AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So, here I was, standing at the stove, fixing breakfast and making the best of things.
Though, I’m sure the three orgasms Wes had given me last night were also helping my mood. Frankly, after all that delicious pleasure and a full night’s sleep in air conditioning, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but relaxed and happy.
I lifted the last three pancakes off the skillet and placed them on the plate. Wes took that plate over to the table while I shut off the stove, setting it in the center of the rambunctious group. With a platter covered in still-sizzling bacon in my hands, I walked over to my family and took a seat across from my husband.
“How many pancakes, Lex?” Remy asked, and my daughter grinned over at him.
“Two, please.”
“Just two?” Rem questioned with an amused smile. “You sure you don’t want three or six or eight?”
Lexi’s eyebrows drew together distastefully. “Calorically, two is the proper nutritional serving for pancakes this size for a child my age and weight.”
“Well, for a man my age and weight,” Ty chimed in, “six sounds just right.”
Lexi giggled and rolled her eyes. “It’s actually four, Uncle Ty.”
“You know, Lex,” Wes chimed in and flashed a secret smile in my direction. “Your uncles Jude and Ty actually have a question to ask you.”
“They do?” Lex asked, glancing between her uncles. “What’s the question?”
Both Remy and Flynn appeared confused by the change in conversation, and at first, I was too. But when I realized Wes was referencing Jude and Ty’s foolish assertion from last night, I took great pleasure in explaining it to them. “Jude and Ty each believe that they are Lex’s favorite uncle.”
“Sounds like Jude and Ty need a reality check.” Flynn chuckled and stabbed a bite of pancake onto his fork.
“What the fu-Frenchtoast is that supposed to mean?” Jude questioned, smartly catching himself before he dropped an f-bomb in front of my kid.
“It means that Rem is Lex’s favorite. Everyone knows that,” Flynn answered bluntly and shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
Jude scoffed. Ty scowled. Rem just smirked like a man who knew, unequivocally, that he was the favorite uncle because he worked hard at it, daily.
Lex, bless her analytical heart, mulled over the question for a good minute before finally dropping the guillotine blade. “Uncle Flynn is right.”
Wes, Remy, and Flynn reveled in the satisfaction of being right—Remy even more so since he had the pleasure ofbeingthe favorite—but the shock on Jude’s and Ty’s faces was almost pitifully explosive. Ripples of their disbelief were all I could feel as they lapped at the edges of the room.
“What?” Jude questioned, slapping Rem on the shoulder violently. “This scuzzbucket is your favorite?”
“Yes.” Lex nodded. “Which is statistically sound. I spend thirty-five percent more time with Uncle Remy than I do with you or Uncle Ty, and he’s given me two dozen more gifts.”
“Sorry, guys,” Rem said with a smug shrug of his shoulders. “You can’t argue with the data.” He smiled at Lexi. “I promise to continue spending at least thirty-five percent more time with you than the rest of your loser uncles, babe. It’s an honor being in this position, and I won’t take it lightly.”
“Uncle Remy!” Lexi giggled. “They’re not losers.”
“Uh, but they pretty much are, sweetheart,” Rem commented, still smiling like a smug bastard. “We’re the winners, and they’re the losers. But it’s okay. Not everyone can be as cool and fun as you and me.”
Jude opened his mouth to respond with God only knows what—likely several uncensored f-bombs—but a loud, raucous knock on the door overpowered him.
“You expecting someone else?” Remy asked, moving his stern gaze to mine in a showing of the protective posturing he’d been expending around me since we were kids and standing from the table.
“Nope.” I shook my head and laughed a little. “Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting you guys.”
When the pounding started up again, Wes hopped out of his seat too and headed to answer it. Remy followed behind, looking like some sort of security team leader.
“Pretty sure Wes could have answered the door by himself,” I muttered, to which Jude scoffed. “Your guy’s a billionaire, but his hands are suspiciously soft. A little backup doesn’t hurt.”
“How in the heck do you know how soft my husband’s hands are?”
“Shh, Win,” Jude chastised, the jerk. “I’m trying to listen.”
