Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Final hugs and kisses are given; however, when I reach their bedroom door, I pause for one last bedtime tradition.
“Sleep tight, cowgirls.”
“Snore loud, daddy!”
As expected, the second they’re shut inside, Tortilla is stationed right outside for protection. I present him with a single nod, pat to the head, and move out of his way to allow his body to stretch out the length of the doorway.
Downstairs, Disco is doing the same to our bedroom, actively guarding the other woman in our life. It’s a sight that instantly makes me grateful and glad I sprung for the extra dog toys earlier.
The reminder to get the hidden gifts out of the bed of the truck prompts me to crack open the door and curl my face around the blockade to tell Arley it’ll be a few yet am surprised to see our empty bed. Her absence there has me swinging my stare dead ahead to the built-in reading nook where every once in a while I’ll come across her completely lost in an article from Nature Human Behaviour – her favorite psychology publication.
She swears I keep getting stronger, but I know she keeps getting smarter.
She proves that shit every time we go to dinner without the girls, and we opt to talk about shifts in societal behaviors based on medical or technology advancements versus sports.
Which is just another reason why I love my woman.
Her ability to talk about more than just shop or game stats is incredible.
Plus, she isn’t afraid to admit when she doesn’t understand a subject or needs me to further explain.
Those moments actually turn me on.
I’ve always liked teaching her.
Especially when something is my specialty such as advocating for melee weapons in advanced warfare.
Stepping completely into the modern, rustic mashup master bedroom, I curiously scan the scene for an indication that’s she actually been in here since we arrived home. The view of our perfectly made Texas king sized bed informs me she didn’t even stop at it to wiggle off her boots like she normally does and the lack of a fire going reiterates the only thing on her mind was the bathtub.
And probably that mug of tequila.
Then again…if she’s still in the tub where’s the music?
Why am I not being greeted by sounds from guys who’ve worn more eyeliner than she has in her lifetime?
Cautiously, I close the door behind me, with Disco still on guard, and call out, “Angel Cake?”
“In the bathroom!”
Her immediate reply smooths out the crinkles in my system.
Thank fuck we weren’t about to have some sort of Liam Neeson inspired Christmas adventure.
One was plenty.
“I’m gonna go grab the gifts from the truck and get to wrappin’,” I casually proclaim, hands finding their way to my pockets. “Need a refill or maybe a sniggerdoodle before I go?”
She opens the door to our ensuite bathroom and flashes me a tickled grin. “Was that the type of cookie we left out for Santa?”
“Nope.” It’s my turn to look amused. “That would be the inside out double chocolate chip cookies.”
Arley leans against the door frame, ribbon from her closed satin red robe, seductively swaying at the space between her thighs I doubt I’ll get to enjoy any time before our traditional Christmas Day nap.
The girls get up a little after five, we enjoy pancakes shaped like Christmas objects, and then begin opening presents, which takes several hours due to their desire to open every package to play with said gift immediately. They tend to crash from excitement and exhaustion around eleven. It works out well. They nap. We fuck. And then they get up ready to have lunch with family.
Our system is practically flawless.
“Hm,” my wife hums and folds her arms across her chest. “Little surprised by the choice. Would’ve figured a snickerdoodle or oatmeal surprise considering I only make the inside out double chocolate chip cookies for birthdays and Christmas.”
“Guess they felt Santa deserved that extra love this year.”
“Can’t blame ‘em.” She allows her smile to remain. “Speaking of extra love, are you ready for your Christmas Eve gift?”
Quirking an eyebrow can’t be helped. “That a trick question, Angel Cake?”
“Because of course you want a gift?”
“Who the hell in their right mind wouldn’t want their half-naked wife to give them a gift?” I playfully poke back encouraging her to giggle. “But I meant, was that a trick question when we both know I don’t deserve one.”
“What?” All signs of mirth instantaneously vanish. “Why don’t you deserve one?”
Her bafflement ignites my own, yet I push onward. “’Cause I let you all down tonight.”
“Cowboy-”
“I should’ve been there. I should’ve been eatin’ the marshmallows the girls made snowmen out of for their gingerbread houses. I should’ve been around to help Dad and Tom haul in firewood. Hell, I should’ve been there to stop T from havin’ his third glass of ponche navideño and made sure you got to have at least one. And I definitely should’ve been there to feed reindeer with my cowgirls instead of watchin’ y’all do it in a video from Blu – who requested an actual trophy for his imaginary Godfather of the Year Award ceremony.” After brushing off his demand with an eye roll, I defeatedly shrug. “I failed my most important duty on one of the most important days of the year. I’m sorry, Angel Cake.”