Stanton winks at Riley. “So you see, darlin’—it could always be worse.”
Riley sighs and shakes her head. “None of you understand us.”
“Au contraire, Fresh Prince, they understand all too well—that’s your problem,” I tell her wisely.
But she just looks confused. “What’s a Fresh Prince?”
I groan. “I feel so frigging old. Thanks, Riley.”
Kennedy pats my hand. And her eyes sparkle as she teases, “You are old. It’s good that you’re finally realizing it. We should hang out with these kids more often.”
It’s the first time she’s ever referred to us as a “we.” A unit. A couple. And as fucking girly as it makes me sound, I like the words on her lips.
“We should, huh?”
Her smile hits me right in the gut. It’s warm and sexy, tender and naughty all in one. “Yeah, we should.”
We gaze at each other for a few moments in that annoying way new couples do—in our own little shining bubble of lust. Then little Ronan McQuaid pops it.
“Daddy!”
He throws himself across Jake’s lap fearlessly, secure in the knowledge that strong hands will always catch him.
“Up, Daddy, up!” he demands.
Without rising from his seat, Jake scoops the toddler under his arms and tosses him high over his head, catching him as he squeals. And Jake’s smile is so wide and big, a weird mixture of happiness and envy surges through my chest. He sets the kid on his feet and Ronan toddles off toward the swing set. Finished eating in record time, the rest of the kids follow suit—leaving us six old people at the table alone.
Stanton asks, “Daddy, huh?”
Jake’s eyes flash to Chelsea, warming to liquid mercury when he catches the adoring look she saves just for him. “Yeah.”
“When did that happen?” I ask.
Chelsea puts her small hand over Jake’s immense one and explains, “This weekend, Regan and Ronan sat us down for a talk.”
“Regan did most of the talking,” Jake interjects. “But Ronan nodded a lot.”
Chelsea continues in a soft voice. “They said they knew that Robbie and Rachel were their parents and that they were in heaven, but they don’t remember them—not like the other kids do. And they said all their friends got to have mommys and daddys . . .”
When she trails off, Jake finishes for her. “And then they asked if we would be their mommy and daddy.”
“Wow,” Stanton mutters, and Sofia’s eyes are brimming with sentiment.
“Yeah.” Chelsea sighs.
“Did you cry?” I ask Jake. Because I’m man enough to admit if I had been in his position, with those two adorable, chubby faces gazing up at me, I would’ve fucking lost it.
“It was pretty damn close,” he admits.
Chelsea raises her hand. “I cried like a baby.”
I nod and nudge the big hulk with my elbow. “So you’re officially a daddy now.”
His mouth quirks up into a slow, humble smile. “I guess so.”
“That’s awesome, man.”
He nods. “It really fucking is.”
? ? ?
A while later, Rory bounds up to the cleared table with a big red kickball in his hands and his twin brother, Raymond, close behind him. “We’re gonna play kickball—you guys wanna play?”
With my arm resting around Kennedy’s shoulders, I reply, “Count me in. I’m a champion kickball player.”
“Cool.”
The normally timid Raymond adjusts his glasses and aims his bold gaze at the hot girl on my arm. “You wanna be on my team, Kennedy?”
Kennedy smiles. “Sure.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ewww, why’d you pick her—she’s a girl. She kicks like a girl too. I speak from experience.”
Raymond shrugs. “She’s prettier than you. And besides, you like her, so you’ll probably take it easy on her.”
“Not a bad strategy, Raymond.”
“I’m all about the strategy.”
Kennedy stands and takes the ball from Rory, spinning it in her hands and challenging me with those gorgeous eyes. “My girl kicks were enough to beat you back in the day.”
I scoff, “I let you win. Even at eleven, I was a gentleman.”
She laughs and leans down, closing in for a kiss. “And at thirty-two, you’re a liar.”
Just as I’m about to get a taste, Rory kiss-blocks me.
“Dude—no kissing. I have to put up with enough of that from those two.” He jerks his thumb at Jake and Chelsea, who don’t look the least bit ashamed.
Poor kid. The things he must hear from their bedroom.
Then he points his forefinger at me. “And you have to kick righty—no bionic leg allowed.”
I shrug. “Makes no difference to me.” I tell Kennedy, “Perfect male specimen that I am, I’ll still beat your ass without it.”
Mmm . . . beat her ass—now there’s an idea.
She rolls her eyes. And it makes me hard.
“I’ll play too,” Sofia pipes up. “I love kickball.”
Rory’s head jerks back, frowning toward Sofia’s burgeoning belly. “Are you nuts? You should be taking it easy.”
Stanton throws up his hands. “Thank you!” He looks hard at his wife. “From the mouths of babes.”