Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The admission costs her. I can see it in the tight line of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet my eyes.
This time, I do reach for her, covering her hand with mine.
“Hey.” I wait until she looks up at me. “For what it’s worth, I think you can do anything you set your mind to. You’ve got a big heart, and any kid would be lucky to be in your orbit.” I take a breath before proceeding with caution. “But…if I were a guy around our age, I would be open to not having kids. If that really didn’t feel right for my partner. It’s not a dealbreaker for everyone, you know.”
Her lips twitch again. “If you were a guy around our age?”
I smile. “I mean, I am almost six years older than your young ass self.”
“Practically a geriatric,” she agrees, tossing a piece of crust playfully my way. “Want to head out? There’s supposed to be a little town not far from here, with shopping and glass blowing and cutesy shit to look at.”
I widen my eyes, playing up my excitement. “Glass blowing and cutesy shit to look at? Why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go.”
She giggles. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“Yep.” I grin and reach for where Barb’s been napping at our feet, happy that she’s smiling again.
* * *
About fifteen minutes later, we arrive at an adorable old Main Street, where we take Barb for a walk while window shopping and sharing an ice cream cone. We find another killer t-shirt for Barb’s collection at the pet boutique, then head to the glass blowing studio just in time to catch the afternoon demonstration.
I’m having so much fun, I don’t even resent being asked to share my mint chocolate chip.
I really am in love.
The knowledge should still give me pause, I guess, but Remy and I basically just had the “do you want kids?” talk. And you don’t have the kid talk or anything even remotely adjacent to the kid talk with someone you don’t have feelings for.
Maybe her feelings aren’t where mine are just yet, but maybe they’re not that far off, either…
On the way back to the city, we grab burgers at a dive by the highway, laughing as Barb begs for little pieces of meat all the way home. By the time we make it to my place, we’re both exhausted, but in a good way.
“Shower?” I suggest, already imagining Remy wet and warm in my arms.
She answers by pulling me down for a kiss that starts slow and builds until we’re stumbling toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing in our wake.
Barb huffs her disapproval at our lack of dignity before retreating to her princess bed in the living room to recover from her big adventure.
Under the spray, I worship every inch of Remy. No rush, no urgency—just the slide of skin on skin and the soft sounds she makes when I make her want me, need me. When I finally sink into her, her legs wrapped around my waist and her back against the tile, it’s like coming home.
Later, we fall asleep tangled together on the couch while a mindless cooking show plays in the background. At some point, I register Remy mumbling something about setting the alarm and agreeing that I should go do that…as soon as I worked up the energy.
That’s the last thing I remember until my phone’s ring jolts me awake hours later. Enough hours that the sun is already streaming through the blinds on the other side of the room…
“Dude, where are you?” Tank’s hushed voice is concerned. “Coach is on the warpath. Team meeting started ten minutes ago.”
I bolt upright, accidentally dumping Remy, who’s still asleep on my chest, onto the floor. “Fuck me.”
“Ow!” She glares up at me, rubbing her hip. Then she spots the clock on the cable box under the TV, and her eyes go wide with horror. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah,” I agree. To Tank, I say, “Be right there, man. Thanks for the heads up.”
I end the call, tossing my cell on the coffee table as I jog into my room to throw on clothes. Behind me, Remy, who is apparently an Olympic-level dresser, shouts, “I’m ready. I’m going to head in now. See you at the arena.”
“Okay!” I call back, shoving my feet into fresh socks.
This is bad, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when last night was so damned good.
But I’m sure Coach Lauder will bring me around to feeling plenty of regret, starting the second I breeze into the Monday meeting thirty minutes late. Even if I hit every green light on the way to the arena, I’m still screwed.
So. Very. Screwed.
Chapter 9
Remy
I’m doing eighty down the highway, tailgating the truck in front of me like my life depends on it, which it kind of does.