Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
In a forever kind of way.
Like rings and vows and a shared—and very organized—closet.
We'd pretty much been living together since the night we'd left Blake's house. But there hadn't been an official combining of our things yet.
"Well, I am going to get going," Nia declared, unfolding her legs, and getting up from the couch. "I have some work to do at the office."
"Hey, Nia," I called as she collected her things.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever considered working less? Going out? Maybe meeting someone?"
"Oh, babe," she said, snorting. "The only way I am going to meet a man is if he walks his fine ass into my office," she declared, giving me a smile before heading out.
I had a feeling that was exactly what was going to happen for her someday.
"Hey you," I said, raising my brows at the look of complete and utter exasperation on his face as he dramatically dropped his bags down on the ground. "What's the matter?" I asked, climbing off the couch.
"Fucking Bellamy," he declared.
That was a phrase I'd heard often since being brought into their fold.
Fucking Bellamy.
Apparently, the phrase used to be Fucking Fenway. But that particular client had gotten into a lot less trouble since finding a woman to settle down with.
Bellamy, on the other hand, was still hopelessly single with far too much money for his own good, and the strangest ideas of acceptable behavior.
So, it was rare when a week passed without me hearing someone cursing out Bellamy.
"What did he do this time?" I asked.
"The job was done a day ago," Finn told me, shaking his head. "I was supposed to be heading home."
"Uh oh," I said, having a feeling I knew where this was going since Bells had a tendency to, well, drug his friends. "What happened? Did you wake up in Vegas?"
"I woke up in a tattoo chair."
"You did not," I said, smiling huge. "What did he do? Do you have a cock inked on you somewhere?" I asked, barely holding back a smile. "Can I see?"
"It's not that," he said, shaking his head.
"No? What is it then? I want to see!"
To that, Finn nodded, exhaled his breath, then reached down to pull his shirt over his head before turning to show me his back.
Where a big ol' red poppy flower was tattooed on his left shoulder.
"For the record," he said as I moved closer, touching just outside of the area, "I have no problem with the tattoo. Just the fact that I was an unwilling participant in it."
Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss as close as I could get to the tattoo without touching the sensitive skin there.
"You know what?" I asked, running my hand around his side and stomach as I moved in front of him.
"What?"
"I love it," I told him. "And you. And the fact that it is permanent," I added, rushing past the declaration, never super comfortable with the mushy stuff. "You're never going to get rid of me now."
"Thank God," he agreed, wrapping his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my lips.
Finn - 5 years
"He will be fine," I assured Poppy as she fussed with Theo's pacifier. "He's in good hands."
"Says who?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
"It's your mom, Poppy. She raised you."
"I know. And look how that turned out," she declared with a big smile. "I'm just nervous."
We both were.
For various reasons.
First, because we hadn't left Theo alone since we brought him home six months before. Not even when our loved ones practically begged to be allowed to babysit, so Poppy and I could have some alone time.
Second, though, this was a big night for Poppy.
She was having a book signing.
Her publisher had been begging her to do it since her first book came out nearly four years before. She'd done another two since then. And all of them had flown to the tops of the charts. Initially, because Poppy did still have a bunch of fans from her old videos. But the other books did well because Poppy was just a great writer. She'd really made a name for herself in the thriller and mystery genres, using her lifelong obsession with true crime as inspiration.
She'd dedicated that first book to me.
The second, to her mom.
And the third to Nia.
Poppy didn't need to work. I made more than enough working for Quin for us to live comfortably. But she liked having something to do with her day. Though, since Theo was born, she didn't get as much writing done as she used to.
I wasn't sure if she noticed, but I sure did, that the longer she went without writing, the more frequently she got nightmares. Writing was a way for her to purge the ugly feelings out when they crept out. And she'd just lucked out that she had enough skill to make a career out of it.