“Poor K.”
“But definitely not just one kid.I wouldn’t want them to be alone.”
“Alone?No one is alone on Yosemite Ranch, even if they want to be!”
“But with two kids you get direct, head-to-head rivalry that can get ugly.So three kids would smooth out the edges.”
“But three is an odd number,” Summer notes.“Someone would always feel left out.”
I kiss her, putting my greasy lips to hers.“You’re brilliant.Exactly!Which brings me right back to the obvious conclusion—four children.”
“That’s a lot of children.”
“But at least we’d have a built-in babysitter with Jasmine.”
Summer frowns.“Aren’t you supposed to be the computer science geek?The math doesn’t even work in that statement.First of all, parents don’t usually leave super-young babies with babysitters.So the kid would probably have to be at least two years old.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And I think most babysitters are in the twelve-to-sixteen age range because any earlier is too young and any later is too old because they’re getting really involved in school and social lives and stuff.”
“Jasmine is only nine.”
“Right.So, her window opens three years from today and closes seven years from today.That means we’d have to get pregnant right now for her to be able to babysit our first kid when they’re two and when she’s twelve.And then we’d need to have the rest of our kids likeboom-boom-boomto fit any babysitting at all into Jasmine’s four-year window.”
I squint at her “What?”
Summer shrugs and finishes off her grilled cheese.
“You fascinate me,” I tell her.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to chat.”
“I guess we can just hire a babysitter when we need one.”
“That would work, too.”
I put her empty plate on the coffee table.Then I crawl over to her where she’s tucked into the corner of the couch and snatch the hem of her crewneck sweatshirt in my teeth.I drag the shirt all the way up to her chin before I start having some trouble.
Summer is giggling.She says, “If you can remove my sweatshirt with just your teeth—no hands, no help from me, and without the sweatshirt slipping from your teeth in the process—I’ll give you a blow job you’ll never forget.”
I accept the challenge because that’s what MacLaine men do.
The angle is tricky, though, and I have to stand and walk around the couch with her shirt in my teeth, which nearly results in Summer’s strangulation, but I keep trying.
It’s a clusterfuck.
Summer ends up doing a back somersault off the couch, landing with her ass directly on my face, so I decide to cheat and use my opposable thumbs to rip off the sweatshirt and also her sweatpants while I’m at it because I’m all about efficiency.
Then she rips off my jeans and T-shirt and we’re rolling around laughing so hard that we almost don’t hear the banging on the front door.
Summer hops to her feet, as do I.I stand in front of her to protect her.Out of the corner of my eye I see her picking up our clothes from the floor and clutching everything to the front of her body.
“Pretend you’re not home,” I whisper to her.“Don’t answer the door.”
“That’s not going to be enough, and you know it!”she whispers back, making a run for her bedroom with my clothes still pressed to her nakedness.
Just as the front door flies open.
