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)
“I’m practically done,” The Kid reassures while making himself more comfortable in front of where I’m sitting. “I just need to polish off a few knobs.”
His playful eyebrow wiggle attached to his boyish smile results in me shaking my head a second time.
Rolling my eyes.
Resuming the doodling process I honestly don’t even remember starting.
I wonder if he or she will get this condition.
I wonder if it’s genetic.
I don’t recall my parents mentioning that.
I don’t remember putting it on my medical form either.
Maybe I should ask Doctor G – er Val.
Still getting used to calling her that.
Yes, she’s my doctor, but off the clock she’s becoming a bit more.
Someone to randomly text with.
Complain to.
Garcia claims she’s gunning for the role of a godparent – since he’s never gonna have kids – but I think that her doctor senses are just tingling.
Or maybe her “girl” senses.
I’m not too sure.
Friendship’s about as foreign to me as pregnancy is.
I’ll admit it’s been nice to have some female reassurance these past couple of weeks, and I’m totally looking forward to a “family dinner” with us, her, Garcia, and his parents and not just because she keeps promising to make me the best tacos al pastor I’ve ever had.
Which they will be.
They’ll also be the only ones I’ve ever had, but I’m not gonna tell her that.
“Admit it,” he lovingly goads. “You’re having fun thinking about our baby.”
The grin that grows on my face informs him of his rightness rather than my words.
“And that’s why you’re writing song lyrics that have the word baby in them.” I move over the pen over to resume writing another b, unintentionally summoning him closer. “I bet I know ‘em all.”
“I bet you don’t, Go, Diego, Go.”
He struggles not to cringe at the comment.
“See.” Giggling precedes using my foot to gently nudge him away. “You don’t even get that reference.”
“Yet.” A loving catch and wiggle to my foot is delivered. “It sounds like a kid thing, and I am all prepared to learn the kid things.”
That makes one of us.
According to Suzie, I should already be practicing making my own fresh baby food grown in our own garden because based on something she read online or her daughter sent her or a magazine that crossed her vision on a random Monday, the healthiest and smartest babies are the ones who don’t get anything like that from the grocery store.
Posie – who had tagged along to go grocery shopping with me to surprise her newest boyfriend, which is who she broke up with the dishwasher guy for, with a homecooked meal – claims she’s completely full of shit.
And that she’d know since at least a handful of the girls she went to high school with all have kids already and are just fine not having been raised by Martha fucking Stewart.
She then made an impressive Snoop Dog joke that kept us both laughing for longer than I’m sure it should’ve.
I really like hanging out with Posie.
I like it even more when she’s sleeping with someone, and I can easily kick out the intrusive thoughts that she wants to be banging one of my boyfriends.
Or…as Mutt claims…my soon to be husbands.
Yeah.
That’s one more thing on the spreadsheet of “not sure how to deal with yet”.
And it’s a metaphorical spreadsheet!
Not a real one!
Having to respond to his comment isn’t necessary thanks to an unknown vehicle pulling into the driveway, most likely here to drop off the individual whose car he’s finishing up.
This is his first off-the-books job he’s taken in weeks.
It’s also the first poker night Mutt’s been away for.
Part of me knows that’s why he agreed to it – wanting something to distract him from the fact our boyfriend spent the entire day working prior to meeting up with his other best friend to collect possible new information regarding the Brad situation – but the other half of me hopes it’s because he wants something for himself again.
Something to get lost in.
Boost his confidence.
Give him purpose that isn’t around the clock couple care.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love that he’s sweet.
And attentive.
And remembers to put the cap back on the toothpaste – unlike Mutt.
But I also know he needs something that’s about him.
Just like Nolan does.
Just like I do.
The sound of a car door closing is quickly followed by it driving away leaving a tall, long-legged, blonde-haired chick to strut into the garage all on her own. “You ready for me, Woods?”
Biting my tongue is easy.
Not glaring isn’t.
“You ready for her?” he teases back at the same time he rotates himself to face the unfamiliar female. “That’s a whole lot of torque.”
“And I’m a whole lot of racer,” she sasses, palms planted firmly on her jean covered hips. “Or did Butler fail to mention that?”
Kid failed to mention the vehicle he was working on was for Street Racing Barbie.