Proving Paul's Promise(42)

“I won!” I cry, holding my arms up.

Logan and Emily both clap, but their little one startles in the car seat and lets out a cry.

“Uh oh,” Logan says. “She’s awake.”

“Which means she’ll want to eat,” Emily says.

Logan picks her up and holds her until her face turns red and she’s screaming. “She’s definitely hungry,” Logan says, holding their daughter out to Emily.

She reaches for her and turns to me. “Do you want to go in your room so I can feed her and we can talk? I still can’t get used to the whole boob-out-in-public thing.”

I look at Paul, who throws up his hands and then swipes a frustrated palm down his face. Logan chuckles.

“Actually,” I say. “I need to soak this paint off. Can you talk to me from the bathtub?”

She nods, looking relieved that she won’t have to feed her daughter in the living room. She gives me a minute to undress and climb in, and then she knocks. “Are you decent?” she asks.

“I’m in bubbles,” I call back. I halfway pull the bath curtain so that only my head is exposed. “Bubbles that are quickly looking like black licorice.”

She pokes her head in. “That’s kind of gross,” she says.

I rub a sponge over my body and let the water out, then refill the tub. This is going to be a multi-step process. It was a lot of paint.

Emily closes the lid of the toilet and sits down. Then she bares her breast, and the little one latches on to it with a smacking noise and a sigh.

“God, your boobs are huge!” I say. They are. Like f*cking huge. Like melon sized but with a baby attached.

She laughs. “I know, right?” she says. “They’re too big. Logan likes them, though.” She smiles. “He keeps wanting to play with them.” She grimaces. “But they hurt. I think I have enough milk to feed a small nation.”

I agree; she could probably start her own dairy farm, but I’m afraid to say so.

“So, how is pregnancy treating you?” she asks. Kit sucks greedily at her breast, and my insides go all melty at how comfortable and secure they look together.

“I still wake up sick, but it’s not too bad,” I admit. “I can deal with it.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t done it, now that things are going the way they are with Paul?”

“No.” Not for a minute. Garrett and Cody deserve a kid, and I am happy I get to help with that. “It kind of makes things different, but not bad.”

Emily laughs. “I was horny as hell when I was pregnant.”

“You and Logan went at it like rabbits from the beginning,” I remind her.

“No,” she protests. “He wouldn’t even have sex with me until I told him my real name. And that was weeks later.”

“You know what I meant.” I roll my eyes.

The paint is coming off, so I change the water again. I hope Paul doesn’t need a shower, too, because there’s not going to be an ounce of hot water left.

“Speaking of Paul…” She grins. “Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill. We haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh.” She looks disappointed, and that makes me laugh.

“He painted my boobs for me today. He might be a boob man.” I lower my chin and look at hers. “So, keep your humongous knockers out of his face.”

“I could be the last woman on the planet and he wouldn’t look at my humongous knockers,” she tells me. “I know that much about him. It’s a brother thing.” She shrugs. “So, did we interrupt you guys when you came home? He looked like he wants to have you for dinner.”

“It can wait. I had to get the paint off anyway. So, you’re not delaying our fornication. Just our foreplay.” I laugh.

Her face colors, but she laughs, too. “Well, good luck with that.” She pops Kit off her left side and switches to the other. The baby pecks around until she latches on, and Emily sits back and takes a breath. “Logan is wearing me out,” she admits quietly.

“What do you mean?” I stand up and start to actually soap myself now that most of the paint is gone.

“He’s working really hard to make it easy for me, but I wish he’d just leave and go to work and let me try to do some of it. He holds her. He gets up for every feeding and sits with us. He changes all the diapers.”

I stick my head out of the curtain. “Not necessarily a bad thing.”

“It’s like he thinks I can’t do it. I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m not going to break.” A tear tracks down her face. “Dammit.” She swipes it away. “I can’t stop crying lately.”

“Pass me a towel,” I say. I wrap it around myself and step out. “I think you have a really good thing going on,” I tell her. “But you’re tired and your hormones are going crazy and your tits are huge.” I look at her boobs and shake my head, and she laughs. At least I can do that much for her; I can make her laugh. “It’s going to get easier.”

“I miss our intimacy,” she admits. “It’s like he’s afraid to wrap around me because he doesn’t want to wake me up when I do finally get to sleep.”

“Did you tell him?”