Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I tease, reaching for his cock as I turn to face him.
He swats my hand away with a stern look that makes me laugh. I’m beginning to suspect I’m high on post-photo shoot adrenaline and orgasms when he mutters, “I had no idea pregnant women were this horny,” and I catch a major case of the giggles.
“Me, either.” I snicker as he works the shampoo into my hair. “I was fine until you showed up. It’s all your fault.”
“My fault?” He tsks. “Hardly. I’m an innocent bystander.”
“Is that why you’re getting hard again?” I tease, making another play for his peen.
He shifts away. “Back, foul temptress. I’m trying to wash your hair.”
That’s it, the “foul temptress” straw that breaks the giggle camel’s back. I laugh even harder, until I’m afraid I’m going to do myself—or Bean—damage, or at least pull a muscle. I try to pull it together as I take over washing my hair, but it’s not easy.
Everything is funny. Everything is sparkly and silly and right.
Those happy love songs weren’t lying. Love really can be like a perfect summer day, like rainbows and butterflies. Like ice cream.
“Your love is like ice cream,” I say when I finally stop giggling, resting a hand on Blue’s arm as he washes the soap from his chest. “Delicious and perfect, and I could eat an entire bathtub of it and never get enough.”
He glances down at me, his eyes warm and bright. “You should write a song about that. Love like ice cream.”
“Too late. Sarah McLachlan already did, but it’s a good one. I’ll play it for you on the way to dinner.”
“I’d love that. And Bea?”
“Yes?”
“This was a good day,” he says. “One of the best days I’ve ever had.”
I nod, the back of my nose stinging, as I agree, “Yeah. Me, too.”
It’s a perfect moment, one of the most perfect moments of my entire life.
And then, like a wake-up call from the land of not-so-perfect moments, a familiar feminine voice calls from the other room, “Bea? Are you still here? We came by to take you to dinner.”
A beat later, an even more familiar male voice murmurs, “Sounds like she’s in the shower,” and I go deer-in-the-headlights still, my eyes flying wide.
I glance up at Blue, who also looks like he’s just been slapped in the face by a freezing cold dose of reality.
“It’s Baylor,” I hiss. “Baylor and Charlotte!”
Panic sets in, making my pulse gallop and my mouth fill with a sour taste that stings across my tongue. Cursing, Blue lunges for the faucet, killing the water before snatching a towel from the closest rack and tossing it my way.
“Just give me a second!” I yell, my voice cracking with forced cheerfulness as I wrap the towel around me and step out onto the mat. “I’m almost done!”
Meanwhile, Blue is still moving fast. He pops past me to grab another towel from a rack farther along the wall, but his heel skids on the steam-slicked floor. He lets out a grunt of surprise as he lurches sideways, his shoulder hitting the wall with a thud that shakes the flowers in their vases by the sink. He tries to right himself, only to slip again, this time hitting with an even harder, thud-duh-dung that makes me wince.
“Bea?” Charlotte’s voice is sharp with worry. “Are you all right? Did you fall?”
Before I can reply, the door handle turns.
Of course, it does. Charlotte is a sweetheart helper human, who thinks a pregnant lady just took a tumble getting out of the shower. I get it, I do. Still, a slasher movie soundtrack screeches in my head as I watch the handle dip and Char peek in, her expression tight with concern.
“Are you okay? That sounded—” She breaks off, her jaw dropping as she sees what’s waiting for her on the other side of the door.
I stand just in front of the shower, clutching a towel to my chest, my hair dripping, and a look of what I’m sure is guilty horror on my face. Next to me, Blue is completely, toweringly naked, one hand still braced against the wall from his near-fall.
He jerks the second towel around his hips a beat later, but it’s too late.
Charlotte lets out a strangled squeak, her eyes going dinner-plate wide before she darts back and slams the door. “Sorry! Oh my God.”
“What?” my brother demands.
“No, Baylor, don’t go in there!” Charlotte cries out, but he doesn’t listen.
He rarely listens before charging in, especially if he thinks someone he loves is in danger. But the only thing I’m in danger of is getting slapped in the face with the consequences of my own actions.
Bay appears in the open door, Charlotte still vibrating with surprise behind him, and the bottom drops out of my world.