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“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“He’s a madman,” he argued. “A sadist. I never want to see the inside of a gym again.”
“Yeah, well, you agreed to go to the gym with him in exchange for pints at Biddies last night,” I reminded him. “And if I recall correctly, you also asked him to train you up so that you could get a spot in the Academy.”
“Train me, Claire,” he deadpanned. “Not break my will.”
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. “So, you’re not sold on the professional rugby player career anymore?”
“Fuck that,” he groaned and, with a great deal of effort, rolled onto his back. “I was built for comfort, not speed. I’ll join the family business and become a baker.”
“You are a great baker,” I indulged him by saying.
“I am a great baker,” he agreed, looking up at me with a delighted expression. “I’ve seriously improved.”
“Hands down,” I praised. “You’re like a different person in the kitchen since you took the job at the bakery.” Smiling, I added, “And your fairy cakes are the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“See, this is why I love you.” He reached out a hand to stroke Cherub. “You get me.”
“I do get you.” I laughed, gently placing my purring queen on top of his back. “Which is why I must add that this ripped version of Gerard Gibson”—I paused to trail a finger over the fabric that concealed his recently renewed abdominal muscles before climbing off the bed—“is pretty, but I like the old version best.”
“You miss my love handles,” he purred, carefully rolling onto his back and then setting Cherub back down on his stomach. “You prefer a little extra Gibs to keep you warm at night, don’t you?”
“Maybe?” I laughed, not that he ever had love handles to begin with. “Here,” I said, distracting myself from my lustful thoughts by scooping up our three mischievous kittens and carrying them over to the bed. “Say hello to your daddy.”
“Dick!” Gerard cooed, snatching up the furriest of the three. “How are you, son?”
“Don’t forget to give Tom and Harry some attention,” I warned, climbing back onto the mattress. “You’re always favoring Dick.”
“But that’s only because I love my Dick,” he continued to coo, holding the kitten up to his face so that they could rub noses. “Isn’t that right, son? You’re my favorite, aren’t you? Yes, you are with your little pink nose and teeny tiny paws.”
“Gerard!”
“Alright, alright.” Reluctantly setting down the beautiful ginger-haired kitten, he turned his attention to Dick’s littermates. “Listen, babe, you know I love all our kids, and I know it’s not their fault, but I can’t look at Tom and Harry without seeing him.”
“Gerard,” I gasped in horror, snatching up Harry. “How could you?”
“I know,” he agreed with a groan. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? But I can’t help it. They’ve got his beady green eyes and that creepy white hair…”
“Brian might have fathered them, but you are their dad! And dads are supposed to love all of their children equally!”
“I know!” Throwing his hands up in defeat, he added, “That’s why I wanted to keep Millicent. She was every inch her mother’s daughter.” He pointed to Cherub who was still snoozing on his lap. “Look at that pussy. Look at how beautiful and sweet she is—”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this!” I shrieked, scooping up the boys and stomping back to their basket. “You don’t love our babies.”
“I do! I do love our babies, Claire!” Bambied legs forgotten, Gerard sprang off the bed and hurried after me. “But that bastard Brian has given me an awful life. You know that. Remember when he snuck up on me in the shower and scratched my gooch? Or the time he bit my toe and I had to get a tetanus shot? He traumatized me, Claire. I can’t help it if every time I look at Tom and Harry, I’m triggered!”
“This is terrible,” I wailed, kneeling in front of the basket full of kittens. “Don’t worry, babies, I’m as disappointed in your father as you are.”
“Wait—” Snatching me up in one swift move, Gerard set me on my feet facing him. “Are we in a fight?”
“You know what, Gerard.” I planted my hands on my hips. “I think we are.”
“We’re a team, babe,” he tried to reason, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “We don’t fight.”
“On, no, no, no,” I warned, reaching up to twist his ear. “Don’t babe me, Gerard Gibson. You can’t smooth talk your way out of this.”
“Okay, ouch!” he grumbled, cupping his ear. “Was there any need for violence?”
