Page 50 of One Pucking Life

At first, the sound doesn’t register—just an underlying noise buried in whatever dream my subconscious has conjured. Soft but insistent.

Then it comes again. Sharper. More familiar.

A cry.

I blink slowly, confusion settling into my bones as my brain catches up. My body is warm and heavy with sleep. The soft glow of the Christmas lights still glimmers in the corner of the room, casting streaks of color across the walls.

I shift slightly, and that’s when I feel her.

Delaney.

Tucked into my chest, her leg tangled over mine, her hair spilled across my shoulder like silk. The blanket has slipped down to our waists, exposing bare skin now slightly chilled. Her back rises and falls with steady breaths, and for a second, I almost forget what woke me.

Then the cry sounds again.

Caroline.

I groan under my breath—not from annoyance, but from the ache in my muscles. Every inch of me is sore in the best possible way. My hips, my thighs, my lower back—all ache.

I glance at the clock on the mantel. 7:03 a.m.

Of course it is. Caroline is more punctual than any alarm clock.

Delaney stirs beside me. A soft sound escapes her lips—half sigh, half protest.

“Is that…?” she mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. “That’s our girl. Right on schedule.”

We don’t move for a beat, suspended in this cocoon of warmth, tangled limbs, and quiet satisfaction. But the crying grows louder, more urgent. And just like that, the real world rushes back in.

Responsibility. Routine. Parenthood.

I press a kiss to Delaney’s shoulder before slowly slipping out from under the blanket. My body protests as I move, sore and sleep-deprived, but there’s something peaceful about it all.

Last night happened so fast, and there’s so much to unpack. A conversation needs to be had—but now isn’t the time.

She groans as I stand. I glance down, grinning at the way her face scrunches into the pillow.

Delaney reaches for the blanket and pulls it back over her shoulder. Her lips are still puffy from hours of kissing. Her lips—the sight of them and of her lying here wrapped in nothing but a blanket over that sexy-as-hell body—brings back every moment from last night.

I can’t believe it was real. It felt like a fantasy come to life. I’ve imagined what it would be like to be with Delaney more times than I can count. I figured something would happen the day after I went into her room and helped her climax. But I left the ball in her court.

And nothing.

For an entire week, she didn’t say a word about it, which led me to believe she didn’t want it to happen again. As hard as it was, I stayed in line—not making a single move that could make her uncomfortable. I wanted Delaney more than anything, but I’m man enough to take a hint. She had to want me, too. And it was clear she didn’t… or at least I thought it was.

Her shift last night gave me whiplash. I didn’t see it coming, but the second those words were out of her mouth, I was more than happy to oblige.

Still, if I’ve learned anything over the past week, it’s that I’ll need to be the one to initiate the conversation—because I don’t think she will.

“She doesn’t care that we had a long night, does she?” Delaney murmurs.

“Nope.” I chuckle, grabbing a pair of sweats from the nearby armchair. “Not even a little. She’s a punctual girl. You taught her well.”

Delaney gives me a lazy smile. “I’ll get the bottle.”

“Sounds good.”

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