Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Next to me, Tess is already sleeping.
My lids slide closed.
So tired.
But maybe I should have asked her again what’s wrong.
’Cause I know it’s something.
Behind my sleepy eyes, I see her smiling at me. Her ass in those jean shorts at the miniature golf course, her boobs in that dress she had on at the honky-tonk…
She has me on the dance floor, our feet moving, bodies pressed together. Laughing. Steps into me, wearing only that skimpy silk top and that thong, ass on display, an invitation for my palms…
Tess has her hands on my shoulders. Those move, too, until they’re behind my head, nails lightly scratching the back of my neck as she kisses me.
I pull her closer, still.
Fingers flirting with the hem of her thin camisole or tank top or whatever this excuse for a shirt is, the fabric as silky as her skin, and I run my hands beneath it—tentatively at first.
It doesn’t take long for the tips of my fingers to brush the underside of her tits. Trail along her smooth flesh. Thumbs grazing.
Then.
My hands are covering her tits.
They fill my palms perfectly, just as I’d imagined those few times I’d imagined what they look like, feel like, taste like. Damn, it’s been an age since I’ve felt boobs—and all the reasons I had tried to date with intention last year rush back, sex being one of them.
Sex.
Affection.
Physical touch.
All the same thing, basically, marketed differently.
I groan when her nails scratch my scalp. Fuck that feels good…
She groans when I pinch her nipple, and now I want to see what her boobs look like, reaching to lift the hem of her barely-there shirt over her head.
Damn.
The view does not disappoint, and neither does the weight of her breasts in my hands.
For real.
Best tits ever.
“My least favorite position is missionary…” she whispers, pushing her hands into my chest as she rides me, loving it on top. “You better be careful, or you’ll get me pregnant.”
Get me pregnant.
That I can do.
My fingers trace gentle circles on her belly, and I’m filled with a sense of protectiveness and affection, especially after she brought up all the “safety in the end zone” stuff.
This isn’t just about Tess and me anymore – it’s about the life that’s taking shape, the tiny heartbeat that echoes within her.
It’s a responsibility and a gift and a connection that goes beyond anything I’ve ever known.
As I continue to touch her baby bump, Tess’s hand covers mine, her touch warm and reassuring. Our eyes meet, and at that moment, it’s as if all the complications and uncertainties fade away.
There’s a sense of unity between us, a shared understanding that we’re in this together, no matter what lies ahead.
Drake’s laughter rings in the background because he hates it when I talk like that. He thinks it stupid and corny, and it makes him uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Tess lost the baby.”
“Lost it?” He sounds confused.
“I didn’t even know I wanted to be a father until she told me. I didn’t know,” I repeat. “I didn’t know, Drake.”
I swear to god, tears come from my eyes. I haven’t cried in years. Years. Actual years.
When was the last time I cried? When was it?
I hurt myself, breaking my leg in several places, and my dad had been so fucking pissed as if it were my fault and not something out of my control. I couldn’t help it that the linebacker had smashed into me. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t see him coming.
The tears run down my cheeks.
I toss.
I turn.
Reach for Tess but she’s not there.
“This is my childhood friend…”
Child.
Our child that’s no longer there. Why am I just thinking about this now? What took me so long?
Because you were only thinking of yourself and not her, and now she’s being distant. You fucked it up. Grady was right, you don’t deserve her, and you shouldn’t have touched her.
I should have left her alone.
“That kiss is going to cost you two thousand dollars.”
If she wanted you, she would have told you.
“Thanks to you, we have no more money left. You should have kept your dick in your pants, asshole! That was twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Jerk.
Fool.
“I’m sorry…”
I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry.”
“Drew, wake up. Babe, wake up.”
My shoulders are being shaken, and I hear Tess’s voice. She sounds tired and confused—but mostly, she sounds awake. Concerned.
“Hmm?”
“You were having a dream.”
I turn to face her, blinking myself awake.
“Did you call me babe?”
Tess pulls away from me so she’s not up in my face, laughing in the dark. “You’re dead ass asleep, and you hear me call you babe?”
“I hear what I hear.”
“It just slipped out,” she murmurs. “Sorry.”
I roll closer, putting my hand on her waist. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”
Babe.
I’ve always been jealous of my dumb brothers and their stupid endearments, having to listen to them call their girlfriends sweetie and babe and bae—and now I have her calling me by a pet name?