Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
His smile is blazing as he helps himself to his drink again. “If we can’t, we’ll get room service.” Turning again, he pushes his way into one of the studios.
A smiling Glenda greets us, her hippy-dippy aura drenching the room. “Children,” she sings, opening her arms. “Welcome. Please, please, join the circle.”
There’s a gap on the other side of the room, in between two fellow pregnant women. Jude walks us round and places me down by the mat laid out, taking the drinks and putting them out of the way. “Sit,” he says, helping me down to my arse. I wince and hold my breath as he lowers behind me, not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I know he is. I’ve given up nagging him. He wants to do this. In fact, this antenatal class that’s been running weekly at Arlington Hall since he was discharged was entirely his doing. And, actually, very popular—hence the room’s full. “I’m fine,” he whispers, cradling me between his thighs. His hands come under my arms and rest on my huge pregnant belly, his chin on my shoulder.
I glance around, smiling at the smiles coming back at us. Rachel is dead opposite me, Clark behind her. I wave, and she waves right back.
Placing my hands over Jude’s, I breathe in deep, feeling him doing the same. Glenda’s energy is something else. You can’t help but be serene when you’re around her. “Are you sure I can’t ask her to be our full-time baby coach?” Jude whispers in my ear.
I chuckle. “Are you afraid?”
“No,” he says quickly. “The only thing I’m afraid of since I met you, baby, is your father. Speaking of which, when are they arriving?”
“Teatime.”
“Can’t wait.”
I nudge him as Glenda starts circling her arms up into the air, her eyes closed, her chest expanding.
“Are you ready for your breathing exercises?” Jude asks.
“Always ready.”
“Good. They’ll come in handy when I can bang you again with all hard eight inches of me.”
I chuckle. “Your seven inches did just fine this morning.”
“My eight inches will do just fine again in about an hour’s time, when I get you back upstairs.”
I smile and lean back into him, holding his arms where they lie over my enormous belly.
“Close your eyes,” Glenda says, all soothing and soft.
And I do. Zoning out. Enjoying the quiet. And the feel of Jude blanketing me and our bump.
“Ready?” Jude asks as he wanders out of the dressing room, fastening the buttons on his shirt. He smiles when he finds me standing in front of the floor-length mirror putting my earrings in. “God, you’re fit as fuck.”
I laugh as he crowds me from behind and mauls my neck, his palms stroking over my belly. “Charley, Lloyd, and the kids just arrived, and Abbie’s running a bit late.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles on my throat. “Your parents?”
“Working their way through the cocktail menu in the Library Bar with Grandma and Grandpa.”
“They did that the last time they were here. And the time before that. And the time before that.”
“They can only manage four per visit, and even then I have to escort them to their rooms in case they take a drunken tumble.”
“Let me look at you,” he orders, turning me around and taking my hands, standing back so he can drink me in. I do the same. Beige trousers. White shirt, open at the collar. His hair a beautiful mess. Gorgeous. “Disgusting,” he murmurs around a smile, his eyes on my enormous belly. My grin is so wide. “You know”—he pulls some of the stretchy black material of my dress—“I think we should have another.”
“Fucking hell, Jude, do you want to let me squeeze this one out first?”
He beams from ear to ear. “I didn’t think I could fancy you more.” He hunkers down, and I can tell by his poorly hidden wince that it’s uncomfortable. “Turns out I can.”
“Good for you.” I scrunch my nose and rub it with his. “Stop doing things that hurt your leg.”
“My leg’s fine.” Cupping my face, he slams a kiss on my lips. “Let the weekend family shenanigans begin.” Claiming my hand, he leads us out of the bedroom and past the birthing pool that’s been sitting in the middle of the lounge for the past two weeks.
“Are your brothers here?” I ask, sliding a hand under my bump to hold it, the pressure getting to me these past few days. I permanently need to pee.
Jude checks his phone. “Just pulling in. Casey’s got to fly out to Qatar early hours, but Rhys is staying the night. He’s not got a game until next weekend.”
“How’s he been lately?” That sex tape, unbelievably, never showed up. But Rhys hasn’t learned his lesson and is—in Jude’s words—still putting it about. Jude looks back at me with raised brows. That’s my answer. I don’t know how a top athlete does it and still plays so well. “Active, then?” I ask.