He winks at me.
“Me too, Daddy,” Nolan echoes. He kicks his legs excitedly and looks out the window. His head drops against the seat with a heavy sigh. “I want some so bad. I might die if I don’t get any.”
My mouth falls open.
These Kelly boys. I swear.
“Buddy, you have no idea,” Ben murmurs, glancing in the rearview mirror at his son.
I pull on the strap across my body to loosen it and lean across the seat, kissing the rough edge of Ben’s jaw. “You are awful,” I whisper. “And now I’m thinking Nolan shouldn’t be allowed to have cookies until he’s thirty. He’s already talking like an addict.”
“Thirty?” Ben snorts, his eyes shifting to meet mine. “Yeah, okay, Angel. You’re on your own trying to prevent that from happening.”
“Well, what if he was a girl?” I ask, leaning back and watching his bicep flex and roll as he adjusts his grip on the wheel. “Would you encourage our daughter to go out and get cookies?”
He cracks his neck from side to side.
“Ah, see?” I point at him when he doesn’t answer. “That’s so stereotypical. Shame on you.”
Ben shakes his head. “Huge difference, Mia. If we had a girl, or if we have a girl . . .” His voice trails off. He looks over at me, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline.
Waiting . . .
Wondering . . .
I bite my lip and press my back against the seat.
Oh, shit.
Like a conversational ninja, I avoided discussing this topic earlier when Ben announced his desire for more kids. And by avoid, I mean I slid off his lap and out of the squad car like I was fleeing the scene of a crime—in an abrupt haste.
One-sided climaxes could be considered a felony, I suppose. Using that argument, my discomposure was justifiable.
I mumbled something about needing to get the boys from Tessa in the midst of my mildly subdued panic. Not wholly a lie. She did have a lot of work to do.
Ben bought it. That’s all that mattered.
And now I’m walking us right back into that discussion.
I gaze out the passenger window. At the trees whipping past us. I can’t jump out of the truck at this speed. Even if I do manage a decent tuck-and-roll, I’m sure I’ll break something.
My hands knot together in my lap. They suddenly feel clammy and cold. Somewhere between the dashboard and my knees, my eyes lose focus.
How can I avoid talking about this again? It’s not that I don’t want more kids. That’s not it at all. Not even close. It’s just . . .
The brush of Ben’s fingers against my cheek turns my head.
He has shifted a little in his seat, his body now angled toward me and his elbow resting on top of the wheel. It’s then I notice we’ve stopped moving. The truck is in park, pulled in front of a long driveway leading to a pale-blue rancher.
“Oh,” I murmur, swallowing thickly. I look from the house into Ben’s eyes. “We’re here.”
Great. I was so caught up in possible baby-talk with Ben, I didn’t have time to mentally prepare for this nightmare of a meeting. Now I’m about to walk into it blind.
Anxiety builds at the base of my neck, tensing my shoulders. I quickly feel sick to my stomach.
“Yeah. We’re here,” Ben echoes, his gaze gentle. No longer inquisitive.
He turns his head, looking through the window, his body suddenly taking on that stiff, agitated demeanor I’d been expecting and silently asking for this entire drive.
Reactive Ben. There you are.
He’s no longer collected and mild-mannered. He’s unyielding to the soft leather of the seat, refusing to form against it and glaring straight ahead, his nostrils flaring and his breaths growing heavier. Louder.
Now I’m wishing for the opposite. A composed, unconcerned man.
I don’t want Ben to be worked up by this. I don’t want him worrying or wondering what will possibly come of this meeting. Angie shouldn’t be affecting my family, yet she is.
Damn it! What gives her the right to hold any power over the men I love?
I glare through the window. A figure moves onto the front porch.
Blonde. Bitch.
What gives her the right? Nothing. Angie doesn’t have any right. She shouldn’t have any power. And I refuse to let her believe she does.
A demanding possessiveness stirs in my blood.
This is my family. Mine. Not hers. Ben is mine. Nolan is mine. Chase is . . . well, obviously Chase has nothing to do with Angie, but still. If she even looks at him thinking anything besides how fucking cute he is, I might just haul off and deck her.
With a quick hand, I unlatch my seat belt and shove the door open, jumping down from the truck.
“Mia?”
I look up at Ben, my hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. My chest rising and falling rapidly. “What?” I snap.
He blinks. “You okay?”
“I’ll be better in five minutes. Come on. Get out of the truck.”