Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
"Fuck you and your plans, brother," Andreas growls, lifting his head to look at me from his position on the ground. The way he's laid out, you'd think the fucker just ran a marathon.
"Agreed," Hacker grunts, tossing a wrench aside. "No offense, but your plans are fucking terrible."
"I'm pretty goddamn sure all of this was his idea," Cowboy mutters, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler the girls hauled outside an hour ago. He drags the back of his arm across his forehead, cursing beneath his breath. "I'm too old for this shit."
"You're younger than I am." Cash rolls his eyes at Cowboy and then grimaces, twisting like he's trying to work kinks out of his lower back. "I think I broke my ass."
"Aww. Did Hadley spank you too hard last night?" I ask, grinning at him.
Hands cracks a smile, chuckling.
"Man, fuck you." Cash laughs. "I'm serious. I pulled something in my ass trying to wrestle that goddamn slide into place."
"Why the fuck didn't we hire professionals for this shit?" Lynch shields his eyes, looking up at us from a prone position on the ground beside Andreas.
Every single one of my brothers turns to look at him with matching expressions.
"Motherfucker, you are a professional." I kick his boot. "At least that's what you've been trying to tell us for the last two decades."
He scowls at me. "Not even a goddamn engineer is qualified to build your Wish version of a playground, Giant."
"He's not wrong," Angel mutters.
Fifth snorts his agreement, leaning back against a shade tree with his eyes closed.
"First of all, fuckers," I growl, "this shit didn't come from Wish. It's state-of-the-art." There's not a chance in hell I'd risk my girls' safety on anything less than the absolute best equipment on the market. My girls are worth every damn penny I spent, too. "Second, if you'd quit bitching for two minutes, I said I have a plan."
"Hurry up with it then," Bender growls. "If I sweat anymore, my goddamn balls are going to chafe."
"We send our wives shopping and call reinforcements," I mutter, nodding to the group of women lined up in lounge chairs on the far side of the yard. As soon as they heard we were going to be building things, they suddenly all decided they needed tans. Never mind the fact that Bella hasn't tanned in the entire six years we've been married.
I'm almost positive none of the others have either. They're here to watch the show. Not that they're getting much of one at this point. It's one-hundred damn degrees out, and building an entire playground for the kids is a goddamn nightmare.
We're all too old for this shit. Luckily, we have friends and an entire crop of brothers who aren't here today. And those friends and brothers owe us favors. There's no labor like free labor.
"I take back everything I said," Andreas mutters. "Your plan is golden."
"What's that?" I cup my hand around my ear. "I didn't quite catch that."
"He said you aren't nearly as idiotic as that big ass head makes you look," Hands says, grinning at me.
I laugh, flipping him the bird.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, followed by, "Hey, Tiny!"
I lift my gaze, glancing toward the row of loungers on the far side of the yard to find my wife standing a few feet in front of hers, her hands planted on her wide hips.
"Less talking! More sweating!" she shouts. "You're ruining our view."
A ripple of laughter moves through the row of loungers.
"We want to see muscles!" Catriona shouts.
"And sweat!" cries Hadley.
I glance at my brothers to find them glancing at each other, matching looks on their faces. We don't discuss it. We don't say anything. Everyone jumps up with renewed purpose, leaving our tools where they lay.
I stalk toward Mischief, rapidly closing the distance between us.
"What are you doing?" she asks warily.
"Giving you what you asked for," I say conversationally. "What was it again?"
"I don't remember," she lies, inching backward as if she has a shot in hell of getting away from me. She's been trying to outrun me for six years, and it hasn't worked yet. I always catch her little ass. And she always loves it when I do.
Life with her and our twin daughters is a goddamn adventure. The most incredible, beautiful adventure I've ever experienced. And somehow, she keeps finding ways to make it better.
I don't merely love this woman. I idolize her. She’s not simply the center of my universe. She's every damn corner of it. I'm not just happy with her. I'm fucking ecstatic. Every day, I know joy. I know bliss. I know my purpose.
"Ah, yes," I say. "It was muscles. And sweat."
"Tiny," she says, a warning in her voice. I don't heed it. Of course I don't.
She feints left, and I break right, catching her before she even makes it two steps. I haul her into my arms, being mindful of her pregnant belly, and then shove my face into hers.