Proving Paul's Promise(43)

“I don’t want to complain. He’s trying so hard.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I say. I pat her shoulder and put a robe on. “Come with me while I get dressed, and then I’ll give him a few pointers.”

“No,” she protests. But she gets up and follows me. “Let’s talk about sex for a minute.” She points to me. “Yours. Not mine.”

I grin. “Okay.” She follows me into the bedroom, and I shut the door behind us.





Paul

Logan is such a little f*cker. He looks at the pillow shoved in my lap and grins. “When are you going home?” I grouse.

He pops a nut in his mouth and talks around it. “Never.” He smiles even bigger.

I throw the extra pillow at him. “Fuck you, *,” I say. I jerk my thumb toward the bathroom. “Is Em okay? She looks stressed.”

His head jerks around to look in that direction. “She does? I’ll go get her.” He gets up, so I flip the light to get his attention.

“Come back,” I tell him. “Sit.”

He flops down. I set my pillow to the side because Logan has effectively killed my hard-on. I have a feeling Friday can get it back, though. Just by looking at me, probably. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

His chest fills with air as he sighs. “I try to help her. I try to do everything for her. But she doesn’t seem to like it. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

I wait for him to continue.

“And her boobs are like—” he makes a grasping motion in the air “—like huge. And I want to touch them, but she says they hurt, so I try to sleep on the other side of the bed when we do sleep. I miss her. I want to toss my leg over her naked ass and sleep wrapped around her.”

“Her boobs probably do hurt.” If I remember correctly from Kelly when she had Hayley, she said the same thing. But we didn’t live together, so I didn’t get immersed in it the way Logan is. “Rub her feet or something nice. Hell, pick anything else to rub.”

His face lights up.

“Not that,” I say with a laugh.

He waves a hand in the air like he’s dismissing me. “That’s not even the part I miss. I can do without that.”

I snort.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like that as much as the next guy, but I don’t have to have it. It’s her I have to have.” He looks toward the bathroom, and we see Friday come out wearing a robe. I want to go with her. But Emily follows her into her room and they close the door. Damn. Cock blocked by the best friend and my brother. “You suck,” I grouse at him.

He laughs. He nods toward Friday’s room. “How’s that going? Do I need to restock the condom drawer?”

“What do you think I’m going to do, get her more pregnant?”

He laughs, but it’s a serious thing.

“We haven’t done…that…yet,” I say quietly. I can’t believe I’m discussing this with my little brother.

“What the f*ck are you waiting for?” he asks. He leans forward. I have all of his attention.

“I’m waiting for her to commit,” I admit.

He sits back. “Oh,” he says.

“I’m just not sure she’s going to be here forever.” I shrug. “That’s all.”

“I think you’re right.”

My gaze jerks up. I didn’t expect him to agree with me. I expected him to reassure me. “What do you mean?”

“What are your intentions?” he asks.

“I want my f*cking ring on her finger and my baby growing inside her.” Damn, I just shocked myself. And I might have to pick Logan up off the floor. He chokes on a cashew.

He clears his throat and says, “Then you need to buy a f*cking ring and get on one f*cking knee.”

“It’s too soon.” I look toward the bedroom to be sure the door is closed.

“If it’s too soon for a ring, it’s too soon to f*ck her.”

“Says the guy who got his girlfriend pregnant.”

“But we didn’t get married because we were lazy. It wasn’t because we didn’t want to be married. If Friday doesn’t want to get married, then you need to reevaluate.”

Logan is so succinct with his thoughts. I’m glad he dropped by, actually, because I was going to f*ck Friday all night long. And let her f*ck me. And then do it all over again.

“Bet you wish I’d stayed at home,” he says.

I shake my head. “I’m actually glad you’re here. Oh!” I interrupt myself. I pull my phone from my pocket. “If I show you a picture, can you look at the art of it and not at her body?”

A vee forms between his brows. “Whose body is it?”

“Friday’s.”

“Eww… Like I could look at her with lustful intentions.” He pretends to gag and shivers dramatically.

“I want a tattoo that looks like this butterfly.” I show him the picture, and he grins.

“Damn, she’s good,” he says. He keeps smiling. “Where do you want it?”

“That spot on my chest.” I rub the place over my heart, which I know is bare.

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “The one you’ve been saving?”