I no longer have to wonder.
Thank god.
“How am I supposed to sleep?” I grumble with a smile, pulling her close so I can wrap my arms around her. “I feel like it’s Christmas Eve, and we’re going to wake up and run down to see what Santa brought us.”
“Do you still believe in Santa?” she teases me.
“Are you being serious? Of course I believe in Santa. If you don’t believe, he doesn’t bring any presents.” I kiss her on the lips. “And you have to be a good girl, too.”
“I am a good girl.” Penelope swings a leg over my thigh, draping herself over me, kissing me back.
We share an open-mouth kiss, my dick beginning to twitch, ready for a second round. She reaches between us and begins stroking me. “I think my dick likes this news.”
“Feels like it.”
“Seriously. I swear it’s hard from the adrenaline pumping through my body, not from being turned on.”
“Should I be offended?” she says between kisses, her tongue entwining with mine.
“Probably. I could probably fuck all night right now. I have so much blood coursing through my veins.” This is better than any rush I’ve ever had on the playing field. Not even that first game as a rookie beats this feeling right here.
I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.
Chapter 20
Penelope
The smell of bacon wakes me up, followed by the sound of clinging pans in the kitchen, the television—laughter between two people.
Jack and Skipper are apparently hard at work making breakfast and probably a giant mess in the process.
I throw back the bed covers, then put on my robe before heading downstairs, greeted by the sight of Skipper kneeling on a barstool at the counter watching Jack flip pancakes next to a pan of sizzling bacon.
I can see the grease splattering from here but zip my lip.
It’s Sunday, and it’s early, and I don’t want to begin the day off by nagging.
“Mom, we’re making breakfast.” Skipper’s wide eyeballs are on the frying goodness, and she licks her lips to punctuate her sentence. “Look at these pancakes. They’re hearts.”
“Awww, how cute!” I pat Jack on the butt as I slide into the duo. “Look how creative you are.”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
Talents that make my toes curl. Talents that have my stomach fluttering. Talents that make me go Mmm.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he mutters, nudging my boob with his elbow in a covert attempt to flirt, and I skirt on past, grabbing plates out of the cabinets.
“I have a feeling my mind is perma-gutter when you’re around.”
“Well, brace yourself ’cause soon I’ll be perma-around.”
Shit, that’s right.
I agreed to move in with him and move to Colorado, at least for the next few months.
Am I crazy?
Honestly.
Or just crazy for him?
I pour myself a cup of coffee and make myself comfortable at the kitchen table, one leg crossed beneath me, snuggling up in my robe as I watch the two of them. They’re having a good time making a mess; as well they should—breakfast looks yummy and delicious, and I don’t often make pancakes.
Definitely don’t make them into fun shapes like hearts.
Lately, we’ve been more of a cereal and yogurt—or a bagel and cream cheese—on the fly kind of family. So I know this little spread is going to be quite a delight for Skipper.
Jack seems to be enjoying himself, acting like a modern-day Julia Child and whatnot, casually flipping the pancakes in the air as if being a chef was his part-time job. He could seriously be a line chef at a breakfast buffet, and I would sit at that buffet bar and watch him work his magic. Preferably, he’d be wearing an apron with an open back…
Ha!
Jack brings over a platter piled with pancakes, sausage, bacon, and eggs and sets the large oval plate in the center of the table. Skipper is hot on his heels with the butter and maple syrup.
“How many people are we feeding? This is obscene!” I’m eyeballing the stack even as I stab two flat cakes with my fork, plopping them on my plate.
“I used way too much pancake mix, and at that point, it was too late to put it back.”
I shrug. “Guess we’ll be having breakfast for dinner tonight. Maybe I can roll these sausages inside and make yummy breakfast burritos.” Yum.
Skipper nods, filling her own plate like a big girl and grinning from ear to ear as she takes her first bite.
I have a few myself before resting my fork on the side of my plate and making eyes at Jack.
Ready? I silently ask him.
He stares back blankly, clearly not understanding where I’m about to lead the discussion, so I proceed.
“Hey, sweetie?” I say.
“Yeah?” Both Jack and Skipper answer, each of them assumes I’m talking to them and calling them sweetie.