Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Gabby? Are you okay?”
“The baby,” she whispers, and panic hits me.
“What’s wrong? Are you having a contraction? I knew that damn doctor didn’t check you out thoroughly. You weren’t in there long enough. Let me go get a truck and I’ll—”
“King, I’m okay. The baby just kicked me. It was stronger than I’m used to. I’m starting to think my jellybean is a future NFL linebacker or whatever.”
I look at her stomach. “He’s kicking you now?”
She takes our joined hands and places them on her belly. Hers lay over mine as she moves it around, gently pressing. All at once, I feel it. There is a flutter beneath my hand and then another—this one a little stronger. Then all at once, there is a swift punch against my palm.
“Did you feel it?” she asks, sounding excited. I force my gaze to move from her stomach to Gabby’s face. She has a radiant smile on her face, and this one definitely hit her eyes.
“That’s definitely a boy in there,” I say, like I know what I’m talking about—when I have no earthly clue. It succeeds in making Gabby laugh, just as I feel another kick. I find my hand rubbing over the spot and leaning down. “Woah there, little one. You have to take it easy on your momma.” In response, there’s another kick and I swear this one is harder. “I don’t think jellybean likes my voice,” I murmur.
“He or she is just extra active this time of night.”
“What do you do to calm the baby down?” I ask.
She looks up at me and I drink her in. Her smile is slight but definitely there. “I usually just lay down and play music. Sometimes I tell stories, old nursery rhymes or the like. It varies, but it seems to work.”
“You’re too tired to read and the stories I know might not be suitable,” I inform her with a smirk, causing her to laugh again. She’s really quite beautiful when she laughs. It’s a look I want to see on her more—one to replace the pain and sadness that is always present. “Do you play music on a computer?” I ask, not seeing a stereo or anything of the like. Those are old-fashioned these days, but I like them.
She reaches over to her nightstand and grabs her phone. “You might not like my playlist,” she warns me.
“I think I’ll survive,” I laugh.
“Okay, just a warning, though. This is my favorite classic rock playlist. If you throw off on it, our friendship may suffer.”
“Duly noted.” I’m seeing something from Gabby that I didn’t before. She was too broken then. Now, there are hints of her personality coming through. She can be both sweet and funny. It’s a side I like. I remember her from when I was following Grunt while he was distracted by Jazz and not getting the job done. The Gabby I saw from a distance is not the woman on this bed with me. The change is a fucking good one. Whoever sees Gabby through her shit while she heals will be lucky as hell. I’ll have to stay close to her to make sure whoever she finally lets into her heart is worth it. She’s been through too much not to taste anything but sweet from here on out. I know better than anyone how people hide who they are. Shelby was all sweet when we first met. Then slowly, that sweet was all saccharin. In other words—fake as hell. Underneath, there was nothing but sour. It was fed to me in the form of lies and bitchy replies that left me wondering where my woman had disappeared to.
Little did I know it was another man’s bed.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when some men come through the Bluetooth speaker on the nightstand singing about sunrise. I look over at her. Gabby’s looking at me from under her lashes. There’s a smile on her face and she’s clearly fighting her laughter. “Don’t start, King,” she murmurs.
“Woman, this is not music.”
“Lies! This is one of the best songs in the history of songs.”
“Say what?” I bark, trying to figure out if she’s playing me or somehow has lost all her brain cells and believes the shit she’s spewing.
“This is Ambrosia! They’re one of the most underrated bands ever,” she huffs, her eyes round with disbelief.
I grin at her. I like seeing her get fired up. It wouldn’t surprise me if her eyes start shooting lasers at me—such is her dedication to this damn song. “Is underrated code for ear piercing?”
“King! I can’t believe you said that. Try to check your alpha-machoism at the door and just listen to the words of the song. It’s beautiful.”
I shake my head. “It’s a chick song.”
“What?”
“Gabby, the shit they’re singing is total crap made to sell to women. It’s not real.”