Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“You’ve got fucking goats?!”
“Two of them.”
“Why didn’t I see them last night?!”
“They were sleeping.” Grabbing a couple of carrots from the bucket I keep out of their reach is followed by handing each of them one and clicking my jaw for the pair to run off to their play area. “However, I did warn you to make sure you locked the door behind me for this very reason. They’re cute as fuck but obnoxiously clever, especially when they work as a team, which I’m sure is some sort of fucking metaphor the big ref in the sky would like me to pick up on that I refuse to.”
Another round of squawks spring from him seconds prior to me shutting and locking the glass block cade. “I thought you were being flirty!”
“I was being literal.”
“I thought you were saying lock the door, so you don’t get tempted to sneak into my bed and blow me or something.”
“How many summer camp themed porns do you watch?”
Brendan’s mouth cracks to answer yet wisely doesn’t.
Huh.
Good to know he’s not as dumb as he looks right now.
Dumb and unfortunately for me, really sexy.
Toned legs.
Even more toned, tribal tatted arms.
Abs that look like they would be in all my favorite porns if I just spritzed him with a bit of water.
“Why do you have goats?” He asks, readjusting the pillow covering his dick, to stay from being visible during my brief stroll by. “Is this an ego thing? Like you think you’re the goat, so you gotta have goats?”
“No, this is a lack of impulse control while drinking thing.” Sassily spinning on my heels to maintain our face-to-face positions, I point to my mid drift area. “Exhibit A.” The smallest pause is taken on a tiny head bounce. “Okay, technically Exhibit B.”
“For baby?”
“Because I got the goats first, boy genius.”
“I know.” Brendan mischievously smirks on a head tilt. “I’m just trying to sharpen up my dad joke game.”
Mirth floods my face, and I resume my trek to the machine, mumbling under my breath, “Runs from miniature goats, but thinks he’s ready for a miniature person.”
“I am ready.”
Snatching up the mug for a second time is halted to shoot him a sarcastic scowl.
“Okay, I’m not ready,” he bobbles his head around, “ready, but I’m ready to be ready. And to do all the prep work so that we both are.”
Awe and befuddlement battle for the right to be heard in my voice. “How are you…just…so…okay with this? All of this?” Collecting the cup is attached to a heavy sigh. “My mind hasn’t stopped skating in circles about this shit since I found out. I don’t even think I’ve slept since I got the call.”
“Real shit?”
I anxiously nod, in desperate need to know how he’s processing everything without what appears to be a hiccup.
“I’ve always just been a roll with it kinda guy.” Both hands fall to cradle the pillow. “I had to be. We um…we moved around a lot when I was growing up. I don’t think we ever lived any place longer than a couple years until I hit junior year of high school.”
“Military?”
“Single mom.”
“Right….” The response paralyzes me in place. “What exactly happened to your dad?”
“Bailed the day she told him she was pregnant.”
There’s no catching my jaw from hitting the ground.
“Growing up never knowing if today was the day you were gonna have heat or something to eat or have to fucking move because your mom lost her job again or rent spiked to a point she couldn’t afford it, kinda just instilled this mentality in me to not get attached to much and more importantly, to just have the balls to face shit dead on like my mom always has.” His bare shoulders slightly loosen. “Avoiding shit never fixes it. It just delays your progress on getting through it.”
An unexpected feeling of relief braces itself on my shoulders.
Fuck.
He’s…right.
He’s absolutely right.
How is he this fucking right?
And why am I okay with him being this right?
And this calm to my chaotic?
Is that why this shit may actually work between us?
Is he gonna be the A to my C?
Backing up slowly for my Keurig is done in tandem with me teasing, “You know, you’re kind of wise to be so young.”
“I’m not that young.”
“Have you ever seen Space Jam?”
“With LeBron James?”
“See. Too young.” I slide the cup in place prior to using a finger on that hand to point to the door. “And get out of my kitchen.”
Brendan releases a loud, spritely laugh that uninvitedly curls around my ribs and my heart and nestles itself in every chest crevice it can find. “Can I please get a cup of coffee first?”
There’s no stopping myself from nodding. Or from wanting to nod. Or from wanting to begin my morning or maybe every morning with him. “How do you like beans roasted?” My playful taunting nature is forcefully yanked back into place. “Over an open fire?”