Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
‘Oh, so it’s Dad now, is it?’
Her jaw tightens, and she looks at me in a way that only her mother can rival. Like she could cut off my dick with her glare. ‘It’s not fair! All my friends are going, and their parents are okay with it. Why do you have to be the one to ruin all the fun?’
‘Because I love you,’ I mutter, getting to my feet. ‘Because I know there are some idiot boys out there who will want to kiss you.’ What the fuck am I saying? The fact that my girl would probably rip off the balls of any potential kisser, probably better than even I could, is beside the point. It’s my job to protect her.
‘And stalk me,’ she retorts, making me recoil.
‘What do you mean?’ I don’t like the smug look on her face. The look that suggests she has dirt on me. I narrow my eyes on her, waiting for it.
‘Like you stalked Mum.’
I gasp. ‘I didn’t stalk your mother. I pursued her.’
‘She said it’s the same thing, especially when the perusing is done at Jesse Ward’s level of pursuing.’
‘It’s . . . no . . . she . . .’ I huff and turn, marching to the master suite. I’m not arguing with an eleven-year-old. ‘Your mother loved me stalking her,’ I snap over my shoulder.
‘You said you pursued her.’
‘Same thing.’ I slam the door to our dressing room behind me and yank my T-shirt over my head. ‘The girl will be the death of me,’ I mumble, chucking it in the wash basket.
Maddie barges in, forcing my hands to pause on the fly of my leathers. ‘I’m going to the disco without you, and I will wear what I like.’
‘You are not going.’ I just manage to hold back my bad language. ‘End of.’
‘You’re so mean!’ she yells, her cheeks flushed with anger.
‘I know!’ I shove my hands into the waistband of my leathers, ready to push them down. ‘Are you scramming? Because I’m about to get naked.’
Her pretty little face screws up in utter disgust. ‘Ewwww.’ She makes a hasty exit, leaving me looking down at my torso. Ewwww? The fucking cheek. I might be fifty soon, but I’m still fucking prime. Ask my wife. And every other woman on the planet. Ewwww?
I kick off my leathers and drop to the floor, smashing out fifty press-ups, muttering and cursing as I do. I should have stayed at the health club.
After yanking on some clean shorts, I turn to head downstairs, noticing a pile of clean laundry on the bed. I do what any decent husband would do: I gather it up and go back to the dressing room to put it away. I place my socks and boxers in the designated drawers, leaving me with a pile of Ava’s knickers in my palm. I grin at the stacks of lace, unable to stop myself from bringing them to my nose and inhaling the clean smell of laundry mixed with Ava’s lingering scent. I hum and close my eyes, planning tonight’s intimate time. I see a Sense Fuck in the not too distant future. I’ll make my wife see that it would be most unwise for us to let Maddie go to the school party without a chaperone.
‘Dad?’
I swing around and find Jacob hovering at the doorway. His handsome face is quite alarmed. ‘Oh, hey.’ I quickly pull the lace away from my nose and smile awkwardly.
‘Are you smelling Mum’s knickers?’
I laugh like a twat, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. My kids do fuck all for my ego. ‘Just checking they’ve been washed,’ I say, turning my back on him and opening Ava’s knicker drawer.
‘You’re weird sometimes, Dad.’ Jacob sighs from behind me, and I cringe, but my cringe turns into a frown when I spot something in the corner of Ava’s drawer. It’s not the something that’s the problem. It’s the fact that it’s in a different corner from this morning. I snarl at the diamond-embellished vibrator, or the Weapon of Mass Destruction, as my wife likes to call it, and slowly push the drawer closed. She isn’t wrong. It does destroy. It destroys my fucking ego. Has she been using it without me? Giving her pleasure to a fucking machine?
Casting my grievance aside, just for now, I turn towards my boy. ‘What’s up, mate?’ I ask, wandering over to him and throwing my arm around his shoulders, walking us out of the dressing room.
‘One of my friends from school, Sonny, has invited me to Old Trafford with his parents to watch United. They’re playing Arsenal. Can I go?’
I smile to myself, looking down at Jacob as he looks up at me, all hopeful and with a little worry. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking that football is our thing, and I might not like him doing it with someone else. I take him training, I watch every match, I make a point during the football season of a monthly boys’ day out, just me and him. All boys’ stuff, where there are no women driving us nuts. ‘Sure you can.’