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)
I remove my hand from Harlow’s side to give her a small, playful swat to the ass, wordlessly chastising the comment.
“They?” Margot’s brows lift in concern. “As in-”
“Fucking. Twins,” Harlow complains through gritted teeth.
“They’re not incestuous.”
My retort immediately has her delivering the same treatment she just received.
Turns out the pat on the ass is one of her most used body language techniques—outside of the fist bump of course—which I know has to come straight from all the sports shit.
So far, I know the “good game”, “good try”, and “wanna get some good” taps.
I also know she hates having to refrain from using it on the players now that she’s the GM.
And me?
I fucking love it.
Like free top shelf shot shit all night long type of love.
Harlow Hennington belongs to me and only me.
Having her hands on other dudes’ asses would not only drive me fucking mental but be the reason she’d constantly have to replace current players with callups.
“How did you get twins?!” Margot squawks, bewilderment bulldozing her expression. “I didn’t even think you’d get one!”
“I know,” Harlow whines, body bouncing around in outrage until my fingers flex against her hip in an attempt to calm her back down.
“Holy shit,” her best friend mutters under her breath, “this changes so many things I have planned.”
“Including doctor’s visits,” I pipe in before my wife can pretend to forget. “She’s gotta start coming in twice a month. I’ll text the dates so you can keep them on her schedule and rearrange,” my eyes cut Harlow a brief but harsh glare, “meetings going forward to accommodate them. No more missing this shit.”
Margot nods in agreement. “I’ll also make a list of what we’ve stockpiled so far and what needs to be doubled.”
“Stockpiled?” The woman I adore more and more everyday grunts. “Are we planning for babies or more goats?”
“You didn’t plan for those damn goats,” her assistant hisses on a disapproving headshake.
“You know, I don’t know who you hate more, Cookies and Cream or Winslow.”
“Winslow,” she replies without missing a beat before turning her attention to me. “Anything else I need to know from the doctor?”
“We’ll review her chart and get you deets.” This time I gently turn Harlow’s face my direction with the tip of my index finger. “Won’t we?”
There’s the smallest hesitation that’s followed by a nod Margot’s direction.
Her best friend looks taken back yet expresses her approval of the change with a gleeful grin.
“What’s next?” Margot casually investigates, attention bouncing back and forth between us. “Should we finalize the menu for the BBQ? Get a head start on acquiring some items like the liquor or dishware? Oh! Oh! Go over the cleaning itinerary? The last thing I need are those goats not locked away when landscaping comes by to tidy up. Last time that happened, they refused to get out of the truck until someone had them secured and stood guard so they wouldn’t ‘come for revenge’.”
Despite how much I want to poke fun at the last thing she said, I suggest, “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”
They toss me matching looks of confusion.
“I’ve got a fun surprise for Harlow-”
“I’ve had enough surprises for the day, thank you.”
Ignoring her occurs on an eyeroll. “Why don’t you call it an early day? Go out to happy hour? Or plan a dinner with a different friend? Maybe go bang some dude you’ve been ignoring because work comes first?”
“Yeah, I’m not really into that.”
“Dudes?”
“Banging.”
Her statement stumbles me slightly back and my jaw to the asphalt.
Alright.
That’s some new shit for me.
“Margot’s asexual,” Harlow casually informs, pulling my attention down to her. “She has low to no desire to date or fuck or really engage in any sort of romantic physical activity with herself or others.”
“Although, I do have this somewhat odd love affair with historical romances.” Her head falls contemplatively to one side. “The sexual tension and all that bullshit doesn’t do it for me, but I do get a small rush from the courting and the rules or willingness to break them for your person.”
“But you, yourself, have no interest in finding your own person.”
“Correct.”
Her crisp, clean answer has me stumbling around for the right words to say. “Then um…how about you uh…spend the rest of the day doing one of those Downton Abbey marathons you like while deep cleaning your kitchen tiles?”
“Or Bridgerton,” Harlow tosses out.
“Oooo, I have been wanting to try Upstairs, Downstairs. Maybe I’ll start that and review a few employee policies that need updating.”
“Whatever gets you off” is right on the tip of my tongue to playfully state when it hits me that is so the wrong shit to say.
Very wrong shit.
I don’t wanna offend her, primarily because she’s my wife’s best friend, but also because now I know better so I can do better.
The smile I grow in replacement of the joke is polite. “Sounds like a solid gameplan.”