Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
It isn’t long before the conversation switches back to the baby, and I take the opportunity to get back in Emory’s good graces. Hudson is still in a doting Quince’s arms, but I address Emory directly. “Can I hold her?”
Emory nods at Quincy, and I jog over into the corner to put some sanitizer on my hands. Quincy is waiting when I get back and doesn’t hesitate to make the transfer as I hold out my arms.
Hudson sighs the sweetest little baby sigh as I arrange her in my arms and pull the tiny warmth of her body into my chest.
God. How can something so tiny make my heart feel so big?
Like it’s programmed to do it, my body develops a small bounce and sway as I stare down at her gorgeous face.
There’s a whole story—a whole goddamn world of events—that led up to the creation of this perfect human being, and the cosmic power of it all makes my chest squeeze.
I glance up at Emory and Quince and then back down at the baby. This moment feels so acutely destined.
I’ve never focused on fate. Hell, I’ve never even focused on love.
But ten minutes of holding the result of human connection has me wondering what the world could have in store for me.
Hudson gets a little fussy, waking from her slumber and turning her lips down in disquiet. Quincy jumps to take her back, and Greer informs us it’s time for everyone to exit the room. “Okay, it’s time for you bastards to get out of here. Emory needs to get her tits out.”
“Jesus Christ,” Emory mutters. “Stop saying that, G.”
“Fine. Emory has to get her boobs out.”
Emory rolls her eyes. “I have to breastfeed.”
I grin and step forward to give Em a kiss on the forehead. “Congratulations, cuz. I’m so happy for you.”
She smiles. “Thanks, Milo.”
With my congratulations officially given, Cap and I are the first ones to leave the room and head down the hall, back out the special doors, and over toward the elevators.
“Where are you headed now?” he asks.
“Back to work.”
He groans and taps the down button for the elevator. “That’s fucking boring.”
I laugh as the elevator arrives, and we step on.
“Is Evan really getting married?” he asks, and something about the tone he uses makes me tilt my head and meet his eyes as the doors close shut.
“Yeah.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
I search his eyes. “I mean, he’s been engaged for nearly a year. Seems like the natural next step.”
“First, Quince. Now, Evan and Trent.” Cap sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Goddamn everyone’s dropping like flies.”
I laugh at that. “Well, if that isn’t the worst way I’ve ever heard anyone describe marriage…”
“You know it’s true, dude. Marriage. Babies. Shit is going down within our friend circle.”
“Aw,” I tease. “You feeling left out, sweetheart?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Cap retorts on a chuckle. The hall from the elevator to the lobby is surprisingly empty, and in a weird way, it makes his words seem even more dramatic, like I’ve found myself a party to an after-school special. “I’m terrified…for them.”
“Oh…” I pause, and a smirk makes itself known on my lips. “So, you’re just scared for them. Not scared in general? Or projecting your commitment fears on to them? Of course, that makes total sense.”
“You bet your ass, it does,” he says without a second thought. “I don’t have any fears of commitment. I just prefer not to commit.”
“So, this is more of an altruistic kind of concern you’re harboring, then.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
“If that isn’t a good friend, I don’t know what is,” I tease, and he rolls his eyes.
“You know, I almost forgot how much of a fucking smartass you are.”
Truthfully, I’m just getting warmed up. His remarks have given me so much ammunition. But luckily for him, my phone pings three times in quick succession from inside my jacket pocket before I can give him any more shit. I pull it out to check the screen.
Maybe: Great day, dear gentleman.
Maybe: Are you there, good sir?
Maybe: I appropriate your time and constipation in this matter.
What in the ever-loving hell is happening right now?
Why is Maybe texting me? Did Evan give her my number too?
And what the hell is she talking about?
Before I can even try to decode the messages, another one comes through.
Maybe: I may be but a mere innocent maiden, but I have desires that flow deeper than deep. I want to jump in your pool water and float on your big noodle raft.
And another.
Maybe: I have a delicate, desiring request to ask of you, good gentle sir.
And then, she drops a fucking bomb.
Maybe: Deflower me, please?
“What the hell?” I question out loud before I can stop myself. Cap’s overly curious gaze moves to my phone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I shake my head at the same time. I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of it, but impressive article in Forbes and billion-dollar company or not, I’m coming up blank.