*
It takes Cohen and me forever, as usual, to get out of the house. He couldn’t find his sneakers, so my kid is rocking his red cape, jeans, a tee, and bright orange rain boots. It hasn’t rained in Georgia in what feels like years, but Cohen’s wearing those damn boots with pride. When we walk into the restaurant where we’re meeting everyone, my eyes immediately take in my beautiful wife so that I don’t miss a second of her reaction to our boy’s outfit.
As she’s mid-sentence with Asher, her eyes grow as wide as her beautiful belly, and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. I can clearly see the laughter shining bright in her eyes from across the dimly lit room. It’s not abnormal for Cohen to end up looking like a misfit when I’m in charge of getting him ready. At least it’s better than last weekend’s bathing suit, tank top that said ‘my uncle is cooler than yours’—thank you, Maddox—his cape, and a damn sombrero.
Cohen takes off the second he spots Nate, Axel and Izzy’s son, sitting at the end of the table next to his mother. Even with almost two years between those two, they are thick as thieves. I laugh when Cohen immediately starts flailing his arms around and moving around in the wild movements he’s so fond of. Nate lets out a laugh so loud that a few diners around the table look over with smiles.
I greet the table, getting friendly welcomes from the ladies in the group and the normal chin lifts and grunts from the guys.
I walk over to Melissa, gently pull her into my arms, and hold her close. I can feel my girls rolling around in her belly when she presses closer.
“Hey, you,” she says, her lips a breath away from mine, just begging for me to close the distance.
“Hey back.” I pull her close and savor the taste of her on my tongue. I feel her lips tip up, and her moan tingles against my lips. Yeah, my girl missed me today.
“Maybe, just a wild guess here, but maybe those two will remember we aren’t in their bedroom, the porn music isn’t playing on a loop, and it probably isn’t the wisest move to start molesting each other in the family restaurant?”
I break away from Melissa’s lips, licking my own when I see the fire burning bright in her eyes.
“Shut up, Ash,” I growl and give my wife one more chaste kiss before helping her take her seat again.
“’Shut up, Ash,’ he says. No, ‘thank you, Ash, for reminding me that I can’t drive the boat into the canal in the middle of family dinner’?”
It takes me a second. For one, I can’t stop looking at him as if he’s lost his damn mind, but mainly he sounds so much like Coop right now that I have to remind myself who is speaking to me.
“HA! You just called his . . . hotdog a boat!” Dee starts laughing so hard she’s bent over, banging the table with her fist.
Beck just shakes his head with a smile, looking at his fiancée’s actions.
“I bet it’s more like a tugboat!” Izzy chimes in, gaining Axel’s and Chelcie’s laughter.
“Seriously? A tugboat?” I should have known better than to let them get the best of me, but really, my pride wouldn’t let me sit there with them calling my dick a tugboat. Melissa’s hand rubs my leg, trying to keep me from giving these fools what they want.
“No, no . . . you’re right. I was too generous with the boat analogy. I’m sure you’re still paddling around with something more like a canoe, right?” Ash smirks before taking a big gulp of his beer.
“Fucking canoe,” I grumble under my breath.
“Canoe might be giving him a little too much. Don’t they make starter kayaks? Nice and short. Not much girth to those suckers!” I gape at Dee, only making her laugh louder.
Melissa laughs under her breath. “Don’t.”
“Are we really sitting around, discussing the size of my wiener?”
Melissa’s eyes get as large as saucers before she covers her mouth with her hand and bursts out laughing. It takes me a second to figure out why the hell she’s joining in with a table full of laughter at me calling my dick a wiener because I’m too busy looking at her belly bouncing with each giggle that escapes.
“Daddy! You said wiener!” My head shoots over to Cohen, who is currently standing in his chair and pointing at me with a big smile on his face.
I’m pretty sure that every single person in the restaurant is looking over at us now. The whole situation gets even more ridiculous when two-year-old Nate starts banging his sippy cup on the table, chanting, “Wiener, wiener, wiener!” over and over.
“Jesus Christ, kill me now.” I cross my arms over my chest and wait for everyone to stop laughing so we can get this dinner over with and I can take my wife home.