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She cursed when she bumped into something, but eventually the bed dipped.
“I hate you.”
“You’ve already told me that.”
“I really mean it.”
“Sounds like your problem, not mine.”
A little body snuggled against mine and this weird peace settled over me. I put an arm around Blake and held him close. Maybe it was my problem, after all.
Chapter Eleven
Marlow
I pried my eyes open.A solid, bare chest greeted me. On top of it was my favorite person in the world, zonked out and drooling.
An arm was wrapped around me. There wasn’t a millimeter of space between me and Patrick, my leg draped over him and my arm over the two of them.
I didn’t move for fear of waking them. Patrick’s features were smooth, those lines of worry that usually creased his eyes nowhere to be found. He came off as a happy-go-lucky type of guy, but there was something more. I felt it.
That pissed me off. I didn’t have room for any more feelings. I endeavored not tofeelanything, except when it came to my son. It hurt too much.
“Feeling better?” His rough voice raised goosebumps on my skin.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us made any attempt to move. My heart beat a little harder in my chest.
“When do you need to be at Holt’s?”
“No certain time,” I said softly. “I need to go home and get clean clothes.”
“You just wearing old T-shirts?” I nodded. “Borrow one of mine. I won’t tell anybody you wore the same jeans twice.”
I scowled, but wasn’t actually angry. “Everybody wears the same jeans more than once.”
“Not ones as filthy as yours.”
“I see you wake up being an ass.” For once, there was no bite though.
“How! Ass!”
“He’s expanding his vocabulary.” Patrick grinned.
I jerked away, rolling my eyes. I could hate Patrick Whitley when he was being an asshole, but when he was sweet and funny—and drool-worthy in his morning sleepiness—that was much harder. I needed to get out of here. My son and Patrick wore matching pouts as I got out of bed.
But my little one would need his diaper changed and some breakfast stat, or we’d start the day with him in a foul mood. Like his mother.
“How do you feel about seeing Grandpa?” I infused false cheer in my voice.
“How. Ass.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Dad was going to die when Blake sprung his new word on him in public.
I’d never been around kids much before I had Blake, so I’d been unsure of growth development timelines. After a lot of reading and a chat with the pediatrician, I’d learned kids did things at their own paces. Some toddlers were more talkative by the time they were my son’s age. Some were not. And that was okay. Blake would say more when he was ready. I wouldn’t push.
Patrick rolled out of bed. His back muscles flexed as he stretched above his head. “Mind making some coffee? I need to get on with it.”
