Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Wow.” She throws the cover off herself, grabbing my hand to get up. “Using Penelope.” She shakes her head. “What a low blow.”
“Whatever it takes,” I tell her as she slides her fingers in mine, and I walk her upstairs to the guest bedroom instead of mine, where I really want her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ABIGAIL
“Wow,” I toss the throw cover off, grabbing his hand and helping myself up. “Using Penelope.” I shake my head. “What a low blow.”
“Whatever it takes,” he says, trying to hide his smirk. My fingers slide in his as he walks up the steps very slowly. The warm hand holding mine gives me butterflies in my stomach. I walk as slowly as I can to make sure it lasts as long as possible. “There is a bathroom adjoined to the bedroom,” he explains when he stops in front of an open room. “Call me if you need anything,” he says, and I can still see the sleep in his eyes.
“Go to sleep,” I urge him, wanting to touch his face. Instead, I release his hand, turn, and walk into the room. “I’ll be fine.” He stands there for a minute longer before he walks away. I sit on the bed in the darkness. I should go straight home, but instead, I’m slipping into his guest bed. When I woke up on the couch, it was just after two o’clock, so I didn’t move for fear of waking him up. I watched him sleep for about twenty minutes before my bladder told me that if I didn’t get up, I’d literally pee all over the couch. I thought for sure he would be up when I got back, but he was still sleeping, and the last thing I wanted was to wake him up. I turn on my side and close my eyes for what I think is a second until I hear a soft knock on the open door.
My eyes flicker open as I look toward the door and see him standing there in the hallway wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a backward baseball cap on his head. “Morning.” He walks in, holding a white Starbucks cup in his hand. “I got you a decaf coffee.” He holds it up.
“You left?” I sit up in bed, blinking the sleep away from my eyes. “When did you leave?”
“I had to drive Penelope to school,” he explains, walking in just a touch more. “I left a note on the counter in case you got up.”
He hands me the white cup of coffee, and my hand comes up to grab it. “Thank you,” I mumble to him.
“And this was going off every ten seconds.” He holds up my phone that I must have left on the couch. I grab it and see texts from Gabriella. “We should have that talk now,” he says nervously, and I just nod my head.
“We should,” I agree with him, taking a sip of my coffee. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and meet you downstairs.”
“I’m going to go and get you some breakfast started,” he tells me, and I just look at him, my stomach fluttering.
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
“Take your time,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I put the coffee down on the side table before opening the phone.
Gabriella:
Where the fuck are you?
Are you at baby daddy’s house?
Did you want me to call Dylan?
Wow, harsh.
I hope you get heartburn and have no Tums.
I’m not talking to you.
Bring me my niece or nephew, and then you can leave.
I laugh at the last message because she sent another one right after.
Wait until I get pregnant and ignore you.
I shake my head, typing out.
I’m fine, fell asleep on the couch, sorry.
Is that code for you fell on his dick?
Absolutely not. Got to go. He’s making me breakfast.
It’s like you’re married with kids.
If you need help, send out the Bat Signal.
Walking to the bathroom, I wash my face and pee and then head downstairs, where I find him in the kitchen, going back and forth from the fridge to the stove. The counter is filled with the egg carton, sliced bread, bagels, waffle mix, pancake mix, and orange juice.
My stomach flutters again, watching. He must sense I’m here because he looks back at me. “I don’t know what you like to eat for breakfast.” He puts his hands on his hips before taking off the baseball hat, tossing it like a Frisbee to the living room, before he runs his hand through his hair.
“I can’t eat eggs,” I inform him, walking to the stool and pulling it out sitting on it. “I mean, usually I can, but ever since I got pregnant, I just can’t eat them.”
He looks at me with a sad look before turning and putting the eggs back in the fridge. “So waffles or pancakes?” His voice is softer, and you can hear the sadness in it that he didn’t know.