Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
I dig in, stuffing as much chocolate in my mouth as I can, and watch him wait about three seconds before he yanks open the drawer, pulls out another fork, and joins me.
We laugh, and I meet his eyes as he takes the seat across from me, both of us devouring the rest of the cake.
We start racing for the finish, seeing who’s going to get the last bite, and I giggle as we’re both shoving in more than we can chew and swallow. He stabs the last bit with his fork, and I can feel the crumbs around my mouth as he looks at me and chews.
“We need more,” he says.
I nod, hopping off the stool and running for the freezer as he runs for the cabinets. He pulls out mugs and spoons, while I grab all the ice cream I can find. There’s a gallon of vanilla, some cherry chocolate chunk, cookies and cream, and a whole container of untouched strawberry.
We set the table, scouring the fridge and cabinets for every topping imaginable. Whipped cream, nuts, and some fresh blueberries and kiwi already cut up from last night. We also find M&M’S, hot fudge, marshmallows, and some Christmas sprinkles, but I can’t imagine anyone in this house has been making cookies for Dex, so I won’t think about how they’re probably still around from when Liv and Trace were little.
“What the hell?” I hear somewhere behind me.
I look up, seeing Trace run his hand through his bed-head hair as he scans the breakfast table. Remnants of the black writing from his Halloween costume are still dried on his stomach.
He shakes his head, flips on some music, and takes a seat, immediately digging in as I uncover the ice creams and stick fresh spoons in them.
Filter’s rendition of “Happy Together” plays as Army enters with Dex. Dallas follows, and I take a seat next to Iron as Macon steps in, his back already covered in sweat from being in the garage.
Everyone fills their mugs, toppings being passed around, and Dex sees all the candy and starts kicking his legs.
Macon looms, washing his hands, and I toss a marshmallow in the air and catch it in my mouth in front of the baby. He giggles.
“It’s easy to catch shit with a big mouth,” Dallas gripes. “Even easier when some shit isn’t as big as others.” I drop my eyes to the direction of his dick, chewing my marshmallow.
Trace laughs under his breath; Dallas throws us both a look. I can’t hold back my grin. I guess Trace is bigger than him, too. Not sure why that pleases me so much. No, wait. I do know.
Something moves in the corner of my vision, and everyone shifts or quiets just for a moment as Macon takes a seat at the head of the table. Army glances, and I start to look but don’t. Trace, Dallas, and Iron don’t make eye contact as he begins loading ice cream into a mug, too.
I drop a few marshmallows on the table in front of Dex and take a bite of my ice cream as I grip the handle.
“So …” I take another bite. “Why do you all put ice cream in mugs?”
Trace jerks his chin to his brother. “Macon,” he tells me. “He always did it.”
Army holds his up by the handle. “Easy to transport without freezing your hand.”
“Or having your body heat melt the ice cream too fast,” Iron adds.
“It’s also easier to scoop off the high sides of a mug,” Army explains.
“And when it does melt,” Trace chimes in again, “then you can just drink it.”
And he tips it back, demonstrating for me as he catches a glob of ice cream in his mouth.
I close my fingers around my handle again, too aware of Macon’s presence at the table.
They’re right. Whenever I eat ice cream, it’s not usually at a table. It’s on the couch in front of the TV. Having a handle is great. “Got to wonder why bowls even exist now.”
Iron chuckles, and I watch as Macon squirts some whipped cream into his mug, quickly shooting out and leaving a dollop on Dex’s nose. The boy jerks, stunned, and then pats his hands up and down in excitement as he grins wide at his uncle, who winks at him so covertly, I don’t think anyone else sees.
My heart starts beating harder, watching them. I’ve never seen Macon playful. His interactions soften with Dex.
Army dives down and sucks it off his son’s nose, making the kid giggle.
“We couldn’t keep Oreo ice cream in the house when I was little,” Iron muses. “It was my favorite, but it was also Dad’s.”
“Mom would buy it; Dad would eat it all before the next morning,” Army tells me. “Iron would be so disappointed.”
Trace stares off. “I don’t remember that.”