Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
And there’s no stopping my fingers from flexing once both cheeks are against my palms.
And she’s moaning.
And her eyes are momentarily falling shut.
Fuckme.
I’m about to be late to the first pracky of the season.
With no regrets.
Which is pretty on note for me.
“Continuing,” Gilly informs post spitting out her mouth’s contents, “education.” She begins rinsing the brush to do her round of follow-up cleaning. “Keeping my license requires me to take courses every couple of years on relevant subjects such as pain management.”
My thumbs gently caress the curve of her ass. “Is that what you’re takin’ today?”
“Infection control.”
Despite the disgusting response, my dick doesn’t rush for the bench.
It can’t.
Won’t.
Not when her hips are thoughtlessly pushing back into my teasing touches.
Begging for my cock to skate across the increasingly slippery territory.
“I’ve also gotta pick up your new vitamin recommendations from The Concession Stand-”
“Will you do me a solid and grab Bronny a gen multi-v? I get the vibe his system’s probably a bit out of tune. Grams has never been big into makin’ us eat ‘rabbit feed’.”
“I’ll add it to the list.”
A kiss of gratitude is gifted to her cheek. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go there after my doctor’s appointment,” pausing in her speech is not met by pausing in my caresses, “for my birth control shot.”
Do I love that she’s taken precautions in the past?
Of course.
Do I want her to stop now?
For me?
Hell yeah.
But her body…her choice.
It’s just a choice I wouldn’t mind her changing for us to start a family.
Well.
Extend it.
Us raising my little brother together kinda already qualifies us in that department.
The building sex haze momentarily lifts long enough for me to curiously ask, “You want more kids someday?”
Post finishing her fresh brush, she temporarily refrains from returning the tool to the coffee themed holder she randomly grabbed us last week while we were out buying room stuff for the aforementioned teen. “Implying that Bronny’s ours now?”
“Accordin’ to the guardianship papers we signed he is.”
“Since we’re on that topic…” her stare meets mine in the mirror convincing my hands to slide around to rest on her hips, “did you see the email from Kea Academy?”
“No.”
“Have you checked the joint account we setup for all things Bronny?”
“Yes.”
“Post setup?”
Humor fuses with guilt in my gaze. “No.”
Gilly’s irritation causes her eyes to roll, prompting me to plant a kiss on her in an effort to banish it.
An effort that’s successful considering how quickly her shoulders fall.
Her spine softens.
“They need a copy of his guardianship paperwork faxed over again – they claim they haven’t received it – along with his transfer papers from his other school before they will continue his enrollment process.”
“I’ll put a call into our attorney after pracky.”
“And?”
“And…” my lips land on the top of her shoulder again, “call Grams to make sure she properly unenrolled him so that we can finish enrolling him.”
This whole thing was as smooth as a fresh cup of Kona coffee.
After having dinner with Gilly’s parents – who I’m pretty sure we won over given they volunteered to help with any part of this parenting thing we may need – we sat down in the living room.
Went over what Bronny wanted.
What I wanted.
What she was concerned about.
What expectations we were setting.
It was a late night, but by the next morning, we were all on the same page when we video chatted with Grams who had been anticipating the change given all the information she just “happened” to have on hand.
Getting legal representation – made easier thanks to Cap’s wife – setting up financial arrangements – I don’t want Gilly having to pay for his shit in spite of her insisting she can – educational plans – his c plus grade average isn’t exactly skating in our favor – and house adjusting from free agent to family of three has made for a hectic but oddly heavenly few weeks.
We’re talkin’ Bryan Adams level.
Only two things could make all this even better.
Gillybean completely moving in – versus this split house shit – and Coach finally knowing she’s my everything.
Him still not knowing is what has me no one scoring in OT thankful that I won’t run into him this morning.
I wanna tell him.
I want the person she calls her best friend to know.
To meet me.
To get to know me in a way that the boys don’t.
Like how I used to throw bales of hay over the summer to stay in shape ‘cause gym memberships were too expensive.
And how I can now make a mean cortado and a phenomenal flat white.
And how I yelled at the screen earlier this week when watching Leverage – a show his sister loves – when they messed up a hockey episode.
But telling him ain’t up to me.
It ain’t my call.
Or…at least it’s not supposed to be.
Starting to wish it was.
“And…” she sweetly repeats, although this time, I’m not entirely sure why.