Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
He flashes a slightly insecure smile that he tries to hide behind planting a kiss on the hand he lifts to his lips. “How would you like your actual gift now?”
“Wasn’t that breakfast?”
His expression grows sardonic. “You really fucking think that’s all I got you?”
“I thought that and taking the day off to come celebrate with my family was it.” Concern creeps itself up my robe-covered spine. “I told you I didn’t need anything else, Ry. You missing a full day of work is costly enough.”
And fighting about it was fucking stressful enough.
“It’s nothing huge,” he starts at the same time he gets up from his seat. “Definitely not a trip to the fucking Hamptons.”
Wordlessly, I watch him retrieve the little wrapped box from the coat closet near the living room.
I wanna be pissed.
I wanna scream and yell and command that he returns it to get the money back so he can use it for gas or groceries, but the joy pumping through his expression defeats the urges.
Forces me to surrender.
To let him have a win after a shitty couple of days.
“Happy birthday, Pres.” He stretches the square package out towards me. “One day, fuck, someday, I swear I’ll stop getting you shitty little gifts.”
The zebra choice of wrapping paper alone warrants a smile. “It isn’t about the size, Ry. It’s about the thought.”
“Women say the same shit about men in bed and don’t mean it there, either.”
Snickers are swiftly followed by me attempting to object again.
“Just open it,” he encourages while continuing to stand.
Pulling over the covering takes minimal effort. The sight of the shoebox has me immediately lifting my narrowed gaze, “Ryder Collins you did not take back your new work shoes to buy me a fucking gift.”
“Why would I take back the shoes but keep the box?”
His question causes me to frown at the valid point.
“Stop overthinking the shit, and open it, Pres.”
I quickly lift the lid to reveal an unexpected object I’m unsure of how to respond to. This time when my eyes find his, I ask, “Is this…is this a weird sex thing?”
“That’s a pet leash,” he impishly laughs, “and not the kind for sex.”
“There are sex leashes?!”
“There are, but that’s a different topic, for a different day,” my boyfriend promptly brushes off. “This leash is for a dog.”
Tilting my head in confusion is mindlessly done.
“You’ve talked about wanting a dog numerous times over these past couple of months. Your main hang up about it is being worried you won’t have time to properly care for it, but I’m here to tell you that we can do it together. I’m willing and happy to help walk the dog. Wash the dog. Vet visits. Buy food or treats. Take it to training on my days. Whatever it needs, however it’ll help you have this, I’m up for.”
My jaw slightly lowers in surprise.
“Whenever you’re ready for it.”
The words come out a little quieter than anticipated. “You want us to get a dog?”
“If you want this to be an us thing, baby, I’m in. If you want this to be a you thing, I just help with, I’m still fucking in.” He gets a somewhat bashful, goofy grin. “Just want you to finally have something I know you’ve been wanting.”
Warmth overwhelms my system, and I can’t stop from launching myself into his arms for a hug.
Both of his arm squeeze tightly on another whispered, “Happy birthday, baby.”
Speechlessness gets me once more and rather than be annoyed by it, I simply embrace the moment.
Get lost in his love.
Who the fuck needs big, expensive shit when having someone go out of their way to show you that they not only listen when you talk, but only want for you what you want for you is so much better?
After making love on the kitchen floor due to all of the high emotions flooding my veins, we do the dishes together, shower together – again – and toss on loungewear to go visit a local animal shelter.
The entire adventure is so exciting.
A little too exciting considering I want to adopt all of the animals I come across.
We spend about an hour playing and another thirty minutes taking a future pet owners class required by the shelter in order to possibly adopt. Our drive back to my place is used to discuss who we think we bonded with best as a couple because ultimately it will be our dog.
As husband and wife.
Mother and father.
And possibly even grandmother and grandfather.
The discussion, which I’m grateful it is versus just a decision being made, only ceases when it’s time for us to get ready for my family birthday party. While we usually just do a low-key dinner – out or at home, always my choice – this year my mom wanted to do more. Possibly because it’ll be my niece’s first family birthday or more likely because I’m bringing my new boyfriend over.