Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
It only took her a second to get what I was up to. By the time August passed through the open door, I was leaning against the headboard, knees cocked up, the blankets hiding any hint of my body's true interest. Scarlett sat beside me, her breathing only a little uneven, a welcoming smile curving her swollen lips.
"You just wake up, Gus?" Her voice was husky, but August didn't notice.
"Uh-huh." He made his way around the bed and climbed in, tucking himself into Scarlett's side, his head on her breast. I tried not to be jealous. "Cartoons?" he asked, angling his neck to meet his mother's eyes.
"Um, sure—" Scarlett looked to me, eyes wide.
I did the only thing that made sense. Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the TV and found the kids’ channel August and Nicky had been watching the day before. A show with an Aussie dog came on. "This one good, August?"
His eyes slowly came fully open. Throwing one arm across Scarlett's belly, he relaxed completely before giving me a slow nod. "This is my favorite."
"I figured that," I said, remembering how he'd bounced on the couch when the show had come on before. Setting the remote back on the bedside table, I murmured, "Guess we're watching cartoons."
"Sorry," she said back, looking as if she actually was sorry. Very sorry.
I wasn't sure that I was. Sorry, that is. I mean, in one sense, I was very, very sorry. My cock agreed. And in another sense, I wasn't sorry at all. Sitting up a little, I slung one arm around Scarlett, pulling both of them closer. August tipped his head up a little and smiled at me before looking back at his show. Scarlett made a questioning sound.
"Not the right time, anyway."
With a glance down at the blond head on her chest, Scarlett agreed. "Definitely not."
"Eventually, it's going to be the right time, Scarlett."
Her eyes flashed up to mine, wide and alarmed, anticipation warring with denial. "Tenn—"
I shook my head. "Don't even try that. It's going to happen. Not last night. Not right now. But eventually. It's going to happen."
To her credit, Scarlett pressed her lips in a tight line but didn't try to argue. She knew it as well as I did. It was going to happen. Just not right now. And it was beyond weird how okay I was with that. Having her in my bed, cuddled up on a lazy morning while we watched cartoons was something… I didn't know what it was or why I wanted it. I just knew that I didn't resent August for interrupting us. I liked seeing him there, relaxed and happy, at home where he was. At home with me.
I don't think a single one of my siblings experienced anything like this when we were August's age. I knew I sure as hell hadn't. My mother had been long gone by the time I was eight. Darcy, my stepmother, had been full of love, but early morning cuddles were not something Prentice would allow. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd been in his rooms. His bed? Never. Prentice Sawyer was not a cuddler.
I hadn't put much thought into kids outside of a vague idea that I might like to have a few one day. I'd never envisioned this exact scene or what those kids would look like. Now that I was here, I realized it was this. Being together. Relaxed. Curled up in bed with nowhere to be, watching some cartoons.
Scarlett's hand moved over August's back in an unconscious gesture I'd bet she'd repeated endless times over the years. Her head tipped to the side, resting on my shoulder, the swell of her breast pillowing into me, her hair silk against my arm.
I grabbed my tablet off the bedside table and pulled up a news site. Angling it her way, I hovered a finger over a headline. Scarlett's eyes narrowed. I went to another. The sides of her lips curved up, and I clicked. We read at about the same pace. When we finished the first article, she stopped rubbing August's back long enough to reach out and choose the next. I clicked the one after that. We kept on like that, the sounds of the TV washing over us, reading while August watched the TV until his stomach got the better of him.
Sitting up, hair tousled but eyes bright, he said, "Pancakes?"
I grinned at his hopeful expression. "It's Sunday morning. That usually means something better than pancakes."
Hope turned to doubt. "What's better than pancakes?"
"Belgian waffles. With strawberries and whipped cream."
August threw himself off the side of the bed and went tearing around the rooms, arms waving overhead, shouting, "Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!"
Scarlett shook her head at me. "Now you've got him going. He loves the waffles song. And waffles."