes cake, but not birthday cake?” Garcia investigates upon our arrival. “Or not birthday cake flavor?”
“That one.”
“How does he feel about Dulce de Leche?”
I pause with my empty hand wrapped around the handle. “Don’t know if he’s ever had it.”
“Qué???” He croaks in Spanish, a rarity for him. “You don’t know everything about the man you’re trying to give your last name to?”
“Fuck you,” is impishly grunted. “I know enough.”
“And by enough, you mean how well your dick fits in his ass?”
“Exactly.” We share another round of chuckles that’s followed by me getting into my vehicle. Once I’m settled, I shift the bag from my grip to his. “Hide that shit well. The last thing I need is one of your holiday fuck arounds finding it and thinking it’s for them.”
He lets the corner of his lips kick upward. “It’s going in my safe.”
“Personal or office?”
“Personal.”
That one’s more secure.
Before another juvenile comment can make it past my lips, he shoots me a sincere smile. “I’m proud of you, Ace.” His fingers adjust their hold on the bag. “For settling down. Having a family. Getting married-”
“If they say yes.”
“They will.” The grin widens. “We both know they will.”
An unexpected heat flushes my cheeks. “Fuck, I hope so.”
“I’m proud of you for finally getting your shit together and moving forward rather than just staying stagnant.”