Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
I punctuate each of her gallops with an obvious sigh, though I’ve never been happier in my entire damn life.
Farrow has already knocked on Dallas’ suite by the time I slip beside her. Per usual, Dallas and Romeo’s greeting makes me want to bleach my ears.
Octi barrels past the door before Romeo even manages to get out, “It’s open.”
“Just like my vagina, apparently.” Dallas plucks her blanket up as if we need visual confirmation. “Hey-yo, third-degree tear.”
Kill me now.
Why is this couple so obnoxiously TMI?
I can’t imagine letting anyone near Farrow so soon after giving birth to my child.
But I can imagine very vividly a situation where she gives birth to our baby.
“Here.” My fiancée deposits the box from Gwenie’s Pastries into Dallas’ eager arms. “Two dozen shakoy donuts, just like you asked. You look amazing.”
She does not look amazing. She looks like she just returned from wrestling a bear. And lost.
But I appreciate how Farrow always has a kind word to spare when it comes to the people she loves.
I bro-hug Romeo, a recent but not unwelcome development. “Congrats.”
“Thanks, man.” I shit you not, the tips of his ears turn red.
I peer around the spacious room. “Speaking of, where’s the baby?”
“The nurses took him to give me some time off.” Dallas shoves a shakoy down her throat. “He’ll be right back, so we can all see him and choose a name.” She boomerangs upright, tossing the donut into Romeo’s chest in order to clap. “I shortlisted it to thirty.”
Yay me.
This will be a long day.
Romeo goes rigid, his palm stopping mid-brush above his crumby shirt. “All?”
With perfect timing, Oliver and Franklin burst through the door without knocking. They wear matching states of dishevelment. Messy hair. Wrinkled clothes. A streak of red lipstick runs down to Frankie’s chin.
My first assumption, of course, is the horizontal tango.
My second is the more unhinged—and therefore, probably correct—option.
And surely enough, a chirp blasts through the air.
No, they did not.
Dallas shovels donuts into her mouth, too busy to notice the state of her two visitors. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.”
Ollie tucks his shirt into his slacks, clearing his throat. “Pleasure’s mine.”
Nobody other than Dallas misses that innuendo.
Farrow sends me a horrified WTF look. For good reason.
Oliver and Frankie are a bad idea. Not only is she scandalously younger than him, but they also both have zero morals or principles.
These two fiends would set the entire world on fire if they feel like frying a steak.
Luckily, it’s as I expected, and Frankie produces a jar filled with holes from behind her back, setting it on a coffee table across the room. “Sorry, we’re late. We caught these all by ourselves.”
Oliver flicks grass off his shoulder. “Almost died wrestling one of them.”
Frankie collapses onto the sofa, hand over her forehead. “Zach told us crickets are a symbol of luck and a good omen for lots and lots of children.”
“I didn’t say to catch them.” I push Ollie away with a single index finger when his mud-crusted ass weasels by a little too close for comfort.
See? Passionate about hygiene.
Oliver peeks under the hospital bed. “Where’s the little addition to the family?”
Romeo dusts crumbs from his shirt with one hand and strokes Dallas’ head with the other. “On his way.”
Frankie rushes to the mini fridge in the corner, plucking two water bottles from inside.
She waves at her face. “My gosh. Am I the only one who’s super hot?”
Ollie pops his head up from beneath the bed like a groundhog. “To a nuclear point, baby.”
She hands him a Voss, and they chug them down.
“It’s pretty chilly.” Dallas screws her nose. “Then again, maybe that’s because I tore the skin between my vagina and rectum, so basically, I feel like a Thanksgiving turkey about to be filled with onions, sweet potatoes, and herbs.” She frowns. “God, that sounds delicious.”
Once Oliver collapses onto the sofa, the entire room descends into chaos. I sit in the corner, scrolling through my phone as everyone fusses and bickers, hovering over Dallas like she just came back from a fourteen-month trip to Mars.
“More painkillers?”
“Have you had water? You need water, Dal.”
“Are you craving a Thanksgiving feast? I’m sure February is pumpkin season, too.”
A knock stops the madness.
I peer up from my phone in time to spot a nurse wheeling in a see-through hatch. Oliver, Frankie, and Farrow crowd around it, holding their breaths.
I trudge over, figuring I’d see what the fuss is all about.
I’m not a fan of babies. They’re loud and entirely useless, even by human standards.
I do, however, have to admit that the baby Dallas and Romeo produced is a good-looking one. Unlike the majority of newborns, he doesn’t resemble a bitter politician berating a lowly staffer.
He turns his head just a tad, offering me a better view. Dallas and Romeo’s best features war across his face.