AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He does not,” Wren says from behind her, where she’s busy setting up snack time for the toddler set, including her own precious boy, Reed, while wearing his new baby sister, Riley, strapped to her chest. “He’s just not afraid to speak his truth. Loudly.”
Keanu Reeves throws back his head, making a sound somewhere between a howl and a bunch of silverware tossed into a woodchipper. In response, Freya climbs on his back, reaching around to wrap both paws around his lips, making Wes and I laugh.
“Are you okay on critter duty alone for a little while?” I ask, standing to toss my straw hat onto the bench beside me.
“You bet,” he says, his gaze raking up and down my torso as I strip off my cover-up, revealing my gold one-piece bathing suit. He makes a rumbling sound low in his throat, and I roll my eyes.
“It’s a one-piece,” I hiss.
“It’s hot. You’re hot,” he murmurs, still devouring me with his eyes.
“And you’re incorrigible,” I say, aiming my cover-up at his face.
He catches it easily in one hand and smiles. “Yep. I have no interest in mending my wicked ways. In fact, I think I might need to take you out on the Sea-Doo later. To a little secluded cove, I happen to know about, where no one will hear you scream my name.”
My cheeks heat and butterflies fill my stomach. Even after five months of getting naked with this man every chance we get; I still can’t get enough of him. If anything, I want him more with every passing day.
But not enough to risk getting caught by one of the teenagers out riding their own Sea-Doos.
“Tonight,” I promise. “I have a surprise for you.”
His brows lift. “Yeah? A sex surprise?”
“Let’s just say my treasure chest order finally came in,” I murmur vaguely.
The lockbox we found in Utah didn’t contain Butch Cassidy’s loot, after all. Which turned out to be a good thing, Wes and I realized later. Butch’s treasure would have been protected under a 1979 law that gives the government ownership of all archeological finds. Our treasure—a time capsule buried by a group of high society Ivy Leaguers on a summer adventure in the 1950s—was exempt from the mandate, allowing us to do with the contents what we wished.
We kept the earrings, photographs, and delicate champagne glasses as mementos of our first find. We sold the vintage baseball cards and first edition of The Catcher in the Rye for a startling amount of cash.
And when I say startling, I mean enough to fund our Appalachian Trail adventure three weeks ago and buy the food truck I plan to turn into my full-time gig by next summer. And we still had enough left over for each of us to have five hundred dollars to spend on something nice for the house.
Wes moved in with me just a few weeks after our camping trip, and we couldn’t be happier. Especially since he spent his five hundred dollars constructing a gorgeous brick pizza oven on my back patio. We made wood-grilled pizza all summer, experimenting with new toppings and dough recipes while Freya played in the yard.
Soon, we’ll be able to end magical autumn nights by our brick oven with a visit to the sex swing in our bedroom…
Christian was nice enough to install it for me on the down-low this morning, while Wes and I were out buying drinks for the party before heading to the lake. Christian isn’t the most discreet McGuire brother, but he’s great with tools, and Wes has enough dirt on him that we can trust him to keep his mouth shut about our swing.
After all, we’ve kept our mouths shut about his sun goddess thing with Starling and the time Wes had to go let a naked Christian and Starling out of their shed after a tree fell across the entrance while they were playing “Love in a Zombie-Apocalypse Fallout Shelter.” (Weird, but whatever floats their boat. After all the hair-pulling and spanking Wes and I get up to on a regular basis, I’m certainly in no position to judge. And the handcuffs and blindfold… And the thing he did with ice cubes on a particularly steamy evening last week…)
I shiver as I blow him a kiss and leap off the end of the boat, grateful for the cool water closing over my head. I need something to cool me off or I’m never going to make it the next four hours until we head for home.
Over at the Pool Noodle Peril obstacle course and battle station, I pull myself up on the floating dock beside Melissa, who is wearing a nearly identical one-piece to mine, though hers is blue and allegedly still maternity wear. She’s only four weeks postpartum, but looks incredible. Aside from her much larger than normal breasts, I would never guess that she’d just had a baby.
But little Jonah James Boudreaux is currently napping in the shade with his grandmother on the largest pontoon, oblivious to the fact that his mother is about to defend her Pool Noodle Peril title just a dozen yards away.
“Don’t be scared,” she says, grinning like the shark she is as we pick our noodles from the garbage bin full of long foam floaties. “I’m not in peak condition. Jonah still isn’t sleeping through the night, and I was up feeding him at four this morning. There’s a chance you might actually move on to the semi-finals this year.”
I laugh and nudge her hip with mine. “Right. And pigs are going to fly out of my ass.”
“Pippa Jane is way too big to fly out of anyone’s ass. And she doesn’t have wings,” she says, her eyes dancing. “Just know I love you and kicking your sweet bottom is going to hurt me as much as it hurts you.”
“Right,” I say, laughing as Binx blows the airhorn to start the next bout and Melissa and I jump into the water, swimming hard toward the first obstacle while batting at each other with our noodles.
I hold my own across the water trampoline—even managing to bounce Mel off her feet once—but by the time we reach the rope swing and the floating foam lily pads on the other side, Mel is pulling ahead. When she bats me off the second lily pad with her noodle, sending me crashing into the water, I know it’s over, but I don’t give up. I pull myself up onto the diving board dock and hurry after her, crossing the finish line a mere fifteen seconds after the reigning champion.
Once we’ve both swum back to Binx’s boat and wrapped up in towels, Mel pulls me in for a damp hug. “Sorry, pumpkin. You know I love you.”
I return the hug. “Love you, too. Even though you’re filled with pool noodle blood lust.”
