Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
In the meantime, Lane and I had no problems going between his condo and my house, as long as we spent our nights together.
We were a package deal now.
Macklin and Lane eventually returned to us, and I managed to crack my eyes open to give the carts a once-over. It was a lot of food. They compared their shopping lists and double-checked they had everything. From toilet paper and organic soap—we didn’t wanna pollute the ocean when we did the dishes or cleaned ourselves up—to a metric fuck-ton of water, more food, snacks, soda…
It was gonna be a fantastic two weeks on the water.
Walker and I had talked all winter about bringing his boat down to my place in Florida, and then we’d found out that neither of us had too much planned for the month of March. So we were leaving DC in two days.
“Ty, how many bags of Tostitos do you think you’ll need?” Lane asked. “I just wanna make sure I got enough.”
I yawned. “Fourteen.”
“Okay, then. The three bags I grabbed are fine.”
I tilted my face toward Walker. “He just doesn’t listen to me anymore.”
Walker rumbled a sleepy laugh and threaded his fingers with mine. “You poor brat.”
Hell, I could probably propose to Lane right here, and he’d go, “Yes, yes, it’s sunny today.”
But I didn’t wanna be the guy who popped the question at Costco. This Florida Man had standards. I was gonna make him say yes when we were on the boat and he had nowhere else to go.
“Okay, this is everything,” Macklin said firmly. “Master, do I need another cooktop? The stove on the boat is great for two people, but they have an electric one here for—”
“We have the grill too, love.”
“That’s true.” Macklin decided against another cooktop, and hopefully that was that. Could we get hot dogs now? “So, Ty…Lane mentioned something about you thinking you had a coffee stain on your T-shirt this morning…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I bitched. Really? Fucking really? I stared at my boy, the goddamn traitor, while he shook with silent laughter.
“And you licked it,” Macklin prodded.
“Oh no.” Great. Now Walker cracked up too.
Macklin’s eyes positively danced with amusement. “But that brown stain wasn’t coffee, was it?”
That was it. I was out of here. I got out of the wonderful massage chair with a grunt, and I gave them all a glare before I started pushing one of the carts toward the registers. I should throw them overboard once we reached open waters.
Maybe not Lane. I could keep him around if I gagged him. Because when he wasn’t poking fun at me, he made me feel like a damn king. A Swamp King was still a king. Boy, had he spoiled me rotten this last year. It was his fucking fault I’d spent this month looking at rings. He’d changed everything for me. And Macklin had been right. Lane had put so much effort into leaving old habits behind—the habits that had alienated him from attachments and whatever. He showed me every day he was grateful that I’d pushed him.
But right now? Fuck the little terror.
He caught up with me, struggling to put a lid on his mirth, and linked his arm with mine. “Hi, Daddy.”
“I’m not talkin’ to you right now.”
I was gonna milk this for all I was worth. The rewards were endless.
I could probably blame my ma too. She’d shared too many embarrassing stories about me. Every time we saw her, she’d bring out a photo album and pat the spot next to her for Lane.
Come to think of it, his parents were nicer to me. They fucking adored me—and Lane’s baby sister had called me the funniest guy ever over Christmas.
Standing there in line, Lane ducked under my arm and trapped himself between me and the cart, and he looked up at me and locked his arms around my neck.
“Are you cranky because you know I will make you that ganache filling and rub your feet?”
I scoffed and looked over his head. “No.”
Maybe.
He reached up and pressed a lingering kiss to my jaw. “Does Daddy need a little tendin’ to when we get home?”
Fuck.
I swallowed and wondered where the fuck my resolve had gone off to. I was usually better at sticking to my guns.
“He is a little wounded,” I muttered.
“Of course he is, when the whole world is against him.”
Exactly. The whole world.
I made the fatal mistake of kissing him, and everything just went sideways from there. He whispered in my ear that he was gonna take care of me all night, get rid of that tension in Daddy’s shoulders, cook me a nice meal, and worship every inch of my body.
Goddamn him.
I was not gonna be the man who proposed at Costco.
I fucking refused. I could hold out a few more days.