TAKE TWO_ Who says you can't ma - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,89

big sister’s fourteenth birthday. October eleventh is apparently our lucky day.

“Gogo cawah!” he says, toddling over to his new ride and climbing right in. “Vroom. Vroom.”

“Happy Birthday, cowboy!” I set the girls down and they rush toward their brother—Harper immediately attempting to climb inside with him and Lyla pushing it around with her sister’s body still hanging half out the back window.

“This is just cruel,” our now sixteen-year-old groans with a pouty lip that’s damn near dragging the floor.

“Heads up,” I warn before tossing the garage door opener at her.

Her eyes widen, and instantly that frown turns upside down. She pushes the button, shifting her weight from foot to foot while the door slowly raises.

Her hands lift to cover a scream when she finds my black Hummer wrapped in a big red bow. “You’re giving me your truck?”

With a nod, I swallow a huge lump. It’s just a truck. It’s just a truck, I repeat in my subconscious. “All yours.”

“But you love this thing!” My God with each passing year, she looks more and more like her mother.

“I do. But I love you just a little bit more.” I pinch my fingers together for affect. “If my baby girl is gonna be out on the road, there’s nothing safer than this tank.”

Not to mention, I’m in the market for something much bigger.

With a squeal, she throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you so much, Dad.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Mom.” Nya’s face floods with tears when our first-born launches herself at her.

“You’re welcome, mija.” She peppers kisses across her cheeks before handing her the keys. “We love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Nya’s hands cup the sides of her face. “There is a GPS tracker installed on that thing. I can see your whereabouts and how fast you are going.”

El’s eyes roll. “I would ask if you were serious, but I already know you are.”

“This is a huge step. Promise me you will be safe, always.”

“I will. I will. Oh, my God, you’re ruining the moment. Stop crying!”

You’d think by now Ellie would recognize the signs, but she’s so overwhelmed by her gift, she totally misses it.

Nya apologizes, giving her a push toward the truck.

Ellie hoists herself into the driver’s side and Kennedi climbs into the passenger seat. The sound of the engine roaring to life is quickly followed by their loud music and the rattling of the garage doors.

“Just take it for a quick spin around the neighborhood. Two permits doesn’t equal a license.”

My daughter hikes her thumb out the window. “You got it!”

I walk over to my emotional wife as they back out, wrapping my arms around her waist. I brush a thumb over the little bump hidden beneath her tunic, kissing the side of her face while inhaling her floral scent. “One down, five to go,” I whisper.

She responds with a tearful smile, covering the hand resting on her stomach with her own. “I meant what I said,” she warns. “You better get snipped before these babies are born or no more booty for you.”

I choke. “Consider these nuts as good as chopped.”

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Preview of Pour Judgment

Prologue

Rhett

“Oh, Rhett, yesss…”

I squeeze harder, lapping her nipple into a firm bud through her thin top. My cock stiffens as she grinds her hips to the tempo of the music, giving me a sexy as fuck lap dance. Suddenly I have this inexplicable urge to look up, letting Monica’s tit slip from my mouth. I feel smothered—like all the air has suddenly been pulled from the room.

Who is that?

“It’s fine, Nick—” She digs her heels into the floor. “No, I don’t want to meet—”

“Rhett.” My drummer, Nick, approaches, dragging the very reluctant blonde behind him by the arm. “I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Korie Potter. Korie, this is Rhett.” He gives her a little shove, landing her on her feet, right in front of my bent knees.

My eyes peruse her sweet little body. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. There’s not an ounce of makeup on her face. Her eyes are a vibrant shade of emerald, and she has the most delectable little freckles dotting her cheekbones. She’s wearing a black Rolling Stones tee—slightly fitted, the collar ripped so it droops a little, exposing one shoulder. One creamy, slender, tantalizing shoulder. I clear my throat, reaching around the raven-haired beauty presently situated in my lap

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