Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31869 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“What?” Jude questioned, slapping Rem on the shoulder violently. “This scuzzbucket is your favorite?”
“Yes.” Lex nodded. “Which is statistically sound. I spend thirty-five percent more time with Uncle Remy than I do with you or Uncle Ty, and he’s given me two dozen more gifts.”
“Sorry, guys,” Rem said with a smug shrug of his shoulders. “You can’t argue with the data.” He smiled at Lexi. “I promise to continue spending at least thirty-five percent more time with you than the rest of your loser uncles, babe. It’s an honor being in this position, and I won’t take it lightly.”
“Uncle Remy!” Lexi giggled. “They’re not losers.”
“Uh, but they pretty much are, sweetheart,” Rem commented, still smiling like a smug bastard. “We’re the winners, and they’re the losers. But it’s okay. Not everyone can be as cool and fun as you and me.”
Jude opened his mouth to respond with God only knows what—likely several uncensored f-bombs—but a loud, raucous knock on the door overpowered him.
“You expecting someone else?” Remy asked, moving his stern gaze to mine in a showing of the protective posturing he’d been expending around me since we were kids and standing from the table.
“Nope.” I shook my head and laughed a little. “Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting you guys.”
When the pounding started up again, Wes hopped out of his seat too and headed to answer it. Remy followed behind, looking like some sort of security team leader.
“Pretty sure Wes could have answered the door by himself,” I muttered, to which Jude scoffed. “Your guy’s a billionaire, but his hands are suspiciously soft. A little backup doesn’t hurt.”
“How in the heck do you know how soft my husband’s hands are?”
“Shh, Win,” Jude chastised, the jerk. “I’m trying to listen.”
Annoyed, I turned back to the door and leaned to get a look through the open frame. Wes was blocking the view, but the surprise and annoyance in his voice were all too easy to make out.
“What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Wesley, my man! We’re here, and we’re ready to get wild and crazy at the lake house, son!”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
Still suffering from some semblance of disbelief, I climbed out of my chair, walked over to the door, and peeked around Wes to get a look for myself.
And there they were—all the faces I never expected to see on the other side. At least not now, without an invitation.
Kline and Georgia were strapped down almost comically with their infant daughter Julia and all the baby gear, and Thatch and Cassie had their one-year-old son Ace, who was thrashing like a gator under his father’s arm.
“What is happening right now?” Wes scrubbed a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Why are you here? And how in the hell did you even know where the place was?”
“Uncle Brad said we could come out, dude,” Thatch answered like it made complete sense.
“Uh…hold on,” Kline interjected, turning to Thatch. “Why do Wes and Winnie look so shocked that we’re here?”
“I don’t know.” Thatch just shrugged. “Maybe our wires got crossed or some shit.”
“Shits!” Ace shouted at the top of his toddler lungs. “Shits! Shits! Shits!”
Shit is right. My eyes widened and my breath caught in my chest as Cassie’s blue irises flickered with the spirit of the devil. I was pretty freaking sure we were about to witness a gruesome murder if Thatch didn’t find a way to blink himself out of here like a genie.
“I’m sorry, but did your child just say his first word?” Georgia questioned obliviously, excited about the milestone, no matter the circumstances.
“Thatcher, did you just get my baby boy to say the word ‘shit’ for his first word ever?” Cassie breathed like a dragon, her voice rising an octave with each syllable.
Ace grinned like a little maniac, and I grabbed Wes’s arm and forced us both to take a step back.
“Shits! Shits!”
“Oh my fluffing God!” Cassie shrieked so loudly, the hairs on my arm stood on end. “Our son’s first word is fluffing s-h-i-t. Thatcher. I swear, I’m going to castrate you. I don’t care how much of an inconvenience it will be for me.”
Thatch smirked, though I could swear I detected the ripe stench of fear pouring off his gigantic body, and reached out to pat the top of Ace’s head. “Say Da-da, Ace. Say Da-da.”
Mini-Thatch grinned, and two adorable dimples appeared on his cheeks. “Shits!”
In the blink of an eye, Cassie reached out with her free hand and slapped her big husband right in the dick. The sound of contact resonated so much, it cascaded out over the lake and boomeranged back on an echo.
“Ah, fuck, Cass.” Thatch groaned and held himself, lowering his son gently to the ground and dropping to his knees.
“Fuct!” Ace repeated. “Fuct!”
“No, no, no, buddy.” Thatch shook his head, his eyes going wide with impending doom. “Don’t say that, Acer. Say Da-da. Say Ma-ma. But please, if you want me to be alive for your high school graduation, no curse words.”