Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,54
His eyeballs cross, and a moment later, an unmistakable sound explodes from beneath his butt that I can feel clearly in the palm of my hand.
He shifts like he’s really grinding into it, and another butt-plosion rockets against my hand.
Daisy freezes, but she also grins. “Let it all out, dude. Gas like that can’t feel good. We all get it.”
“He’s not passing gas.”
“We’re all humans here. I pass gas. You pass gas. The baby can pass gas if he wants to pass gas. No judgment. This?” She circles her hand around her office, and I notice the paperweight on her desk is also a crystal penis. “This is a judgment-free zone.”
I put my finger on the tip of my nose.
“Exactly,” she declares. “Judgment-free zones are important.”
“Not it,” I reply.
“Not it?”
Shit. Now I’m being a shithead. But if she’s serious—if she wants to raise this baby—then it’s about time she gets a real taste for what she’s in for. “He didn’t pass gas, and I’m not it.”
“What are you—” Her lip curls and her nose wrinkles as the scent of a baby’s finest byproduct finally hits her.
I still haven’t taken my finger off my nose, because this is a time-honored Jaeger tradition that started when my first niece was born thirteen years ago. “Like I said, not it.”
“Oh my god, what is that?” She flies to the window and flings it open, waving a hand as the cool breeze off the ocean rolls into the room.
“Apparently the kind of diaper you haven’t had to change yet.”
She’s still fanning her nose, her eyes—which are a brilliant green today—wide and twitching at the edges. Either she’s trying to force them into submission to telegraph that she has this under control, or the scent coming out of Remy’s diaper is about to kill her.
“This explains everything.” She inhales, coughs, and fans her face again. “He’s the chosen one. He has the power. His butt is a bioweapon, and my grandmother wants to harness it for the power of taking over the world with her undead army.”
Despite not wanting to, I grin. I can’t not. She’s hilarious. “My sisters tell me breastmilk poop is different than formula poop.”
“Don’t take this from me, Westley. He’s the chosen one. His butt hath declared itself so. I bow before greatness. Remington Nathaniel Roderick, I am your humble servant. Please be kind and merciful, sir.”
Utterly outrageous. I choke back a laugh. “Congratulations, Aunt Daisy. You’re up.”
She straightens and squares her bare shoulders. “Damn right. Hand him over.”
In those stilettos, she’s almost as high as my chest. There’s no evidence of the lingering rash from her seafood reaction the other day, which either means she has killer makeup, or she has magic fast-healing skin.
She’s also really fucking hot when she’s marching into battle.
We’ll slay for you, your holy sexiness, my balls crow.
She leans into me again, her hands brushing my arm and chest. My cock twitches. My mouth goes dry. And no amount of foul diaper in the world could keep me from wanting to touch her cheeks to see if they’re as soft as they look.
But she’s off-limits. I told her so, and she’s not trying to hit on me this morning, and the only reason she’s next to me is to pick up Remy.
Whom she’s pulling close despite the diaper that’s overflowing. “Thank you. I’ve got him from here. See you around six.”
Fuck.
I’m dismissed.
By a woman who’s braving the diaper of doom, which is the last thing I’d expect from the Daisy Carter-Kincaid of the tabloids.
This woman—she has more layers than I want to admit. Than I should admit.
I brush a thumb over Remy’s forehead. “Later, kiddo. Be good for Aunt Daisy.”
Leaving is the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. But I have to.
Noooooo, my nuts wail as I head out to my truck. I need to get over and check on the beach house, plus grab a few more things before hitting the gym for what will likely be my last week on the job there.
My phone rings as I’m firing up the engine. I’ve been ignoring most of the family group texts—other than to reiterate that none of my family should fly down, that we need “time to adjust” before they invade—but I can’t ignore phone calls.
And though there’s over a decade between Tyler and me, he’s still the only brother I have.
I answer through the truck’s speaker system and hit the road. “What are you doing up this early?”