Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
It’s not uncommon. Some days Ignacio has to head into work early, and I miss the brush of his lips across my forehead because he knows I’m a grump when my eyes open before the sun is shining outside.
I’ve done it dozens of times since we moved in with him.
Today was different.
Today I climbed out of bed wondering if he was coming back, if it was all a dream.
Today has been hard, even with the text updates I got from Ignacio letting me know how Alex’s Saturday practice was going, even with the phone call and hearing his voice when he wanted to know if I’d eaten because he was grabbing food.
Everything says we’re okay, that we’re happy and making amazing plans for our future, but that doubt was still able to crawl inside of me, turning my entire day sour.
“I told him not to,” Ignacio says as he finds me in the kitchen, my hands buried in soapy dish water. “But he ate half of your spring roll.”
He presses a kiss to my cheek, waiting until I turn my head for him to kiss my lips. It’s not a sweet innocent kiss. It’s one with promise, and sex is something we’re good at. I never have doubts when he’s inside of me, but we have a son, so staying in bed and showing his love that way isn’t always possible. I see his dedication in his work, in the way he takes care of Alex, the way he always needs to be close and touch me when he’s here.
I sigh, stuck in my head, begging my brain not to sabotage the good things I have here.
“What’s wrong,” he whispers, his palm cupping my jaw when I try to move my head away. “Stuck in your head again?”
I hate that he can read me so well, that he can tell when worry begins to form.
He kisses me again, and those worries once again begin to fade.
“Aww, really? Come on guys!”
Ignacio smiles against my mouth, unwilling to break the kiss even when his son is complaining.
“Go in the other room if you don’t want to see me kissing her,” he says, his eyes lighting up with humor.
Alex grumbles some more, but he leaves us alone in the kitchen.
“I hated waking up without you this morning,” I confess, because the first time I got like this, he made me promise to be open about it.
“I’ll wake you up tomorrow with my mouth between your legs,” he promises.
And just that easily things are right in my world again. Not because of the promise of sexual favors—although amazing—but because he knows exactly what it takes to get my mind back on track.
“Anna texted me again today,” I tell him.
I know he heard me even though he’s focused on trailing kisses down my neck.
“She’s still hounding me about going out.”
“Yeah?” Another kiss forces me to tilt my head. “I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up demanding you to go with her.”
“She threatened it this time.”
“You should go.”
“She wants to go out tonight.”
“You should go,” he repeats, his face pulling back so he can look at me.
“I’m a mom.”
“And she’s very pregnant. You should go, have a good time.”
“I’m a mom.”
“Moms get to have fun, too. Alex and I will be fine here, unless you really want to hang out and watch the game with us.”
Ugh. No, thanks. I love watching my son play, but other than that, I could leave sports altogether.
“I hate that you never got to go out and have fun because you were always busy raising our son, but I want you to go.”
“You want me to come home half-drunk, so I’ll finally agree to do that thing you want.”
A mischievous smile spreads across his face as his eyebrows waggle up and down.
I slap a wet soapy hand against his chest, but he doesn’t seem to care as he pulls me closer. “Stop. Never going to happen.”
“Tell me you’ll go.”
“I’ll go,” I agree.
“Tell me you won’t be worrying about us or feeling guilty for having fun.”
That’s a whole other ball of wax. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl.” He kisses me again, one hand at my back, the other gripping my ass as he crushes me against his chest.
“Jesus! Guys! That’s inappropriate!”
Ignacio pulls away as we both turn our heads to look at Alex. The kid has one hand over his eyes, trash from the meal he just ate in his other hand.
“Always dramatic. Is this what we have to look forward to now that you’re a teenager?”
His birthday was last week, and the kid thinks he’s grown. I’m glad it’s two against him now, because I would’ve already lost my sanity with the things that have been coming out of his mouth lately.
“You’re always kissing,” he grumbles.
“You’re always sneaking up on us,” his dad argues.