Back to You(15)
“It’s a date, then. Join me for a shower?”
“If I join you for a shower we’ll never get out of here.”
She has a point. “Okay, you jump in first. You take longer to get ready. Leave the water on, I’ll go in right after you.”
She pushes against me, leaning up on her elbows, and leaves a soft kiss on my lips. “I’m already having a great time. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, babe. You know I love you more than words can say.”
When she gets up to walk to the bathroom, she gathers her clothes and saunters off, completely naked. Even after three rounds, I’m ready for more. “You sure I can’t join you?”
She looks over her shoulder and throws her balled up shirt at my head. “Stay put, Mr. Murphy. We’re going to break Murphy Junior if we don’t pace ourselves.”
Go figure… It’s ten o’clock on a Monday night and instead of being in my ninth dream or curled up reading in my bed, I’m actually wide awake and out. On a date. With my husband. Who looks freaking hot as hell for a man who drove all afternoon and then tossed me around for three rounds of mind-numbing, uninterrupted sex. In awe. That’s all I can think as I stare at him across the table… I’m completely in awe of this wonderful man.
He looks up from his plate and catches me ogling. “What?”
“Nothing,” I laugh, before taking another sip of my Chianti. “Like the salmon?”
“Delicious. How were the crab cakes?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the napkin.
“Perfect. Everything so far has been perfect. But—”
“Oh, come on. No buts,” he interrupts, tossing the napkin over his empty plate and reaching for my hand across the table.
“Sheesh. Calm down. I was just going to bring up this news you have to tell me. The suspense is killing me already and I know from the way you tense up every time I mention it that it can’t be good news. So… can you come out with it already?”
Declan pulls his arms back so that his elbows nearly touch. He cracks out the bones in his back, rolling his neck from side to side—a telltale sign that this topic does indeed stress him out and tense him up. “Not tonight. Okay? Can we just have one night without any drama?”
I perk up, interested. “Oh, so this is something I need to worry about then?” Declan doesn’t think anything’s dramatic—and we have two drama queens for kids. So hearing him talk about avoiding drama—I’m not buying it. I narrow my eyes before taking another sip of wine. “Fine. You call the shots all week. I’m just along for the ride.” I know it sounds bitchy and ungrateful, but for someone who said ‘no rules’ he sure is playing by his own made-up set.
“Mia. Don’t. Let’s just enjoy ourselves. We have seven days to worry about all the things that worry us. Can’t we put it off just a little longer?”
I want to say a million things. Like how having this weigh over our heads will just make me uneasy. Or how him making such a big deal about it is making me think that it’s something really bad. Or how I just have so much I want to say and he won’t let me. But instead of letting my mind run my mouth haphazardly, I simply smile and nod, agreeing with his plan. “Yes. You’re right. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
He lifts his wine glass, prompting me to lift my own, and for the second time tonight we clink our glasses in a toast. “To enjoying ourselves,” he proclaims as if there isn’t this huge elephant in the room.
I ignore Dumbo and let the magnetism of his eyes pull me under. “To enjoying ourselves.”
The rest of dinner manages to go by effortlessly. We share dessert and sip on cappuccinos talking about the kids, even though being away from them is what we really need right now. Declan mentions the idea of having more and I nearly choke on my frothy beverage.
“Um… not now. Two is a handful.” I can’t believe he’d even suggest it after the year we’ve been through. He was the one who freaked out when I found out I was pregnant two months after our wedding. He doesn’t strike me as the type to have a kid to save a marriage. Not that we need saving—life preservers are fully secured, thank you very much—but another baby right now would just add more stress we don’t need.
He looks at me over the rim of his mug and asks, “Do you want to stop at two? Don’t you want to try for a boy—you know, to carry on the Murphy name?” He flexes his muscles and makes an adorable face, wiping away all my former disgruntlement with his baby suggestion.
“Connor can knock up that chick and carry on the name. Or knowing Cara she’ll make her poor husband keep her last name. I’m not saying I’m closed to the idea of more… just not now. And besides, you know there’s no guarantee it will be a boy, Dec. You’ve got girl-making sperm, buddy.”