Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Grabbing a tissue, she wipes the corners of her eyes. “Why’d you have to make me cry?” She laughs, but it mixes with another sniffle.
“Sorry.” As much as I want to stay with her, to spend this kind of time with her without the pressures of the outside world or other obligations sneaking in, I close the door to let her get ready.
In Max’s room, I find a onesie with cars on it. “Do you like cars, buddy? Vroom. Vroom.”
He laughs. “Ca.”
“Close enough, buddy.” I kneel to dig through a bucket on the bottom shelf of a bookcase full of cars. When I find one I like, I hand it to him to keep him occupied while I get him dressed. The red Ferrari immediately goes to his mouth. “You have good taste.” I chuckle at the bad joke, even if he doesn’t. That might have been my first dad joke. “Cars are for driving not eating.” I move his hand from his mouth, then work on getting this outfit over his head.
His head pops through just as Liv comes in. Grabbing a large bag from a hook, she sets it on the floor by the door. “I can take over so you can get ready.”
“That was quick. You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m ready.” She spins. “How do I look?”
The casual outfit is better than the workout pants and sweatshirt simply because of my selfish tendencies. I can see more of her. The jeans fit her body, hugging her curves and ending above her ankle. The sleeveless pink tee is loose but knotted at her waist, showing a sliver of her stomach and the great curves at her waist to hips. It’s tempting to want to touch her there and then go lower. With a hoodie in hand that she carried in, she ties it around her waist, looking like a daydream. “You look great.”
With a giggle, she flips her foot into the air behind her to show off the white sneakers. “New shoes.”
“Nice sneaks.”
“Thanks.” She leans in to help me put this wiggle worm’s arms through the holes. Pulling the rest of the onesie down, she snaps it between his legs and then helps him stand by holding his hands like the pro she is. “Voilà. Ready?”
“I’m ready.”
In the hall, she opens a closet and pulls out a stroller. “I already packed his bag. Can you help me get him in the stroller, though?” She pops it, and it’s ready to go.
Picking Max up, I settle him in, pulling the straps over his shoulders and buckle him up. “You’re all snug in there.”
When I’m walking away to get my shirt and shoes on, she takes the bag and pushes it into the bottom basket. I can hear her talking to him about his water and if he’s happy to be going outside.
It reminds me that she’s been doing this alone the whole time and is good at it. I don’t have any training as a parent. I’m fumbling through diapers and onesies. I stepped up this morning like a babysitter, thinking I was the hero for letting her sleep a little longer. What the fuck?
“Anything I can do?” I ask, buttoning my shirt. It’s a disaster—cherry crumble-stained and wrinkled—but I’ll wear it like a rite of passage. It has my kid’s artwork, after all.
When I rejoin them in the hallway, her eyes widen when she sees me and takes an unabashed once-over. “Wow.”
“Charmer,” I tease.
“No, I mean it. There’s so much I can say about you as a person, but I just really want to tell you how much I appreciate your ass in those pants.”
I give her a spin to take it all in. But then I catch her hand and bring her to me. “I want you to know something.”
“What is it?”
Running my hand from the side of her neck to the back of it, I pull her to me, and whisper, “You’re a wow to me, too. No one turns me on like you do. So you finding me attractive—physically and otherwise? Just know the feeling is mutual.” I bring her in and kiss her with purpose, making sure she has no doubt that she’s the only one I fantasize about.
19
Liv
Noah’s apartment is nothing like I expected.
I could say the same about him.
I thought he would live in a studio apartment with a mixture of black and browns, leather couch and laminate cabinets barely holding together. Despite his last name, I imagined a twenty-five-year-old recent grad school graduate would be living his best bachelor pad life. That’s not what this is. I mean, he’s got leather barstools, but now I’m questioning if all recent Beacon University graduates live like this because this is not a typical first New York apartment rental. This is an apartment that someone in upper management or even a celebrity would own.