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It was safe to say that yesterday had gone a little—okay, a lot—off the rails.
After I’d forced Thatch to engage in a wet T-shirt contest all by himself that ended with him shirtless, sweaty, and standing on a stage in front of an empty bar in the kind of pose nightmares are made of, I tried to use alcohol as my distraction method of choice.
Though I couldn’t engage in any of it personally, I definitely made damn sure my husband guzzled enough for me, him, and our unborn son. Hell, he drank enough for the bartender, the two sole staff members of Gill’s Bar and Grill, and all three of the regulars who had saddled up to the bar to watch a football game.
Thankfully, they hadn’t arrived until after Thatch had finished his Britney Spears wet T-shirt concert. Surely they wouldn’t have stuck around had their eyes been traumatized by that scene.
By the time I’d managed to get Thatch’s giant drunk body into an Uber and safely back to our suite, he’d passed the fuck out in the middle of the bed.
I also passed out, most likely due to the unanticipated traumatic stress of making my husband dance like he was a contestant in the Miss America pageant, and I didn’t wake up until my nose caught scent of bags of greasy burger takeout.
I’d woken up ready to read Thatch the riot act about once again thinking selfishly about food intake when I caught him sitting in the dark, shoving a Big Mac down his throat, but he hadn’t batted an eye. The man had come back prepared, handing off a McDonald’s bag with all my favorites—nuggets, fries, cheeseburger, even a little apple pie.
Hell, he’d even brought me back a Reese’s Cup McFlurry.
When I wasn’t high off irrational pregnancy hormones and crying over Chipotle burritos with cheese and kids losing spelling bees, I knew my husband was a fluffing saint.
He handled my crazy like no one could, and it was exactly why I was certain that saying “I do” was the smartest, most brilliant thing I’d ever done.
I grinned when I pulled up the calendar app on my phone and checked the time of today’s appointment that revolved around abigsurprise for my husband.
Today, I’d be giving him a belated gender reveal party with just the two of us.
Although, in true Cass-style, this little party certainly came with some flair.
I stared out at the beach and watched as the waves crashed into the sand and smiled.
Man oh man, is he going to be excited after I get back from my appointment.
As I sipped on my coffee and took in the view, the balcony door to our suite slid open, and I looked over my shoulder to find a sleepy Thatch stepping out into the sun in only his boxer briefs.
“What time did you get up, honey?” he asked and leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead.
“Too damn early. Your son apparently isn’t a big fan of sleeping in.”
He grinned at that and lifted me up into his arms with the kind of ease that made me realize just how damn strong he was, so that he could sit down in the chair with me in his lap.
I lifted my cup of coffee to his lips for him to take a drink, and he scowled after he swallowed a small sip. “Yuck. Is that decaf?”
“Yes. It is.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Because, if you recall, you got me all knocked up, and drinking a lot of caffeine isn’t good for the baby.”
He took the cup from my hands and took another sip. This time, though, he smacked his lips like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Wait…that’s actually really good,” he outright lied. “I think I must’ve still had some remnants of toothpaste left over or something. Honestly, baby, it’s so good, I think I might just start drinking decaf now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid, you jackass. I know it tastes like shit.”
He chuckled at that and pressed a kiss to my lips. “So, tell me, Crazy, what’s on the big honeymoon agenda today? What outfit do I need to wear? Do I need to stretch before we leave the hotel?”
I grinned at that. “No. Actually, you can wear and do whatever you want until this afternoon. I have to leave for an appointment in an hour.”
He furrowed his brow at that and rubbed one large hand up and down my bare thigh. “An appointment? What kind of appointment?”
“I can’t give you that information.”
“And why is that?”
I winked at him. “Because it would ruin the surprise.”
He furrowed his brow and searched my eyes. “A surprise? For me or for you?”
