Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Ethan ends the argument by pointing out that the damn bird is done and could we please just eat it now?
“You’ll see,” Gray promises as he carries out a golden-brown turkey worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting. “Simple butter basting produces a superior-tasting bird.”
“A dry bird,” Anna retorts.
Despite their bickering, we’re all looking forward to our meal as we sit down at the table—one of the first pieces created in my new workshop. Made of reclaimed cypress wood, it’s wide and long enough to seat twelve. With six of us here, we have room to spread out, which is good since the table is laden with food.
Football players eat. A lot. But I’m not complaining. Especially when I have Ethan’s big, strong body to play with on a daily basis.
I watch him as he leans over to light the candles. He’s dressed in jeans and a dusky blue button-down that hugs his broad chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, exposing the colorful tats on his forearms. Those arms can toss around tractor tires without breaking a sweat and hold me as gently as if I’m made of blown glass.
A beard—not as full as it used to be but no less sexy—shadows his jaw. His hair is growing out too, still super short on the sides and sticking up in thick, dark brown spikes at the top.
He’s so damn hot, he leaves me breathless every time I look at him. I honestly don’t know how I didn’t jump on him at that first Christmas party.
Catching my gaze, he winks and sits at my side. One hand slips under the table to settle warmly on my knee while the other lifts his wineglass high.
At his salute, we all pick up our glasses. “So then,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”
Even though it’s technically Christmas Eve, we all toast.
Gray sets his glass down. “Shouldn’t Fi be saying, ‘And God bless us, every one’?”
“Are you implying I’m Tiny Tim in this scenario, dickface?”
“Dickface?” Gray gives an expression of mock outrage. “If I didn’t happen to have an awesome dick, I might be offended.”
“So you’re saying you’re on board with your face resembling your dick?” Drew asks with a laugh.
“I’m saying that if my face has to resemble a dick, it might as well be the stunning sight that is my own,” Gray retorts with a waggle of his brows.
I lean in. “If you want to talk about stunning dicks—”
“No!” everyone shouts again.
I shrug and hide my smile as I take a sip of wine.
“I’m so glad sausage is on the menu,” Ethan deadpans before slicing into his banger.
Drew and Gray wince, but Anna, Ivy and I laugh.
Happiness is infectious and fills me with warmth. I’m no longer that restless girl I’d been for so long. I’d finally found my place. I give Ethan’s shoulder a kiss, and he winks at me as if he knows exactly how I feel.
Much later, it’s just me and Ethan, kneeling on our big bed, the golden glow of lamplight casting shadows over his bold features. With infinite tenderness, he cradles the sides of my neck as he slowly peppers my face with kisses. His soft lips and prickly beard send little tickles along my skin, and I sigh, leaning into his touch.
His voice is a low rumble. “So your stance on beards is . . . ?”
I smile, remembering how he first got me to kiss him. “Total fangirl. You might even call me a groupie.”
He grins against the corner of my mouth before giving my upper lip a little suck. “And football players?”
“I’m completely gone on one in particular.”
He hums in approval. “Good thing. He loves you, heart and soul.”
This time, I capture his lips and kiss him with enough heat that his chest hitches. I smile at that. “I love you too.”
Warm breath gusts along my mouth as he speaks again. “Tell me,” he murmurs, still mapping my face with kisses, “what’s your stance on marriage?”
My heart stops, and I utter a small gasp. Ethan pulls away just enough to meet my eyes. He looks at me with that solemn, steady gaze I’ve come to love so much—the one that sees my soul and wants to keep it in his care.
Tears clog my throat, make my voice thick, but my lips quiver with a smile. “Is this your way of getting me to marry you?” I tease, even as my heart pounds against my ribs.
His thumbs stroke my cheeks as his quiet eyes stare into mine. “Will you?”
I laugh, the sound getting caught on a gurgle of happy tears. “Yes, Ethan Dexter. Hell fucking yes.” I launch myself into his arms.
Laughing, he falls back on the bed, taking me with him. “Hold up,” he says as I cover his face with kisses. “You didn’t let me give you the ring.”