Sensitive topic, let’s not go there and kill my vibe. Let’s get back to that release I’m so desperate for…
Instead of giving up, or selecting another toy from our little collection, I decide to finish with Ranger. His moves are what I’ve been craving, dammit.
I pull my robe closed and quietly (yet still somewhat dramatically, I’ll admit), stomp my way through the single-story house to the kitchen, opening the junk drawer to grab replacement batteries. After rifling through the Ds, Cs, and AAs, I discover an empty package of AAAs.
Great. I’m sure one of the kids grabbed the last of them for their remote-control car or some shit.
Glancing around the room, my eyes are drawn to the random battery that is sitting miserably at the bottom of our fishbowl. Yep, you guessed it, AAA.
Awesome. At least it went to good use.
Not.
I give a mental snort.
Oh no! Topanga!
Topanga isn’t looking quite so hot, if goldfish can even look hot to begin with.
I let my head fall and shake it for a moment, a chuckle escaping my lips. Can’t help but to laugh at my own misfortune. I guess it’s just not in the cards for me today.
I pull out my cell phone and quickly order the largest pack of AA batteries Amazon has to offer. (Do they sell 100 packs? They should. I’d definitely invest in them. Or maybe I should invest in a decent rechargeable toy? Mental note to get back to that later.)
Luckily, they’ll be here tomorrow. Unluckily, my mood for today is long gone.
Sorry, libido. And sorry anyone who has to put up with me until then. I highly doubt my salty demeanor is going to improve until I work some of this tension out of my system.
Grabbing the empty package (No, but seriously, would it have been that hard to add it to the stupid list on the fridge? Or at least tell me we were getting low or had already run out? Or, at the bare minimum, could they really not have just thrown the fucking package away?), I head down the main hallway to the kids’ playroom and poke my head in the door, nostrils still flared.
Despite the irritation I felt not ten seconds ago, the sight that greets me warms my heart, and I take in Chance’s features as he sits on the colorful interlocking foam flooring with Preston and our youngest (the only daughter of our brood) on his lap. He’s reading them a book about a hungry caterpillar, while our two oldest lie on the foam tiles all the way on the other side of the room, facing off with Beyblades in some sort of battle royale, complete with their own sound effects and all.
The kids all stay focused on their activities, but Chance looks up to me with a gentle, knowing smile on his face. “Feeling better, Di?” he asks huskily, his deep blue eyes twinkling.
I narrow my gaze at him, and his little nickname for me, as I hold up the empty package, and I can’t help the accusatory note in my voice. “Not quite. Did you know we were out of batteries? I could use some more to really help mefeel better.”
Before we first became parents, I thought it would be harder to talk in code around the kids, but it’s really not. When you’ve been with someone for as long as Chance and I have been together (thirteen years and counting), it gets pretty easy to tell what the other one is thinking, or what the meaning is behind their child-friendly words.
His face falls in understanding. “No, baby, I would’ve put them on the list if I used the last of them.” He sounds so earnest, I believe him. “One of the boys must’ve used them. I’m sorry.”
At that, Preston lifts his head to look at me, eyes wide. “I gave ’Panga a battery to give him extra juice, Mommy. He didn’t look so good.”
My expression morphs into one of amusement and appreciation for this caring little dude who always has the best of intentions, even if they’re poorly executed ninety percent of the time. “That’s okay, buddy, thanks for telling me. Next time he’s not looking so good, will you tell Daddy or me so we can try to help him, too?”
He nods vigorously, eyes still wide, and turns his attention back to the book in his dad’s hands.
Chance shoots a glance at the big clock on the wall that is shaped like crayons, sees that it's a quarter to eight, almost the kids’ bedtime, and then brings his gaze back to me, one side of his mouth moving upward as he rakes those gorgeous eyes over my body.
“Let me take care of bath time, and then maybe I can come take care of you for once,” he says, quietly and full of intent, with another of his trademark winks. I try to maintain my indignance, but dammit, that smirk gets me every time.
Fuck him for still looking so hot after eleven years of marriage and a whole brood of children. I’ll be honest, I never got the appeal of a dad bod until Chance lost his not-quite-six-pack and softened up a little with time, but damn if he doesn’t pull it off. And when he adds a backward hat, like he’s got on now? Whoo-ey, I swear to Fendi, I don’t stand a chance.
And how is he in such a good mood? He hasn’t been laid in weeks, either, right? Ugh.
It’s been way too long, Christina. Get the kids to bed early tonight and steal some time with your husband. You deserve it.
“A modern fairy tale,” I reply sardonically, rolling my eyes, as if his offer hasn’t completely melted me. It’s not like he doesn’t already know what he does to me. I don’t need to add to his ego in that regard.
“Hey, what kind of Prince Charming would I be if I didn’t take care of my princess, Di?” he teases, eyes still on mine, that damned smirk still lingering on his lips.
