Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“We should probably stop,” I whispered, my rolling hips belying my words.
“Agreed.”
He didn’t let me go, but his hands moved, sliding across my wet shirt until he’d wrapped me in a tight hug.
“I’m gonna head home and change,” he said against my neck, pressing a light kiss there. “I’ll come get you at five.”
“How old are you? Eighty?”
“If I get you at five, we can get our food and have more time to spend before you have to get home,” he explained, leaning back to press his forehead against mine.
“Five, it is,” I agreed, grinning.
“Wear a dress.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I replied instantly.
“Please, would you wear a dress?” he corrected dryly. “I like being able to slide my hands up your skirt instead of having to take your jeans off.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I grumbled good-naturedly.
“Swear to God, you’re the most argumentative woman on the planet.”
“You could have someone easier,” I replied breezily, pulling away.
“If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t still be chasing you,” he shot back, pinching my ass.
“You already caught me.”
Richie laughed ruefully. “I don’t think I’ll ever really catch you,” he argued. “See you at five?”
“Yep.”
I was smiling as he left the room, but what he’d said made a little knot form in the pit of my belly. We’d been together forever, what did he mean when he’d said he’d never catch me? I was well and truly caught. The only thing that would make me more caught would be a ring on my finger, and that obviously wasn’t going to happen for years.
I pushed the worry into the back of my mind as I changed out of my wet clothes and went down to help Saoirse plan out dinner. Cian had disappeared somewhere and Aisling was busy on the living room floor, dressing her Barbies, a hairbrush and a million tiny hair ties beside her.
“I’m just going to make tuna casserole,” Saoirse announced when I strode into the kitchen. “Everyone likes it, and it’s impossible to screw up.”
“You don’t have to make it, Sersh. I can just make something before I go.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “You never go anywhere. I can handle this.”
“I go places.”
“You go to work.”
“That’s a place,” I joked.
“You didn’t even go to your graduation,” she pointed out, pulling things from the cupboard.
“It’s just a stupid ceremony,” I said, boosting myself onto the counter. “Why do you and Cian keep giving me shit for not going?”
“Because it’s a big deal.”
“Not really.”
“Well, maybe we wanted to celebrate you for once,” she said, slamming a can of soup onto the counter. She turned to look at me. “You celebrate all our crap!”
“Where is this coming from?” I asked gently, confused as all hell.
“Richie’s like, the best guy ever.” She scowled. “And he keeps hanging out here all the time, and you guys never go do fun stuff or anything!”
“He likes hanging here with us.”
“He’s going to get bored,” she blurted. Her mouth snapped shut afterward, but the words had already escaped.
“You think he’s going to bail because I don’t do enough fun shit?” I asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, turning away.
“He won’t,” I assured her, not willing to even acknowledge that I’d had the same fear often.
“You don’t know that.”
“We’ve been together for three years,” I pointed out logically. “Don’t you think he knows what he’s gotten himself into?”
“Well, why don’t you at least try?” she snapped.
“Saoirse, look at me,” I ordered. I waited until she’d spun back around, her mouth in a mutinous line. “This is my life. Our house, you guys, my job—that’s who I am. This is the life I’m living. Richie wants to be a part of that, which is awesome. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t. It’s as simple as that.”
“What if he wants to get married?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m eighteen! I’m not marrying anyone for a long time.”
“In five years?” She glared. “In ten? What, are you just going to bring us with you?”
“I’m not leaving you. Ever.”
“Do you really think that he’s going to stay?” she asked in exasperation.
“Where the hell is this coming from?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“We’re stuck here,” she ground out. “You aren’t.”
“The fuck, I’m not,” I retorted. “Where I am, you are. That’s it. Conversation over.”
“Conversation not over,” she hissed.
“What the fuck are you arguin’ about?” Cian asked, jogging down the stairs. “Jesus.”
“Saoirse is worried that Richie is going to get bored with me because I never do anything fun,” I replied flatly.
“And because you have four fucking kids,” Saoirse said hotly.
“I don’t know why you think this is any of your business!”
“Both of you shut up,” Cian barked. “For fuck’s sake. Sersh, have you seen Aoife? Dude’s not going anywhere.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. “I think.”
“If he bails, he bails,” Cian said with a shrug. “But I don’t think he will. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into, and he keeps on coming back. Like herpes.”