Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
She blinked.
“I kind of like it,” I admitted. “Mei will like that you kind of sort of named our baby after her.”
His smile was genuine as he rolled us, sitting me up on my feet at the side of the bed.
“Go find that bikini,” he ordered. “I’m thinking now it’s even more important to have a vacation. We obviously have something to celebrate.”
Turns out, Aaron did have something up his sleeve.
A fucking beach house that he was waiting to give me for our anniversary.
Let me just tell you it was freakin’ perfect, and I enjoyed the hell out of it—with a bikini showing off my growing baby bump.
***
Ghost
It was Stone’s fault.
Had he not died, I would’ve never driven past her house that night. I would’ve stayed away, and not witnessed what I’d witnessed.
But Stone had been gunned down. Shot, only to bleed out in a pool of his own blood in the middle of downtown.
I’d ridden by. I shouldn’t have.
I really shouldn’t have.
But I had.
And now I was fucked.
Because I didn’t like what I saw.
Not. One. Single. Fucking. Bit.
Flash Birth
Booth
“Masen!” I called out from the kitchen. “Do you want coffee before we go?”
No reply was forthcoming, and I idly wondered if Masen had gone back to sleep.
Today was go day. Today, was the day that I’d meet my baby.
Today, was the day that our family of two, became a family of three.
Our lives would forever be changed by a little person, and that little person was making their grand entrance!
“Masen!” I called again. “What are you…”
“Booth?”
I turned only my head, and stared at my wife.
She was standing in the doorway, bare from the waist down.
“Aren’t pants a requirement when you go somewhere?” I teased.
Her mouth opened and closed, and then she looked down.
I followed her gaze, and realized that she had clear fluid running down her legs in a fairly steady gush.
And then realization struck.
“Your water broke.” I said.
She nodded her head. “Yeah,” she bit her lip. “How do I put pants on with this leaking out of me?”
I didn’t know the answer to that.
“We’ll have to put you in a dress or something,” I said. “Have you, uhh, checked yourself to make sure that everything is okay down there?”
I didn’t know what I was really asking. I guess I just wanted to make sure that the baby wasn’t just hanging around in her vagina ready to come out or anything before we got into the truck and headed to the hospital.
Sure, it was only about twenty minutes away, but I didn’t want to chance having a baby in the fuckin’ truck.
If it was a close thing, then we needed to call an ambulance like a sane person would do.
Did we do that? Fuck no.
I trusted my wife’s word that a baby wasn’t about to fall out of her vagina instead of using common fucking sense and looking for my goddamn self.
“Oh, shit,” Masen gasped, her hand latching onto my forearm. “Oh, fuck me.”
I muttered something under my breath about ‘already did that’ and she sent me a glare.
“Ummm,” she hesitated. “I think you need to pull over.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because there’s something between my legs that shouldn’t be.” She gasped, her body bowing up off of the seat.
I looked over, and tried not to laugh when the trash bag connected to the bare skin of her ass tried to fly out the window.
That grin quickly wiped off my face when I saw the fucking hand sticking out of of her, though.
“Is the head out?” I asked, pulling over.
“No,” she cried out. “But, oh fuck. My legs are burning, and I can’t sit down!”
She couldn’t. A, because there was now an arm sticking out of her vagina, and B, the trash bag wasn’t on the seat anymore.
I turned my emergency flashers on, pressed the phone button on my steering wheel, and bailed out of the truck.
When I got around to Masen’s side of the truck, I yanked the door open and yelled, “Call 911!”
The woman that was in control of my car said, “You want me to call Alpha Outfitters?”
My brows furrowed. “No!” I put the trash bag back down on the seat and directed Masen to get on her knees, “Call 9-1-1!”
“Calling Dunkin Donuts.”
“Goddammit,” I growled.
“Dunkin Donuts, how may I assist you?”
But I couldn’t go over there and dial it myself. Not with a baby currently making its way, very quickly might I add, right out of his favorite sleeping spot.
“Jesus, I have to push. Pull it out!”
I didn’t have to pull ‘it’ out.
It slid out.
Right into my fucking hands, like a slippery wiggle worm that had a set of lungs on it like a goddamn freight train.
I stared at her, my baby, in shock for a few seconds, still wondering what in the hell had just happened, when Masen twirled.