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“I accept any and all practice rounds you have in you.”
I pushed her thighs open and waggled my eyebrows. “That’s my girl. Always ready to take one for the team.”
She lifted her hands above her head with a luxurious stretch. “I just want to keep you happy, honey.”
“Well, then hang on tight. Things are going to get very happy up in here.”
If you’d like to find out more about Callie and Owen and the band, Hammered, please visit quinnandelliott.com for more details!
If you missed the origin story of Owen and Callie’s please read Manipulated.
Read the Hammered series or visit quinnandelliott.com for more details about our Oblivion World!
RETWISTED: JAZZ AND GRAY:
A LOST IN OBLIVION OUTTAKE
ONE
Baby shopping with her mother-in-law.Lord save her.
“You have to rescue me,” Jazz said to her best friend Harper as she stared up at the neon pink and blue lettering of BabyRama. “You promised you’d come. You can’t bail out now.”
“I said I’d try to make it. It’s not like I need more baby stuff. Deacon’s bought enough to outfit a fleet of children, and we’re only having the one.”
“Now,” Jazz said ominously. “But you can never be too prepared.”
“Says who? You’re the one who wants to re-enact the Duggars. Me and big guy are fine with a nice reasonable two.”
Jazz had to laugh. In general, whenever she indicated her desire for a large family—and preferably sooner rather than later—she got a variety of looks and comments. If the rattle fit…
“We’ll stop at five or six. Not counting the couple of kids we’re going to adopt.”
“Yes, Brangelina. Just saying, I’m good on clothes. And I’m definitely good on mama-in-law drama.”
“No fair, you don’t even have one,” Jazz wailed.
Then she frowned. Maybe Harper felt like she was missing out by not having Deacon’s mother in her life. Surely Deacon himself must be. She knew what it was like to not have her mama around. Most of the time she dealt with it okay. Especially on days like today when she wished she wasn’t tasked with making nicey-nice with a woman who was only tolerating her because of the miniature beach ball under Jazz’s maternity top.
She’d always longed for a mother, a real one, the kind who brushed hair and cut up sandwiches and later on, shared secrets and dispensed June Cleaver-style advice. Unfortunately, those kind of parental units seemed to be in short supply.
“And I don’t feel like I’m missing out either,” Harper said, answering that question. “Deak and I are making our own way just fine.”
“Okay, fine. Abandon me to the wolves of—”
“Frog footie pajamas and blue sippy cups? However will you survive?” Harper sighed. “Okay, okay. I’m actually just up the block.”
“What? How come?”
“I was on my way there and chickened out. I stopped at the McD’s for some fries. The kid likes salt, what can I say?”
“You at McD’s? Harper McCoy, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. You’re going to lose your honorary chef’s hat.”
“Bish, who you calling honorary? I am a chef, thank you very much. And good cooks take time to sample exotic cuisines.”
Jazz snorted. “Exotic because they aren’t even real food?”
“Something like that. Be there in five.”
