Page 120 of Sand in My Boots

“Eh, you probably don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“You asked because it’s what you do. To show your love,” she challenges, hand on her hip.

Thank goodness I convinced her for one last quickie. Otherwise, her sass would definitely need to be dealt with.

“Still haven’t answered my question, cutie. Maybe you want to remedy that?” I’ve learned how far I can push her. Our personalities complement each other well. She’s the yin to my yang, the salt to my pepper—and man, she can be salty—the Rita to my Tom.

“I’m trying not to think about it. If I don’t think about it, maybe today will be a puke-free day.” She closes her eyes for a brief moment and breathes deeply. “Happy now?”

“Only if you are. I can’t be the only happy one in this relationship.” I move toward her, drawing her into me. Pushing unruly strands out of her face, I stare deep into her eyes. Today they’re the color of sunlit sand, warm and endless as summer. “What can I do to make it better?”

“A foot massage. On the balcony. At sunset.”

I laugh. “That’s very specific. What else?”

She peers back up at me, her smile not waning. “As if you have to ask.”

“You’re going to turn into a steak fry.”

“Would that be the worst thing in the world?”

My chuckle is hearty. Leave it to my wife to want to be a steak fry.

“Then I’d have to eat you.”

Her eyebrows waggle suggestively. “As if that’s any different from what you do now?”

She’s not wrong, but that’s only her pussy. I’d very much like to keep the rest of her.

She falls into my arms. “After dinner, I’m going to bed early. Want to join me?”

“I’d say yes, but are you going to sleep this time?”

Pregnancy and Juliana don’t quite mesh well together. She’s been sick almost every day since the stick turned pink, she’s got horrible insomnia, yet she’s tired all the time, and her cravings are bizarre. The other night—at three a.m.—she wanted fettuccine carbonara. I found her sitting on the island in the kitchen shoveling it into her mouth like it was a normal, everyday kind of thing.

“I make no promises, k?”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know.” Her lips quirk into a smile against my chest.

My watch buzzes, and she grabs my wrist to check it out. She has her own Apple Watch so she doesn’t always have to ask me what time it is, but she’s yet to take it out of the package from Christmas six months ago. Gift fail on my part.

“Movers will be here soon. Guess that means we better get cracking.”

With only a slight waddle, she walks over to the couch, her spot to “supervise” the movers.

“Why do I need to be here again? You can handle this on your own. Can’t I go see Preston and the babes?”

“How are you going to get there?”

Her mouth opens, then shuts quickly. “Maybe they can pick me up. What do you think?”

I shake my head from side to side. “Should have gone when you had the chance. Could have gotten a ride in your dad’s swanky new wheels.”

She pouts, looking simply adorable. “And miss the orgasms you insisted on doling out? Not a chance.”