The Godparent Trap Read Online Rachel Van Dyken

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
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“Oh yeah, then what is it?” I swallowed.

“Desire,” she finished. “Now drink the rest of your wine, we have hide-and-seek to conquer.”

And right now that major crush was naked in the bathroom, disposing of the condom. My heart and brain were not prepared for this! Breathe, just breathe.

I pulled the sheet up to my chest and peered into the door.

“I can see your reflection, Colby, it’s creepy when you stare without saying anything.”

I scowled.

“Saw that too.”

“Nothing wrong with staring at a naked guy you just slept with when he has an actual real-life six-pack,” I pointed out wisely.

The bathroom light flicked off. “How about establishing some rules?”

“Boo, I knew it, you’re reverting back.” Disappointment had tears forming in my eyes, and then I looked up just in time to see him pounce on me and jerk down the sheet until I was naked to the waist.

“Better.” He nodded like he was proud of himself. “I have a lot to make up for, so I think that it’s only fair the rule is, if I’m naked you’re naked. Hey, if you get to stare, I get to stare, that’s the rule. I’m naked, you’re naked, I missed out on this for years… never again.”

I pretended to think about it, but I wasn’t an idiot. He was offering me himself. “I accept.”

“Shall we shake on it?”

I held out my hand. He took it, then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss across my lips that had me wondering how many hours we had before the kids were up.

“You look like you’re scheming.” Rip smiled.

My face heated. “Just thinking about putting NyQuil in the kids’ juice boxes. You know, real parent-of-the-year-type stuff.”

He burst out laughing. I’d forgotten how much I loved his laugh. Not that I’d heard it much over the years. But now that I thought about it… I’d been hearing it often the last week and more. I wanted to keep this moment forever, both of us free, laughing, talking about juice boxes, NyQuil, maybe even plotting a way to make a mean casserole. How was this my life now? And why was I suddenly so at peace? So happy?

“I love your laugh.” I found myself sobering, reaching for his face. He was all flawless straight teeth, dimples, and a perfect jawline. So annoying.

But all mine.

“I love that you love it, Colby.”

“For a frog you really can be romantic.”

“Frog prince, get it right.”

“Sure, OK…” I started moving away, only to have him catch me by the hips and pull me back. “That tickles!”

“Shhhhh.” He kept tickling my sides. “If you wake up the kids you get to tell them about the cuddling.”

I laughed harder. “Oh my gosh, you cuddled me so hard, do it again, Rip… pleeeeease.”

His eyes dilated. “Whatever my princess wants.”

“See, that’s why the frog got kissed.” I laughed as he ducked under the covers. “He said whatever she wants, whatever the princess wants…”

And he gave it. He gave himself.

TWENTY-ONE

Colby

We decided to get dressed in sweats even though it was three a.m., only because the last trauma the kids needed was to catch us “cuddling” in Rip’s bed.

I was supposed to go back to my room hours ago.

But then I wanted wine.

Then he wanted cheese.

Then I needed a sandwich.

Then we grabbed some of the kids’ Pedialyte—for obvious reasons—and then we started talking.

Or maybe we just started healing.

Rip pulled me against his chest. “Favorite classic movie?”

“Casablanca. Fight me.”

“No fighting necessary, one hundred percent agree. Did you know that Humphrey Bogart was actually shorter than Ingrid Bergman? They had to put lifts in his shoes so he looked taller.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re one of those!” I slapped him on the stomach.

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘one of those’?”

“You’re random-movie-fact guy!” I did a little dance next to him. “This means we’re going to win every trivia game ever on any game night we participate in! Monica was always the worst at movie trivia!”

“She couldn’t even quote Friends!” we said in unison.

“Brooks and I tried so hard with her too.” He sighed. “At the end of the day you just hope you raise your children right, and, well, in the end you’ve gotta cut the apron strings and let them go.”

I knew he was being semisarcastic, but Rip had basically raised her all on his own after their parents died when they were young. It wasn’t something either of them really talked about. He’d been in high school, she’d been in eighth grade. Their parents had left them money and a house, and they’d had a distant aunt who’d lived with them, then moved out the minute Rip turned eighteen and took full parental responsibility. All they had was each other.

And me.

They’d always had me.

And then Brooks.

Banks.

Our friends had become our family.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” I whispered in a small voice.



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