Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
She nodded. “Okay. Maybe tuna fish?”
She’s fine.
I left my phone on my nightstand and headed for the bathroom, anxious to wash the day away. I was glad tomorrow was Saturday. It had been a long, exhausting week and I was looking forward to starting a new project in my workshop and maybe going fishing.
I lathered soap as my mind wandered to childhood fishing trips. We’d spend hours on Lake Mälaren in summertime, fishing for perch and pike. I never got tired of it. The simple joy of drifting on the water, pole in hand with my dad, Lars, and sometimes Anni and—
No. Don’t go there.
It had been good to be with Freya today, listening to her chatter about baby books she’d purchased, the soda water that made her burp, and her sudden craving for pretzels. I wished she’d confided in me before she’d made her decision—especially if it had anything to do with Anni. But it was done.
And it was pointless to tell her that I was struggling with the fact that I wouldn’t be part of her son or daughter’s life. There’d be no outings at the park, no fishing excursions, no lessons on how to carve and build toy boats and airplanes. The thought of missing out on something so precious made me sad.
Too sad.
I closed my eyes under the warm spray, hoping to clear my mind. It isn’t my business, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time. Freya had made her choice, and she was happy with it. So was Dexter.
He was nervous, too. I’d pegged Dexter to be cool under pressure, but he’d panicked at the idea of Freya in distress. It was good that he was concerned…that he cared. But I liked his smile better. It was cocky with a hint of mischief.
And that mouth…
My dick twitched on cue as my thoughts took a sudden X-rated turn.
Sudden and pornographic.
Dexter on his knees, his lips around my dick, gaze trained on me…waiting for permission. Yes, it was an outrageous fantasy, but it was a good one. A beautiful, godlike man bobbing his head, his nails raking my upper thighs as he sucked and licked me.
I braced a hand on the tile and stroked my cock in earnest, giving in to the illusion till it seemed so real I could picture him right here, right now.
Please. Please give it to me.
My breath hitched and my chest heaved as cum spurted over my fist, then washed away.
I felt a twinge of shame afterward. Handsome or not, it was in bad taste to have lustful thoughts for your friend’s baby daddy. Even through surrogacy. I needed to get out of town and get laid properly. The sooner the better.
I toweled off, brushed my teeth, put on boxer briefs and an old tee, and practically fell into bed. The bedside light was on, but I was so tired that it didn’t bother me.
My vibrating cell was another matter.
I had six texts and three missed calls from Dexter. What the fuck?
That’s it? I need more info.
Please.
I know it’s late, but that’s okay. You can call.
Okay. I’ll call you.
Pick up, please.
Hello?
I frowned at the long thread of messages and immediately decided Dexter was terrible fantasy material.
I was away from my phone, I typed. It’s late. Go to sleep. She’s fine.
Satisfied with my message, I set my cell on the nightstand and switched off the lamp.
Buzz buzz
Another message and another missed call. Humor me. Please answer.
Grrr.
“Why are you calling me?” I growled in greeting.
“Sorry. I just…I’ve been waiting to hear from you. I was hoping for more information than ‘She’s fine.’ ”
I didn’t reply right away. It was disconcerting to chat about a pregnant woman with the man whose face you’d fucked in the shower…if only in a dream.
But Dexter didn’t sound right. He was too anxious, too worried. How was he going to survive another eight months in this state? And it would only get worse once there was a baby to care for. He should have been talking to a therapist or a friend. Not me.
I scratched my bearded jaw and sat up in bed, cautioning myself to be nice and…gentle.
“Freya wasn’t sick while I was there. She’d worked in her studio most of the day and she was tired. I made her a tuna sandwich and watched a terrible movie with her. Something about being thirteen and wishing you were thirty.”
“13 Going on 30. Love that movie,” Dexter replied with a strained laugh.
“Hmph. She fell asleep and I left. That’s it.”
“All right. Sounds good. How was the drive?”
“Long.” I yawned.
“I’m really glad you went. I was, um…” He sighed heavily on the line. “I just…fuck. Never mind. Sorry to bug you and thanks for—”
“What were you going to say?” I intercepted. Silence. “You might as well tell me. You’re making yourself worry about nothing, and you need to sleep, too. Who else is going to make fritters in the morning?”