Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
See, there was a reason I let myself get scruffy. So every time Lana looked in a mirror, she was reminded of my hands and tongue and lips and cock. Because I was sure she was already telling herself that it was never going to happen again, that there were a million reasons it was a terrible idea. All that kind of asinine shit.
So, yeah, maybe making breakfast with the kids while she slept in was my sort of way of showing her that it could work. If she would just even consider it.
“We’re making you breakfast, Mommy,” Hazel said, all smiles.
“It looks like you are making a mess,” Lana said, rubbing her daughter’s hair, then trying to scoop up some of the peels.
“Leave ‘em,” I said, catching her gaze. “She’s building a jungle gym for her horses,” I said, gesturing to the little toys at the end of the counter. “And who are we to question if it is physically possible for horses to play on a jungle gym?”
Her lips twitched at that.
“Hey, bubba, you helping out?” she asked, smiling at her son as he concentrated very hard on his whisking.
“We made French toast,” he said, beaming at her. “And potatoes. And I’m making eggs.”
“Look at you. I think I can retire from all the cooking, right? You’ve got it all covered now?” she asked, going over toward her baby bag near the door.
“Here,” I said when she struggled to open it and hold onto Clara.
“No, it’s fine. You’re already—“
“You need two hands,” I cut her off. “I don’t,” I added, scooping up Clara, and bringing her over toward the island with me, keeping her far from the stove as I gave the home fries a little toss. “Bet you’re counting down the days until you can eat real food,” I said. “And not all that mashed green and orange shi—stuff,” I said, catching Lana shooting a smirk at me as she mixed the bottle.
When she took Clara, I set to making her a cup of coffee once I noticed that Clara was holding her own bottle, so Lana’s hand was free.
“Thank you. This is all very nice,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone else cook for me. Not since I was a kid, anyway,” she said, shrugging it off. Not seeming to see how fucking sad that was.
Whoever these kids’ dad was, he was a shithead.
How hard was it to toss a meal together every once in a while? Especially when your woman had her hands full with three of your kids?
I mean, not even on her birthday or Mother’s Day?
Shitty example for the kids, too. Both of them. Isaac, that he didn’t ever have to do nice things for women. And Hazel, who would never expect a man to do anything for her.
“Don’t get your expectations too high. I’m not exactly working with a crack staff here. The big one has been over-beating the eggs for five minutes. And the little one? She talks to the food,” I said, keeping my voice low, so the kids didn’t hear me teasing.
But I got what I was looking for.
That raspy little laugh of hers.
Turning back, I scooped the bowl of eggs from Isaac who looked around for something else to do.
“Baby, can you feed Rodney for me?” Lana asked, seeming to sense his need to help out, and the dog had been heavy-breathing up at us for quite a while already, hoping for something better to fall on the floor than a couple of potato peels.
With Isaac busy, it was quick work to finish the eggs and potatoes, then get everything on the table as Lana sat Clara in her highchair with some of her toys to keep her company.
It was exactly one bite in that had Lana letting out a moan that was giving me entirely inappropriate thoughts at the breakfast table as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“Ever notice how much better food tastes when you aren’t the one cooking it?” she asked as she cut off another piece. “You did a good job, bubba,” she added, reaching over to give his shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you for this,” she added, then mouthed a Thank you to me when her son’s head was ducked.
As I was washing the pots and pans and Lana was loading the dishwasher because she couldn’t be persuaded otherwise, she asked.
And, honestly, I’d all but fucking forgotten about it.
“Did you hear back from the electrician?”
Fuck.
I hadn’t even opened a browser to look for one.
“No, actually. I’m gonna have to call my second choice,” I said, trying to tell myself that it was a harmless lie, all things considered. “It’s just a little early,” I added when the clock on the stove said barely eight.
Barely eight and the kids were already fed and upstairs getting dressed.