Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Zepp grabbed a beer from the cooler before collapsing onto a lounge chair beside a miserably pregnant Monroe. She did not have the mom-to-be glow. Not like my Lola.
Zepp flicked a beer cap at me. “I can’t believe you got Lola pregnant again.”
Again, like four kids was a lot. I adjusted eighteen-month-old Axel in my arms, fixing his dinosaur sun hat before I looked across the pool. Lola stood, pregnant stomach out in her sexy two-piece, trying to wrangle a toy bucket off our three-year-old son, Ozzy’s, head.
Smiling, I maneuvered the beer out of Axel’s grip and jutted my chin toward the pool. “The plan is six.”
“You’re insane,” Monroe mumbled, leaning back on the lounge chair and rubbing a hand over her stomach.
“And you’re soulless.”
Over the years, that redheaded succubus had grown on me like filth over a diseased rag. I’d go as far as to say I loved her. I’d just never admit it. It would ruin everything we had going.
I shot a glare at her, trying not to smile. “Don’t be all pissy because Zepp’s swimmers took forever to penetrate your steel-plated, redheaded devil eggs.”
My brother frowned at me. “It’s called protection, you dipshit.”
I shifted my kid in my arms. “It’s called no one asked you, cocksucker.”
Yeah, age nor money had made me mature. I was not wine. I was an opened beer. I did not get better with time.
Crew, our five-year-old, darted across the pool deck, floaties on his arms and a dragon raft around his waist. “Look, Daddy, I’m a ball of poo!” he shouted before launching himself off the side and sending an impressive wave of water splashing all over Monroe.
Swiping the water from her face, she huffed. “Why?”
“Hey, buddy,” I said to Crew, trying to dodge Axel’s hand slapping my cheek. “Next time, try to get Aunt Red a little more. Your baby cousin is making her hot.”
He shot a thumbs up before paddling off.
“You’re really an ass,” Monroe said.
Axel grunted, most likely taking a shit in his diaper. “You’re brewing that one for Aunt Red, aren’t you?”
“Don’t even…”
A pink blur of a child shot across the yard, screeching. Followed closely by Bellamy and Drew.
“Don’t run!” Bellamy shouted, shaking his head before he dropped to the chair beside me. “I’m tired as hell, and I only have one. How are you not dead yet, Hendrix?”
“I live for this shit, man.” Axel’s sticky fist whacked me in the face again as I pointed toward the carnage in the pool. “I’m raising an army of motherfucking ballers.”
“You’re raising?” Lola dropped Ozzy onto the end of my lounge chair, and he immediately threw up on me. “We’re raising. But that’s all yours.” Then she abandoned me with the puke and went into the house.
I shifted Axel in my arms to keep him from swiping his chubby fingers through the disintegrated Fruit Loops. “Here,” I said, passing Ozzy and his Fruit Loop face off to Monroe. “You and your cold heart need the practice.”
Monroe looked horrified.
“No, Aurora.” Bellamy sighed. “Don’t take off your swimsuit.”
A rapid fire of Nerf bullets pegged me in the chest. Crew let out a cackle and shot me again.
“Hold your nephew,” I said and passed Ozzy off to Zepp, who held him out like he was a vomit bomb.
“This is insanity…” Zepp huffed. “Kids everywhere. Shit. Vomit.”
“It’s the best part of life, man.” I grabbed my shirt from the wet patio pavers, tied it around my head, then sprinted off for one of the spare nerf guns with a war cry. “You better hope your dragon float can save you, son,” I shouted as I shot off a few rounds, nailing the dragon in the head before I dove into the water.
I played three rounds of slay the dragon with him—and the rest of the kids—before Zepp pegged me in the head with an empty beer can. “The game’s coming on.”
I glanced at the big screen set up in the outdoor kitchen area, lassoing Crew around the waist and hoisting him out of the pool. “Come on, let’s go watch Uncle Wolf play his stupid football game.”
“Go, Sweat hogs!” he shouted, fist-pumping the air.
“Yeah. Go, Sweat hogs.” I swiped a bottle of champagne from the bar counter, popping the cork before I reached the rest of our family.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crew tackle a now-naked Ozzy to the ground. “I’m Uncle Wolf, mothertrucker.”