Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
He dips his head, nibbling on my lips. "Oh, you've definitely been mine all along. Even your diary knows it. But now you're stuck in this room with me, and we don't have another show until the day after tomorrow." His lips slide down my throat. "You aren't leaving this bed, Éire. Not until I decide to let you."
"I support this plan," I groan.
"Good to know." He pulls my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. "But it wasn't really a negotiation."
"Bossy."
"Mmhmm." He moves to the other breast. "And you fucking love it."
He's right. I do love it. There isn't a single thing about this man that doesn't set me on fire or make me ache. And I get to spend the rest of my life loving him.
I know. My life is awesome.
Want my advice?
If a heartthrob offers you his heart, be the kind of girl who takes it.
Epilogue
Crue
Five Years Later
"Daddy!" Olivia tugs on my collar, her little eyes wide as I carry her in the front door. "You're on the wadio again!"
"I hear that," I murmur, fighting a grin as I hear one of Soul Obsession's old songs spilling through the house. I'm not surprised. Ireland's still a diehard fangirl. I think she will be until the day she dies. It doesn't bother me in the least. I think it's cute as hell that she finds so much joy in the music that was such a huge part of my life for so long.
It's been a long time since that was true, but it'll always be part of my story. It's the part that led me to her. And, despite everything, it's the part I find myself intensely grateful for often. I live a privileged life because of the band. My family wants for nothing. I choreograph when I want, write music when I want, and spend the rest of my time chasing my gorgeous little wife around it.
Not everyone is as fortunate. I know how lucky I am. I don't take it for granted. Not a day goes by that I don't say a prayer of gratitude for the band, my wife, and the incredible life we have. Things were wild while we were on tour, especially after the news broke and me and Ireland. Our faces were all over the internet and the news for a while. But eventually, it died down.
Oddly, it didn't feel nearly as invasive or infuriating the second time around. Perhaps because there weren't any stories to tell or lies to spread. There was no coming between Ireland and me. Nothing ever will.
I know the rest of the guys feel the same way about their wives. Their lives are just as full as mine. We may not be hitting the road together anymore, but we're still family. We keep in touch. Sometimes, we even get back together for old times' sake. I wouldn't change a goddamn thing.
"Put me down, Daddy," Olivia demands, wriggling in my arms. "I wanna dance with Mama."
I crouch, placing our four-year-old on her feet. She immediately takes off toward the kitchen, following Ireland's off-key voice. I follow behind her, already grinning at the thought of watching the two of them dance together. It's a weekly occurrence, but it never grows old.
"Hi, sweet baby!" Ireland cries, scooping Olivia up for kisses as soon as she spots our daughter.
"I wanna dance, mama!"
"Oh, you wanna dance, do you?" An impish grin overtakes my wife's face as she dips our daughter backward, spinning her around the kitchen.
Olivia squeals with happiness, her red hair flying out behind her. Ireland picks up the words of the song, crooning to our daughter as the spin and dip and twirl around the kitchen as if they don't have a care in the world.
I scoop our eleven-month-old, Miles, out of his high chair to kiss him. He places one grubby hand against my cheek, grinning. I'm guessing his two-year-old brother, Otis, is napping.
"Hi, buddy," I murmur. "Are you watching your mama dance?"
"Momomomomom," he jabbers at me, and then spies the snacks on his tray and reaches for them, hungry like always.
I chuckle, buckling him back into his seat, and then turn to watch Ireland and Olivia, a big grin stretched across my face. They're the worst dancers I've ever seen in my life. Neither of them could dance on the beat if their lives depended on it. But they're some of the best, too. If dance is about freedom and beauty, they've nailed that part.
"Come dance, daddy!" Olivia demands, holding out one little hand.
"Yeah," Ireland says, those green eyes shining as she spins around to face me. "Come dance with us, Crue."
I don't tell them no. Of course, I don't. I'm wrapped around their little fingers. Happily.
I spin them around the kitchen, keeping a close eye on Ireland, who I suspect is pregnant again. She hasn't figured it out yet. But I know her body better than I know myself. I spend every night worshipping at her feet. She's a week late…and she's never late unless she's carrying one of my babies.