Chapter Thirty-Two
Slater
While scooting up my mattress to lean against the headboard after our third romp of the day, my tired eyes scan my room. Halfway across, I spot a sliver of yellow sticking out of Kylie’s jeans. I smile, loving that she still carries her bucket list with her everywhere she goes.
When I pace to her jeans to carefully remove the list from her pocket, my weary muscles scream in disgust. The paper has been so extensively used over the years, it’s veined with brittle creases. When I unfold it, I notice a large piece of scotch tape is holding it together. It looks recent, like its surgery was only performed a few weeks ago. If Kylie loves her list as much as she did years ago, I’m confident its repairs weren’t done without a truckload of tears. She loves this list—almost as much as I love her.
My veins thicken with euphoria when I discover how many we crossed off with the red pencil I gave her, then my heart sinks when I notice she’s also crossed off number three. I’ve barely worked through my confusion when Kylie exits the steam-filled bathroom. A tiny towel is covering her delectable curves from my view, and another is drying her hair.
When she notices I have her bucket list in my hand, her lips tug into a vast grin. “It’s nearly done.”
I nod. It is, but not in the way I was hoping.
“Why did you cross off number three?” I already know her answer, but I want to hear it directly from her.
She stops drying her hair, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t…”
I can tell she wants to say more, but it’s taking everything she has to hold in her tears, so she can’t produce words. When a single tear careens down her cheek, I brush it away before pulling her into my chest. She smells freshly showered, the body wash and shampoo she used masking her wildflower smell.
“You need to add it back onto your list.”
Her wet hair clings to my chest when she shakes her head. “I want to finish my list. I can’t if it stays on there.”
I’m certain she can hear my racing heart, but I don’t give a shit. It’s early in our re-established relationship, but she’s always beenitfor me, so this isn’t a hard decision for me to make.
“We will find a way to cross it off your list.”
Kylie intakes a sharp breath before her head pops up from my chest. She stares at me in shock, equally pleased and scared. She’s not the only one frightened. I’m suddenly fretful she means we’ll cross it off right now.
“I’m not saying this year, or even next year, but one day.”
She smiles a heart-stopping grin. “That’s A-Okay with me. I just got you back, so I’m not willing to share you just yet.”
After pressing my lips to her wet temple, I snag a black permanent marker off my bedside table then hold it out for Kylie. She smiles like I lassoed the moon for her before accepting both the pen and her list. She carefully flattens it onto the bedside table before using her teeth to pry open the marker. The world fades into the background as I watch her return item number three to her bucket list.
There, in thick black ink for the world to see is an event that should scare me more than it does:Have a baby.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kylie
“It’s just you and me, baby.”
I swallow, battling to keep the bile in my stomach while returning Slater’s stare. After watching my throat work through its dryness, he smiles a wide, full-hearted grin. He can smile. He’s not the one on the verge of having a panic attack. That’s all on my shoulders—regrettably!
“You have nothing to fear,” Slater continues to encourage me, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s just you and me in the living room of our loft.” The way he says “our” quickens my pulse, much less when he stands so close to me, we almost become one. “Close your eyes.” When I do as instructed, I feel his smile instead of seeing it. “Block out everything but my voice.”
Noise ceases to exist when he whispers encouraging words in my ear. He tells me I’m brave, beautiful, and smart, before adding a thick slathering of naughty thoughts into the mix. His pep talk spikes my confidence so much, this time when I reach for the mic, my hand only slightly shakes.
When rustling sounds around me, my eyes pop open. My heart launches into my throat when I notice Slater is strolling back to his barstool. I seize his wrist, stopping his hasty retreat. “Stay with me.” He couldn’t have missed the plea in my voice, but just in case, I add begging eyes into the mix.
After dragging his index finger down my screwed-up nose, he nods. “Are you ready?”
I nod, eager to get this over and done with. “Do it. Rip the Band-Aid off in one quick motion.”
When Slater signals to the gentleman next to us that I’m ready, a smile tugs on my lips. Slater selected the first song he heard me perform. It’s Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.”
With nerves clutching my throat, my first few lines come out shaky, but one glance into Slater’s eyes soon takes care of them. He’s watching me with nothing but love and admiration all over his face. After a big breath to cool the blood roaring through my body, I give my performance everything I have, pretending it is just Slater and me sitting in the living room ofourloft.
