“Well, since you have everything in order, I think it’s time you feed me and take me back to bed.” I wiggle my eyebrows. That was another thing that I noticed a change in happening, besides the queasiness and the wanting to sleep morning, noon, and night. My sexual appetite was rampant before, but now, it’s on overdrive.
“Considering we’re getting married tonight, I guess we better do that now.” He stands up, his chair crashing to the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist. This is just the beginning for us, and I couldn’t be more excited.
Epilogue
Drake
TWO YEARS LATER
“Jesus,” I mutter as I walk in the door. The house is a wreck. Toys are strewn everywhere. Clothes that need to be folded are on the kitchen table.
I drop my keys in the bowl Giana leaves on the kitchen counter along with my loose change when Corbyn comes running around the corner, buck-ass naked.
“Daddy!” His arms are up, and he wants me to pick him up.
“Hey, where are your bottoms, little dude?” I place him on my hip, not caring what he’s got going on.
“Pot pot.” Giana has been letting him take his diaper off when he has the desire to try and go on his plastic toilet contraption. I keep telling Giana he needs a urinal, but she just rolls her eyes and says that’s a bit extravagant when a fifteen-dollar toilet will work just fine for the time being. Little does she know, one is coming in, and soon. He needs to know how to pee both ways. She had no idea men didn’t even have doors on the stalls in the men’s restroom until I told her. Her face was one of disgust. It caused me to laugh.
“You being a hellion for Mommy today?” I murmur as I kiss his head, smelling the baby lotion Giana slathers on his skin morning and night.
“No, no, no,” he states.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I chuckle. I set him down on his feet, and he takes off again. I start to pick up a few of the toys, putting them in the baskets. I shake my head. This pregnancy has been hard on Giana, yet she takes it in stride. She doesn’t have morning sickness like she did with Corbyn. Oh no, it’s all-day sickness. If I were a betting man, I bet she’s cleaning herself up after running to the bathroom. I’ve always gone to check on her, but Giana shoos me away, saying she’s okay and just needs a few minutes. I’m giving her that now while I help clean up the house. She wanted to continue working while pregnant with Zander. It wasn’t in the cards. Our parents do help out from time to time so Giana can meet up with the girls and have a day out or to get out of the house for a bit. This week, though, they’ve all been doing their own thing. That’s why I told Slade I was working from home the rest of the week, but not to count on me to be around every waking minute.
“Daddy!” I look up from finishing putting the toys away.
“What’s up?” I ask. He rubs his belly, something he’s done since the minute he could figure out how to get food.
“You want a snack? I think Mommy might be cooking dinner. If not, maybe you and me will go pick up her favorite dinner, how’s that sound?” He nods so rapidly it tousles his hair. My mom swears he’s the spitting image of me, but I see Giana shine through in his looks so much, it’s not funny.
I plop Corbyn in the high chair, grab him some sliced grapes Giana keeps on hand, and start cleaning up the kitchen. Once Corbyn is done with his snack, we’ll go check on her if she isn’t out yet. I load the dishes while mindlessly talking to Corbyn about his day and what they did today. He’s babbling, not making much sense, but this is our thing. He babbles, I talk, he listens, then I listen.
“Hey, thank God you’re home. I’m starving, and I don’t want anything in the house.” I laugh at that.
“Hey, angel.” I dry my hands off, cup her cheeks, and give her a deep kiss. Corbyn is mindlessly eating, not paying attention that I’m getting all of Giana’s attention, something I’m yearning for more and more lately. It’s probably because I know my woman will be out of commission sooner than later, and those six weeks suck. Sure, she takes care of me, but I’m a giver, not just a receiver, and I fucking hate that I can’t reciprocate.
“Hmmm, I needed that,” she moans when we pull away. “There’ll be a lot more when he goes to bed at night too.” I wink.
“I like your idea, Mr. Martinez, but right now, I’m thinking about food. Can we order in or pick up dinner?”