Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I laugh. “The cool band that’s named Butthole Surfers.”
“Thank you, next,” Maximoff says dryly.
I cringe. “I can’t believe I know you quoted an Ariana Grande song.” That music is not my favorite. I play another song off the list: “Steal My Sunshine” by LEN.
Maximoff hoists our baby boy out of the pool and sets his bottom on the stone beside me. I tuck him close, and Ripley grabs hold of my fingers, interested in the many silver rings.
I smile and watch his curiosity.
Maximoff climbs out of the pool. Water dripping down, and I glance back while he drags the jumper closer. When Ripley grows bored of my rings, Maximoff places him in the jumper, and to protect his fair skin, I find his diaper bag and put on his sun hat.
Too fucking cute.
I smile, and he bounces excitedly while Arkham wags his tail, happy that the little man is on the stone patio with him.
Returning to the edge, I stick my legs back into the pool.
And then Maximoff takes a running start and dives into the deep end. A perfect arc, and I’m roped in as he swims clean through the length of the pool and pops up at my feet.
Damn.
Water drips off his hair and he rests his arms on my thighs. He’s sexy as fuck.
He’s smiling like he knows he’s hot.
And I crave to knock his ego down a few pegs.
So I ask, “You want me to be a Hale?”
He goes from arrogant celebrity to flushed schoolboy at the drop of a hat. Red staining his neck.
I laugh hard.
He groans, wiping water off his face, and he collects himself fast. “Last names? Yeah, I think we should just go with something solid like Wayne or Stark. Then we’re one step closer to owning a bat cave or a fucking tower in the city.”
I know he’s joking. But I have to ask. “Do you want to pick out a new name?”
His brows scrunch. “What?”
“That’s an option,” I say. “Picking out an entirely new surname for ourselves.” Even speaking about it, I don’t love the idea. Because Maximoff’s pride for his family runs deep, and I’d hate to just walk away from that name like it means nothing.
“Is that what you want?” Maximoff frowns.
“No. You?”
“No.” Maximoff lets out a breath and traces the inked dagger along my abs, then clasps my waist and yanks me into the pool.
I splash down and rest my elbows on the edge. Leaning back and not going under. We’re at more equal height. I’m about to speak, but he beats me to it.
“You’ve thought more about this than me?”
“Probably.” I’ve thought a lot about the details involved with marriage. “I’ve never seen myself with a hyphenated name, but I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. And I’ll be honest, I’m not too attached to Keene. I’d be okay giving it up.”
Maximoff looks crestfallen at those last words.
My eyes brush over his features. I didn’t expect that to happen. We’re both competitive, and I thought he’d love the idea of “winning” by choosing Hale over Keene.
“He likes my last name,” I tease a little.
He sighs. “It’s not that.” He rakes a hand over his hair, pushing wet strands back. “I just like the idea that I get to have a part of you.” He exhales a frustrated breath. “And I know that sounds stupid because it’s just a name and I do have you without it—”
“It’s not stupid,” I interject, my hand running up his back. “I feel the same. I want that too.” I rest an arm on his shoulder.
He holds my waist. “So how does that work if we both don’t want hyphenated names, but we want to be a Keene and a Hale?”
I tip my head. “Well, you don’t have a middle name. I could have two of those.” Air fills my lungs; the morning sun warm on our skin, and Maximoff naturally basks in the heat like this is his element, his world, his features striking. Glowing. And I say out loud, “Maximoff Keene Hale.”
His pink lips start to lift.
“You like that?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah.” Affection flows around us. “Farrow Redford Keene Hale. It’s a mouthful.” And yet, he’s biting the corner of his lip, trying to contain a love-struck smile.
“He already wants to make love to my name.”
Maximoff growls out and says, “Just kis—”
I kiss the fuck out of him. Our hands all over each other, pulling closer, clutching and loving, and he kisses me just as passionately and ravenously. Water cooling off the heat.
I draw back. “Come on.” I climb out of the pool. “Let’s practice.”
He’s already hiking onto the stone patio too effortlessly and about the same time as me, and I catch him around the waist. We’re dripping water, the sun drying us off.
“You want to practice something?” Maximoff makes a face. “The guy who prepares for nothing?”