Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Shrugging, I stepped through the kitchen, past the breakfast nook, and into the living room. I glanced left and right and left again like a kid first learning to cross the street. Now, I knew men were normally pretty dense, but not being able to find my own wife in a single room seemed like a bit of a stretch even for the inferior sex. I mean, I did build a billion-dollar company from the ground up. I should be able to find a petite blonde on a canvas of gray décor. “Benny girl, is this some kind of game?” I asked, my voice of a volume that would make me seem crazy if she did turn out to be in this room, but oh well. If she was in here and I was missing her, we’d need to hop in the car and head for the hospital immediately anyway.
“And if it is, does it include me finding you naked?” I added under my breath.
“The living room!” she yelled back again. “I’m in the living room!”
Okay, what in the fuck was going on here? I didn’t see Thatch today, so it was unlikely that he slipped me a drug. And I’d yet to even crack open a beer. So, I shouldn’t be feeling like I was taking a trip on a hallucinogen.
After the day I had at the office, I was starting to get frustrated. It wasn’t my wife’s fault, and I wasn’t going to take it out on her because that would be completely counterproductive to my end goal of getting into her pants, but I was like a real-life John Travolta GIF, glancing around the room with both arms out.
“Oh really? Because I’m in the living room. And I’m at least ninety-nine percent sure you’re not here.”
Georgia giggled so loud it made me smile, even across the mysterious distance. “You’re in the family room, husband! I’m in the living room.”
I furrowed my brow and walked through the empty dining room—the one we’d yet to furnish—and into what was apparently the actual living room. And perched right in the middle of the lush cream sofa—the one Georgie had fallen in love with a few days ago while we were shopping in SoHo and simply had to have—sat my beautiful wife.
Flanking her on either side? Our cat—aka my archnemesis—Walter, and our Great Dane, Stan.
Stan the man was a new addition to the family, the dog we ended up adopting because Thatch and Cassie lost our freaking cat. And instead of just, you know, letting someone else find him and deal with his asshole-ish behavior, they had located the bastard in a vet clinic after he had fallen in love with a dog that could quite literally pass for a horse.
“So, this is the living room?” I questioned, a small smile on my lips as I put both hands on my hips and glanced around the half-decorated space.
Truthfully, most of the house was still filled with empty walls, stacks of boxes, and half-arranged furniture. But that was mostly because we had just moved in a little less than a week ago and Georgia was a perfectionist when it came to picking out the perfect décor. If it were only the time constraint, I would have paid someone to unpack and organize everything, just so Georgie didn’t have to deal with the stress of the mess.
She looked up at me, a book in her lap and a breathtaking smile on her face. “Yes, baby. This is the living room.”
“Jesus,” I muttered on a laugh. “Family room, living room, mud room…it’s hard to keep it all straight. I’m starting to think we bought too big of a house.” Oh, man. I could only imagine what my father would say when he got a chance to come see this place. He had been drilling practicality into my head for years, and normally, I had no trouble following his teaching. Obviously, though, the thought of exciting my wife with the house of her dreams did a good job of getting me a little carried away.
Georgie snorted and lifted one knowing index finger to point in my direction. “Well, you only have yourself to blame for that, baby. You’re the one who picked it out.”
I grinned at that. I would take the blame from her and the scrutiny from my father, because one look from her, and I knew I’d hit my goal right on the head. “Only because I knew it would make you happy.”
The instant she had seen this house, it was love at first sight, the attachment damn near as strong as Walter’s codependency for his canine lover, Stan.
“Wait…don’t you like the house?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
I shrugged. “Baby, you should know by now that the only thing I need in a house is you inside it. The rest? I don’t really care about the specifics.”