Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“We always have this conversation. Our home is under construction and halfway done.”
“And the answer doesn’t change.”
“Yes, but I thought we established that I’m not crazy, and that it isn’t a bad idea.”
Her eyes narrow. “Not once have I ever said marrying you would be a bad idea.”
“But you also haven’t said yes, either.”
“I think I might, one day,” she says, rolling her lips between her teeth to help fight her smile.
“That’s so unfair,” I say, a little angrier than I should probably feel for a man who fully believes everyone should have free will. “You’re playing with my emotions. It’s manipulative, and I—”
“I’m so sorry about that,” Mr. Dobbs says as he walks back into the conference room, his hand on his lower belly.
“Are you okay?” I ask the attorney when I notice just how pale his face looks.
It’s easy to shift gears from the conversation Mila and I were having. We have it so often, I’m left feeling like a nagging brat. Thank God she has the patience of a saint because I think any other woman would have already bolted by now.
“I had sushi last night,” he says, his face scrunching up in distaste.
“In New Mexico?” Mila asks, her face a mask of disgust. “We’re in a land locked state.”
“The guy at the gas station said it was fresh,” Mr. Dobbs argues.
“How would that even be possible? Did you say gas station?”
A shiver racks Mr. Dobbs’s body, and I know there’s a really good chance he’s going to be sick again.
“Should we reschedule?” Mila asks.
Mr. Dobbs shakes his head. “Let’s just get through this. Please accept my apologies for not being well.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being sick,” Mila assures him.
“I’ve gathered the proper paperwork,” he begins.
I clear my throat. The man may be sick, but we’ve had a conversation about this.
I don’t know if he’s just a sorry excuse for an actor, but he looks up at me, the dawning realization as clear as day on his face.
“Yes, right. Of course. I have to say, Ms. Taylor, adopting Luca and Jace would be easier if the two of you have the same last name.”
I clench my jaw in irritation at just how damn obvious he’s being right now.
I continue to look at the attorney even when I feel the burn of Mila’s eyes on the side of my head.
“Is that so?” she asks, awareness in her tone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How is it easier?” she challenges.
The attorney’s eyes dart to mine before he speaks. “It would make the copy and paste function for the forms easier. I wouldn’t have to type out two different last names as often.”
Betrayal strikes me in the gut like the man just wielded a sword and sliced through me with it.
I think he attempts to look apologetic, but I could be mistaking that look with him trying not to puke on the conference room table.
“I apologize, Mr. Dobbs, but I think you may just have to type it out more. I don’t think my last name will be changing anytime soon.”
***
“If you growl one more time, I’m going to call the vet and have you tested for rabies,” Oracle mutters from the other side of the garage. “Maybe if you tell us what your damn problem is instead of throwing shit around, we can help you solve it.”
I spin in his direction. “Solve it? You really think you have any clue about women?”
“I know quite a lot about women,” he says, a salacious grin on his face.
Several of the other guys chuckle.
“She still hasn’t agreed to marry you?” Newton asks.
Another round of chuckles echo through the garage when I just glare at him.
“Have you actually asked her?” Legacy asks.
“Of course,” I snap. “Like a million times.”
“You’ve stood before her and said the words will you marry me?” he challenges. “Or have you grunted commands at her? Told her she was yours like a caveman?”
“She is mine,” I hiss.
“Sorry. I have no idea what I’m talking about,” Legacy says, holding his hands up, the black band on his left hand a slap in the face.
“Some women like to be told instead of asked,” Bishop adds.
“Yes,” Legacy says. “But if Mila hasn’t agreed then it’s clear she isn’t that type.”
“Have you considered a grand gesture?” Boomer interjects.
“You’re going to give me shit about women?” I ask.
Boomer’s smile is wide. “I don’t know much about women, that’s true, but I know a lot about creating the perfect moment that gets a yes.”
The man holds up his hand, a band similar to Legacy’s on his left hand.
“No shit!” Ugly yells. “Drake said yes?”
Boomer nods, his grin wide enough to span the room.
“That’s great, man,” I tell him genuinely.
I’m still working toward the final stages of my happily ever after, but I’d never begrudge anyone else getting theirs.
“When’s the wedding?”