Page 85 of Parentmoon

Mr. and Mrs. Hudson are having a baby.

Dallas is silent another second at the mention of our shared grandchild.

“You could move to Texas.” His voice lowers, rugged yet hesitant.

“What would I possibly do in Texas?” The question comes out harsher than it should. “My job is in Chicago. My livelihood is there.”

“You’re not saying it’s your home.”

“What?” I shift to get a better look at him.

“Chicago is where you live, right? But you aren’t saying that it’s your home. You’re mentioning work and an income, but not home.”

I break free of his hold and straighten, twisting my upper body to face him better. “Home is implied. I’m happy in Chicago.”

But was I? I was born and raised there. I always thought I’d take my last breath there. But do I believe that? Do I want that? I’ve been unhappy with my job for years now. Michael is getting married and moving away. There isn’t really anything holding me to the city I love but no longer feel the comfort implied in the word home.

“What would I even do in Texas?” What am I asking? Could I really consider quitting a stable job in my forties and packing up my life for someplace new? Could I risk that kind of adventure?

“Pretty certain there are hospitals in Texas,” Dallas teases, his voice louder, restored to that constant confidence he exudes. “Or other healthcare opportunities.”

“I don’t want to learn the bureaucracy of somewhere new. I’m comfortable with the devil I know, I guess.” Insurance is the necessary evil. Healthcare workers are angels in disguise. It’s a terrible dichotomy. And while I no longer love my job and the state of current affairs in medical practice, a new job would only mean new issues. Then again, I don’t know if I want to continue working in the health care profession, and I hadn’t really thought about any of this until right now.

Am I seriously entertaining such a major change?

“Michael says you work a lot.”

“Because it’s all I have.” The confession sounds even worse when said aloud, and I drop my gaze to his chest. Brushing off my admission, I add, “Coming from a workaholic.”

According to Keli, Dallas works constantly as well. Works hard. Plays harder.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” My tone hardens. I don’t want to think about my future on the eve of our children’s future. Turning, I place my back to his chest again, falling into his arms as they wrap around me once more.

Dallas kisses my neck. Then he presses a kiss to my ear. He hums against the shell causing me to shiver. “Want to slip my hand up your skirt.”

Turning me on, I nudge back at the heavy length growing in his pants.

“I’d have you face the moon but sit on me and reverse cowgirl the fuck out of us.”

“Dallas,” I hiss as a rush comes up my inner thighs and I clench my legs together.

“But I’ll behave tonight.” He scrapes his teeth along the edge of my jaw before tipping my head so he can kiss me long and soft.

“I’ll miss sleeping with you tonight, darlin’.” His voice is rough once again and he tightens his arms around me.

I squeeze his forearms where they cross over my middle. After tomorrow, I’m going to miss sleeping with him all the nights.

Chapter 22

When Michael and I return to the house, the absence of Dallas is almost overwhelming. How can I miss a man I’ve only known for a few days? I’ve been sleeping most of my life without him, but I still wish he were here.

Then again, there aren’t words to express my gratitude for his traditional ways. Dallas needs a night with Keli. I need a night with Michael.

“How are you doing?” I ask as I round the peninsula for a glass of water.

Michael collapses to the couch and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m good.”

“Water?” I ask. Michael shakes his head, and I carry my glass to the couch, taking a seat in the corner.