Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
My cheeks hurt from an overpowered smile. I just nod strongly, and I eye his mouth. He leans in; I lean in, and our aggression inside a hot kiss wrenches our chests together.
Fuck.
This could last a while, and by a while, I mean a millennium. Our hands slide and grip, but we manage to step back, ending the embrace in a handful of seconds.
Farrow licks his bottom lip, like he can feel me on them.
“Team Philly,” Sulli says, staring fondly at the Philadelphia skyline.
“We should toast!” Luna exclaims.
Sulli nods. “Fuck yeah, maybe we can find the champagne.”
We all whirl around to the mountain of boxes behind us. Yeah—we just moved in. Some furniture is still being unloaded from vans. Seven cats are locked in Jane and Thatcher’s bedroom as they acclimate, and the two puppies Arkham and Orion chase each other around the hardwood. Skidding into a cardboard box.
“The two of us can do anything,” Luna says, catching Sulli’s wrist and dragging her towards the kitchen. Sulli whistles at Orion to follow, and the black-furred Newfoundland scampers after them.
Omega bodyguards—Akara, Quinn, Banks, and Donnelly—are rooming in two apartments just one floor below the penthouse. Security is probably way more comfortable living here than in the cramped townhouse.
Ripley coos as Luna and Sulli pass his jumper, then returns to chewing on a teething ring. He’s taking the move not that horribly. No screaming fits or epic sobs. In fact, he can bear to be on his own and not have a catalytic meltdown.
But still, no one else but me can really hold him unless he’s conked out asleep beforehand. Otherwise he acts like we’re in the middle of a Crisis on Infinite Earths.
Jane hooks an arm around my elbow, and I smile down at my best friend. Her blue eyes glimmer up at me. “It’s just you and me, old chap. Plus, our future husbands, two alpha chicks, and a hellion baby.” Her eyes water and mine sear. Recognition passing between us.
With the fire, we closed a huge chapter of our lives. The Rittenhouse-Fitler townhouse. Living together in our early twenties. It’s in the past, buried under ash.
Now we’re heading somewhere else. Moving forward inevitably means leaving something behind. Whether it’s physical things or just other possibilities. I wonder if everyone goes through this at some point in their lives. This feeling.
To be in mourning for a time gone by and hopeful for the time yet to come.
I want to ask Farrow, but when I turn to him and see the affection in his eyes. I think I already know the answer. What he’d say to me.
It’s called being human.
The box weighs a shit ton, but I easily carry the thing through the hallways. Not without my biceps burning.
Brick walls and warm, earth tones make the penthouse feel industrial and inviting over a sleek modern design. It was one of the many reasons I was drawn to it.
I enter a bedroom.
Farrow looks up from the hardwood and rolls his eyes into an edging smile. “You just had to carry in the biggest box.”
I drop the heavy thing beside his feet. An instruction manual splays open on the floor, and Farrow clutches a screwdriver, putting together our son’s changing table.
It feels good finally giving Ripley his own room. His own space.
Arkham is curled asleep against Farrow’s leg. Our puppy looks and acts like a brown teddy bear. Sweet and nurturing.
Ripley makes soft noises like, pick me up, from his sailboat-shaped crib. I go over to him and tell Farrow, “I was doing you a favor, man. You’d have struggled with that one.” I lift Ripley up, and he hugs onto my Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt, settling down in my arms.
Farrow’s brows spike. “You’re forgetting who can bench press more.”
We’re equals on that front.
“That’d be me,” I lie.
He grins. “Always trying to beat me. Never succeeding.”
I open my mouth, partially distracted by how Farrow twirls the screwdriver between his fingers—and then Ripley lets out a big yawn and fully distracts us both.
Farrow’s smile expands to repulsively attractive levels. “The little man has spoken. You’re boring him to sleep, wolf scout.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, did we forget how he literally thinks the world has been set on flames while you hold him?”
“No, we remember that.” With the screwdriver, he motions from me to the six-month-old baby. “And we can acknowledge your effect on him.”
“Boring him to sleep? Got it.” I nod. “And while we’re at it, maybe we should recall the day we introduced him to solid food.” Cheerios, to be exact. “I’m pretty sure he spit the cereal back up at you, not me.”
I meant to make a point, but we’re both smiling.
It was a good memory.
“He was laughing,” Farrow says matter-of-factly. Like I left out important details.
“At you.”
He tips his head back and forth, considering for a half second. “Maybe. But I’d rather him laugh than cry.”