Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
He answers with typical Pete enthusiasm, “Finally, asshole! I was hoping you’d call. How you holding up? How long are you in town? We need to get a beer and catch up. I’ve had another kid since the last time we talked, and you’re a fucking hockey star.”
“We’ll see about the star part,” I say with a laugh. “It all depends on when I can get back on the ice.”
“Fucking Kriecheque,” Pete says. “What a piece of shit he is. Getting the Wisconsin fans all riled up and pissed at you when he’s the one who started this shit. He’s not even from Wisconsin. He’s from Treble’s Woods, Minnesota, like twenty minutes from here.”
“I know, we used to play on the same travel team as kids. That’s actually why I was calling.” I explain the situation with Mel’s ex and his worry about the threats from the Wisconsin fans. “He doesn’t want their son staying here until he knows Chase is going to be safe, and Mel is pretty messed up about it. That’s her baby, you know?”
Pete grunts. “Oh, I know. If someone tried to take either of my little shits away, I’d be on the warpath. Even though they’re crazy, never sleep, and have probably taken at least a decade off my life. Did you know that kids can get a thing called ‘hand, foot, and mouth’ disease? And that they can get it more than once? And that daycare makes you pay the full price even when your kids are out for half the month with kid cooties? At this rate, I’m never going to be able to retire. I’ll be seventy and still paying off daycare debt.”
I smile. “But you love ‘em.”
“So much,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Kids, man. They really are the best. Believe the hype and have a few if you get the chance.”
My eyes lift. I watch Mel come down the stairs, as I murmur, “It’s on my list. So, you think you might be able to put in a call to the Bad Dog PD for us? Get Melissa’s house on a welfare check list or something?”
“Sure, I can do that,” he says. “I’ll put you guys on my drive by list, too. I have a few people I check on every day free of charge. A woman with a restraining order against her garbage ex, a lady whose grandson keeps breaking into her garage to steal shit to buy drugs, that kind of thing.”
“You’re a prince among men, Pete,” I say as the doorbell rings. I rise from the couch, signaling for Mel to stay back when she tries to beat me to the front door. “I’m buying those beers when we meet up. Be in touch soon.”
I end the call, pay the delivery driver, and turn back to Melissa with the bag full of food. “I have hunted and killed the feast.”
She smiles from the doorway of the kitchen, where she’s standing with one socked foot propped on top of the other, looking adorable in a pair of white sweatpants and a giant pale blue sweatshirt. She lifts a fancy-looking bottle filled with clear liquid. “Swanky orange blossom flavored sparkling water with your barbeque? I figured drinking wine is also off-limits when you’re headed down a bad rabbit hole.”
“Sounds good.” I smile, proud of her. She’s already rallying from her rough afternoon, like the champ she is. It’s not often you run into a woman who’s as strong as she is gentle, who fights hard, but loves even harder, and who clearly isn’t going to let the world crush her spirit.
It’s why Mel’s such a great mom. And why I instantly thought of her when Pete said I should try to have kids. I couldn’t imagine a better mother for my children, and that’s only partly due to the fact that I’m dying to fuck Mel again and the thought of being bare inside her tight body does dangerous things to my blood pressure.
She joins me on the couch as I’m pulling white cardboard containers from the bag, two glasses and the sparkling water in hand. She looks over at me, her brow wrinkling. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, why?”
“You had a funny look on your face. Like you were gassy or something.”
Great, my horny face makes me look like I’m gassy. If nothing else, this time with Melissa is going to be great for bringing me down a peg or two. I’ve grown accustomed to women falling at my feet—or at least keeping their criticism to themselves while they praise my oral sex skills.
Struck by a stab of uncertainty, I ask, “I am really good at oral sex, right? Other women weren’t just saying that to prop up my already inflated ego?”
She turns to me with an arched brow. “Why are you thinking of oral sex? If alcohol is off the list for the night, sex should be, too, right? You don’t want me falling into your bed because I’m in a vulnerable state, do you?”