Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I turned her shower on and then glanced down at my watch.
“Six,” I murmured as I contemplated getting into the shower with her.
“What’s wrong with six?”
“Daddy!”
I pulled her off of me and set her down.
Our multiple releases gushed from her and hit the floor.
The sight had my cock twitching.
I watched some cum slide down the inside of her thigh, then listened to my kid scream from the other room again.
“I have to go get in the shower,” I admitted, eyes still fully focused on her inner thigh. “And if I’m not in my own shower, she’ll come find us in here.”
She pushed me away. “Go.”
I reluctantly went.
Even though every cell in my body was telling me to stay here, forever, and experience the morning over and over again until the end of time.
Twenty
What does the washing machine gain by lying about how much time is left? If you need more time, just say it.
—Sutton’s secret thoughts
SUTTON
“Bye, Daddy!”
Gunner shot his little girl a huge smile, winked at me, and left without another word.
He’d spent my time in the shower getting his own shower done, doing not only a load of laundry, but folding and putting away that laundry, and he’d managed to get his daughter fed at the same time.
This man was a freakin’ expert at this parenting gig.
Luckily, the girl was fed, because I had places that I needed to be this morning, too.
“Okay, Lottie girl. What are we wearing today?”
“Shoes!”
I smiled. “Shoes, yes. But what else? We can’t go out in our pajamas.”
“Why?”
I paused, because I had no answer for that.
Why couldn’t she?
“Because it’s cold?” I offered up my lame excuse.
She wrinkled her nose.
It wasn’t too cold today, even though it’d been cold the night before.
The weather app on the big screen that Gunner had up in his kitchen—one that displayed his schedule on one side, Lottie’s schedule on the other, and the tasks that he needed to get done for the day—said that we had a high of sixty.
Chilly, but doable.
“Those clothes you have on are pretty thin,” I said. “And your daddy didn’t have time to do your hair, and baby girl, it’s a total mess. How do you feel about braids?”
I could French braid with the best of the best.
I’d had to teach myself to do it because I wasn’t one of those girls that got the girls on my high school teams to do it. Not because they hadn’t offered or anything—they had. But because I didn’t trust them not to cut it off while they were messing with my hair.
Let’s just say that I learned how to protect myself from bullies, and that was not putting myself into a situation where it had the potential to bite me in the ass.
Needless to say, I’d learned how to do it on myself, and I’d practiced on my mom countless times to know that I could braid other people’s hair.
“Yes!” Lottie clapped. “Bwaids.”
I scooped her up in my arms, and she brought her pancake with her.
We got to the bathroom, and I sat her on the counter with her feet in the sink. “Okay, so you’ll have to hold really still, okay?”
She nodded solemnly.
I went to work, and had her hair braided in two Dutch braids down each side of her head in about five minutes.
She was the perfect customer, too, because she stayed so still that you’d think she was sleeping.
Her eyes were wide and excited as she watched me work.
When I was finally finished, she touched it with a reverence that made my heart melt. “Wow.”
I kissed her cheek. “Now, what are we wearing?”
She tugged at my hand and said, “You bwaids, too!”
I eyed my hair.
It was so damn long it’d take me forever, but the hopeful look in her eyes had me reaching back to take my hair out of the ponytail. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
She nodded her head excitedly, and I got to work.
It took me three times as long, and by the time I was done, my shoulders were aching like a bitch.
“Now, let’s get dressed.”
I dressed her in black leggings, tennis shoes, and a cute little Nike sweatshirt.
I dressed myself the same, and we were out the door fifteen minutes later, and at the next funeral home fifteen minutes after that.
I’d called ahead to make sure that it was okay to bring Lottie, and the funeral director had readily agreed, saying that she loved kids and she missed her grandchildren. She’d urged me to bring her on, and she wasn’t lying. She greeted Lottie like they’d known each other their whole lives.
“There’s my girl,” the funeral home director called. “Come on over here!”
Lottie headed over to her desk, excited to get loved on by her, and I got to work in the back.
It took me two hours to do the two clients, and all that time, Lottie came and went, uncaring about the dead person that I was working on.