Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I dropped my lease the next day and Zilla and I moved in with him the following one.
We got married at his parents’ place, right under the tree that apparently he’d broken his arm falling out of.
Which led to me here, now.
“Wedding vows should include ‘do you promise to help him find his stuff that’s right in front of him,’” I grumbled to no one in particular. “Because lord knows you’ll be doing that forever.”
“What was that, baby?” Quincy called from the other room.
Garrett, who’d dropped by this morning on his way in to work, snickered from his spot at my counter. I shot him a quelling look.
“You,” I pointed at him. “Shut it.”
Garrett held up his hands and said, “I’m not saying a word.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Sure, you’re not.”
His smile was small, but there.
Jesus, these Carter men knew the way to my heart.
Walking past him, I pushed on his hand, forcing it into the syrup on his plate, causing him to curse.
“Hey, what was that for?” he whined.
I tossed him a look over my shoulder as I headed in the direction of my husband.
“You know what that was for,” I tossed back.
He laughed, and I found Quincy in our bedroom, on his knees, looking under the bed.
“Why would it be there?” I asked him curiously.
“Because I slept with it under my pillow… I thought,” he hesitated.
I groaned, then started looking in all the obvious places, starting with the kitchen counter that was littered with food from our breakfast—a breakfast in which Garrett was still enjoying despite it being cold.
Quincy had known he was coming, and asked me to cook extra.
“Hey,” I called to Garrett. “Is Quincy’s gun in there?”
“Yeah!” he called out.
I walked into the kitchen, picked it up, and was just about to head toward Quincy when Garrett’s syrup covered fingers went to my forehead and pressed.
“Hey!” I cried out.
My shout had Quincy exiting the bedroom to see what all the fuss was about.
Which happened to be me smacking Garrett on the shoulder.
“Hey, be nice to my ex-girlfriend,” Quincy ordered.
I punched him in the kidney when he stopped next to me to grab his gun from my hand. “Stop referring to me as that!”
He holstered his gun and winked.
“Well, technically, you are his ex-girlfriend. I mean, you’re no longer his girlfriend, you’re his wife,” Garrett pointed out.
I pointed at him, getting right up in his face. “You’re not helping.”
He took a bite of toast and stared at me with a grin on his face.
“Gotta go, baby,” he said as he leaned down.
But instead of the kiss I thought I was getting, he licked the syrup off my forehead.
“Gross,” I grumbled as I couldn’t help but smile.
He winked, dropped a kiss to my lips, and was out the door.
“I gotta go, too.” Garrett sighed. “You got a ride to Home Depot, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Father.”
All the Carter men treated me like I was their little sister, which, I guess, I kind of sort of loved.
But they’d gotten worse over the last few months when I’d started to get huge and unwieldy with Quincy and my first child.
“Tay’s got me… he’s here,” I said as I saw the flash of my old Corolla pull into the driveway.
A year ago, Quincy had gone out to buy me a new Tahoe. The old Corolla had gone to Tay, who had done a lot of work to get back into my good graces again.
Tay got out, and he was smiling as he saw Garrett and I exit my house.
“You ready?” Tay asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” I patted my belly, hefted my purse, and then rolled my eyes as Garrett caught my arm and helped me down the porch steps.
“Thanks, G,” I said with a smile.
He winked and headed to his own place, which was just down the road from ours.
I dropped into the car, which took a little more effort than it used to and waited for my brother to be my chauffeur.
He obliged me and took me to the hardware store where my tree was waiting for me.
“There’s no way that’s gonna fit in the car,” he said as he saw how huge the box was.
“The roof,” I suggested. “We have a luggage rack.”
He grimaced just as the man who’d brought the tree out for me interrupted.
“Will you be putting that up yourself?” the worried looking man asked.
I was just about to answer when a grumble from beside me sounded. “No, you sick fuck. It’s going in her living room. Not her ass!”
There was a long, silent pause and then I said, between an explosion of laughter, “Tay, darling. I think he was worried I’d try to put the tree up by myself while being eleven and a third months’ pregnant.”
“You’re not eleven months pregnant,” Tay muttered. “You’re nine months pregnant.”