The Owner (Dalvegan Dragons #1) Read Online Xavier Neal

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Dalvegan Dragons Series by Xavier Neal
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Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
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The idea of slipping my dick out of my pants and right into her unfortunately never becomes a reality thanks to the one man I’m surprised hasn’t learned to knock yet opening the door.

Also, a little surprised he hasn’t quit yet given the circumstances he keeps interrupting.

Norman glances over his shoulder just in time to catch Harlow yanking her baggy black sweats back in place. His shiny balding head slowly swivels in disapproval before adjusting the headphones that I’m fairly certain he wears because of us.

Hey, sometimes a quickie late at the office is our best bet for getting laid.

I swear sometimes that as soon as the twins—Marcus after her father and Mario after the hockey player Mario Lemieux—sense our presence they make an adorable pact to keep us attached to them rather than each other.

And they’re fucking masterminds at the baby dangle.

Convincing us we’re gonna have a few moments together in peace only to then snatch it away the instant our mouths damn near touch.

She birthed cock blockers that we’re both hoping translate those skills into becoming hockey puck blockers aka goalies.

Once Harlow’s fixed her Dalvegan green crop top sweater, grabbed her gear bag, and I’ve put my team shirt back into its proper place, we offer him small cringes on tiny handwaves during our exit.

I mean really, we don’t have to apologize for shit.

She is the owner.

It’s her office.

She can do whatever she wants in there, which is typically me between meetings.

That’s probably the only “abuse” of power she ever flexes and given the ups and downs of our first season, I call that shit impressive. While it would’ve been nice to have smooth skating after the shit with Page, McVie, and Somerfield, that wasn’t the case. Other players caused other hiccups and like she said during her rightfully earned meltdown at me the morning I punched Page in the face, everyone was watching. Our franchise has made headlines for everything from scandals to point streaks no one saw coming. I’m still getting used to that amount of media coverage for our boys fucking sneezing too close to the wrong person; however, my wife has mastered it. Has proven and continues to prove she can handle whatever or whoever comes for our teams.

Either of them.

She protects the one that hits the ice very similarly to the one that doesn’t.

She’s all in.

When she’s at the office, she’s at the fucking office. Our nanny, Athena—who is forty-two, widowed, and suffering from empty nest syndrome—knows to call or text me first when it comes to the twins, especially on game days. I wear the C for our family and honestly? I couldn’t be fucking happier about it. Being a dad gives me this odd sense of purpose and direction, kind of like being a husband does. It brings this unexpected vibe of value to know that the people in my life I love rely on me.

Me to make the right calls.

Me to make the right plays.

Me to devise the best plans.

That’s not to say that Harlow doesn’t do her part or that she’s a shit mom, which I know she feels like when she has to jet off without us to handle franchise shit like the annual Draft.

The thing is she’s a great fucking mom.

And just like when she steps in the barn, she’s GM, when she steps in the house, she’s mom. Work has to wait. Our boys become the only boys she gives a fuck about until they’re taken care of the way they need to be. Doesn’t matter if it’s feeding or cleaning or playing or arts and crafts—although she seems to think everything, they fingerpaint with assistance is a hockey puck. And when it comes to care for them—physical, mental, emotional—she looks to me for leadership. Probably because I read all the books—and am still reading parenting books—and am the one there for all the doctor’s visits—as well as making sure we all go to our respective ones—and am the one that keeps in touch with their private preschool teachers—who sometimes forget I’m married and get a little too friendly during pick up. Harlow looks to me for guidance when it comes to our family and that shit fills me with so much fucking pride sometimes it brings tears to my eyes.

Not that I’d ever let her see it.

She’d chirp the shit out of me.

Yeah, being a mom hasn’t made her nearly as soft as Winslow joked it would; however, him having fallen in love has definitely made him softer, which she continuously does give him shit about.

Letty too.

It’s weird, but I swear, it was like once Harlow found me, they found their people.

Like she started a trend.

A weird fucking trend.

I wind one arm around her lower bare back on our way towards the opposite end of the hall and like always, she leans into it on a crooked grin. “You think we’ll get a decent turn out?”


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