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)
I tapped a few messages on my cell, reminding my coaches where they needed to be for the Saturday games and tried to think of conversation starters with the stoic lumberjack. Once we reached the interstate, I dropped my phone in the cupholder and took a deep breath.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Hmm.”
“Not a cloud in the sky.”
Viggo hummed in agreement again and cast a sideways glance my way. “Are you nervous?”
“No. Why?”
“You can’t sit still. You’ve either had too much coffee, too much sugar, or you’re nervous. Don’t be nervous.”
I shifted to study Viggo’s profile—his prominent brow, long lashes, slightly crooked nose, and tidy beard. And don’t get me started on those muscular forearms, the veins in his rough hands, and the strong fingers gripping the steering wheel.
Was I nervous? As a matter of fact, yes, I was. I should have been consumed with thoughts of the little person growing in Freya’s belly, but no…all I could think about was lumberjack sex.
Let’s be honest, this was a powerful case of lust. I wanted to climb this man like a tree, lick him from head to toe, and God, I wanted to touch him…right now. I could lean over the console, unzip his jeans, and suck his cock. I wondered if he’d be into that. It seemed healthier than acting as if we hadn’t been naked and writhing in his bed a mere week ago.
One of us was going to have to say something, and it was probably me.
Here goes nothing…
“We should talk about pancakes and sex and just…get it out of the way,” I blurted.
Viggo’s gaze didn’t waver from the road. “Okay. What should we say?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
“You brought it up. You go first.”
I inhaled deeply. “I think we’re attracted to each other.”
“You do?” he deadpanned.
“Yeah. I guess now we just have to decide if we’re going to ignore that attraction or act on it.”
“Big decision.”
“Don’t get sarcastic with me.” I wagged a finger at him like an irate schoolteacher. “This is very sketchy behavior for an almost first-time parent-to-be.”
“You don’t think parents have sex?” he snarked.
“Gross. But yes…of course they do.”
Viggo shrugged. “Then maybe it’s not a big deal.”
“Maybe not, but I’m a queer parent-to-be and we both know the rules are different. I have to rise to a higher standard to prove I’m worthy of the job. No more random pickups with men or women I hope I never run into again. Not that I did that often…I didn’t. Nonetheless, I have to be better than that, be smarter.”
Viggo took his eyes off the road for a moment and smiled. I hated that I felt gooey all over, but whatever…I was past pretending I had my libido under control.
“Are you planning to have a relationship with your right hand for the next eighteen years?”
“Very funny.”
“It’s a fair question,” he insisted. “You’re young, and you’re not too hideous to look at.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Viggo snorted. “The point is…I don’t think parenthood means you have to become a monk.”
“So you think we should…”
“Maybe. But it’s complicated.”
He didn’t continue, and I wasn’t brave enough to go there on my own.
“How long have you lived in Wood Hollow?” I asked, my gaze fixed on the ribbon of road ahead.
“Three years.”
“Have you lived anywhere in the States other than Minnesota and Vermont?”
“No.”
Good chat.
I tried again. “You don’t mind the cold, eh?”
“No.”
“Do you want to listen to music or a podcast?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, my God! This is going to be a long two hours if you don’t meet me halfway,” I snapped.
Viggo’s lips curled in amusement. “You’re funny.”
“No, I’m annoyed.”
“Because of the sex.”
“Grrr. Shut up and talk to me,” I growled.
He laughed, a sweet, unfettered sound that echoed in the confines of his SUV. “All right. We’ll talk, but I’ll ask the questions this time.”
“Go for it.”
“Where are you from?”
“Michigan. Born and raised in Detroit. Grosse Pointe, specifically. My parents divorced when I was two. I have an older brother who’s a professor at Stanford. He’s a chemical engineer, always working on some secret experiment that gets him out of family gatherings—lucky bastard. My father lives in Argentina or Peru or Brazil. I don’t know where, for sure. No one has seen him in years. My mother remarried twice more. Husband number two was a lawyer. Nice guy, but he drank too much and Mom didn’t put up with that shit. Husband number three is Gilbert. He’s a well-connected businessman, and best of all, he puts up with my mom’s shit.”
“What kind of shit?”
“My mother likes to get her way. She’s an executive at a venture capital firm. Tough boss lady. Sure, she’s from money and she married into more money a couple of times in a row, but she’s no slouch. Mom has a master’s, a PhD, and has spent decades working her way up the corporate ladder. On one hand, I admire her. On the other hand, my mom forgets that her family members aren’t her employees.”