Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Chapter 15
Bunny
The tip of the red ink pen stops scrawling across my inner forearm when I look up at Kipp. “Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be talking about baby names, Kid?”
“No,” he counters without hesitation, dirty mechanic rag being tossed over one shoulder. “I wanted to talk about them on day one.”
It’s impossible not to girlishly grin. “I remember.”
Getting unexpectedly knocked up and then having your back blown out in celebration isn’t exactly something you forget.
And neither is trying to sleep while the two men you love most in life are arguing about all things unborn child related.
Such as where should its room be in the new floorplan?
How close could it be to ours?
How far?
Its first word.
Should it go to pre-school?
Where should it go to elementary school?
Do we wear matching Halloween costumes?
Who gets to teach it to drive?
Parallel park?
Which of us should be giving it the “talk”?
The conversation covered the child’s complete pre-adult life cycle in the span of forty-five minutes.
They were all shit eating grins and excitement and eagerness.
I was the opposite.
Grinning, yet grimacing.
Excited, but anxious.
Eager, while overwhelmed.
Am I thrilled to be having a baby with the most incredible people I’ve ever met?
Absolutely.
They’re going to make the type of fathers that every kid dreams of having.
The ones that will literally go to the ends of the earth to love you, protect you, and make your dreams come true.
Am I uncomfortable with the abrupt change to our lives?
Definitely.
One minute I’m on the run for my fucking life and the next I’m bringing life into it.
How can I be expected to take care of the little thing I’m growing inside when I’ve barely been able to take care of me?
Keep me alive?
Safe.
How can I not be filled with apprehension regarding its protection when I still feel as though I’m working on borrowed time?
I mean is it even a good idea to add another person…a tiny, defenseless, relies solely on us person…into this nightmare, or is it simply selfish?
I swear those are selfish horns I’m hearing, not trumpets.
“Brian is a great name,” The Kid confidently states, demonstrating that even if it is the latter, it’s also heartwarming. “It’s strong.”
“It’s simple.”
“Confident.”
“Common.”
“Easy to spell.”
“And easy to know it was picked from your favorite franchise of all time.”
The Kid less than innocently shrugs in tandem with flashing me a wide mouth grin.
His enthusiasm alone is enough to fill at least an entire page of “pros” for pregnancy.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think being a dad is a bigger dream for him than professionally racing ever was.
Professional racing, which is now apparently a dead subject.
Neither of them wants to move.
They want our child raised right where we are.
Right where we began.
“Can we please put it in the considering column?” Kipp impishly investigates, prompting me to return to the aggressive writing I’ve been doing since I’ve been home from a girls only in town shopping trip. “And don’t tell me there isn’t already a spreadsheet in progress.”
I let my eyes momentarily gravitate back to is.
“You make a spreadsheet for everything, baby.”
“I do not.”
“Your spreadsheets have spreadsheets.”
“They do not!”
“You know when you’re not looking…those spreadsheets get together with other spreadsheets to make more spreadsheets.”
Mirth dances around my glare and tone alike. “You must’ve just gone over that lesson in sex-ed, huh?”
A deliciously slow lick of his lips precedes a growled, “Would you like me to show you again how I aced it?”
You know I thought the guys couldn’t get any fucking hornier than they already were.
I was wrong.
I was so mindbogglingly wrong.
Me being pregnant turns them on so much and so constantly that if I wasn’t pregnant before I would most certainly be now.
“Shouldn’t you be…” the edge of my pen whirls the direction of the vehicle behind him, “making that thing go all…” another wave is executed to assist in finding the right words, “cops can’t catch you fast or something?”
“That’s not quite what an aftermarket fuel injection system does, baby.”
“And I don’t quite understand what it does do, Kid.”
“You want me to explain it again?”
“I’d rather talk about literally anything else.”
“Baby names it is then.”
Ugh.
He shouldn’t be irresistible and clever.
That’s unbalanced.
“How about Jordana if it’s a girl?”
Pulling my lips to one side is done in brief contemplation. “I think that’s pretty.”
“Soft yet strong,” he theatrically emphasizes at the same time he drops his screwdriver onto the counter beside me. “Everything her mother will teach her to be.”
An awe sound slips out before it has the proper chance to be swallowed. Unfortunately for him, the adoration is short lived due to recalling the roots of his suggestion. “Wait. Isn’t Jordana the name of the actress that plays Mia who marries Brian?”
Arrogance and amusement fuse in his expression during his confession, “I like the name Mia too.”
“Could you like working?” I chastise between giggles. “Perhaps on that car your afterhours customer is expecting to be ready in the next twenty minutes.”