Page 104 of Nitro

“The guys are going to kick us out for sure if we keep this up,” he adds.

“We’re not stopping,” I say firmly.

“You’re goddamn right about that.” He grins and rests his chin on my breast. “But really, we have to look at houses tomorrow.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes in mock exasperation.

“Also, has there been any progress on renting your old place out?”

“Nothing yet. The agent thinks it will show better after we empty it. I wish I could just sell it.” It’s the only thing still tethering me to Jeff, but I can’t get rid of it right away. Technically, he’s a missing person. I can’t have him declared dead for seven years, so until then, all I can do is rent it to someone else. At least I was able to finalize my divorce. Jeff didn’t need to be in court. The judge granted my petition, and I received the final paperwork a few days ago. I’m so relieved it’s over.

“We’ll get it fixed up after we move into our house. Has the agent sent any more properties?”

“Yes, and there’s this one. Get up so I can get the laptop.” When he moves off me, I lean to retrieve it. “Check it out.”

I open the page and show him the house I love. There’s just something about the way the light flows through it that makes me think it’s the one.

“We’ll go first thing tomorrow,” Nitro says.

“You can’t ever trust the photos.”

“That’s why we need to see it in person.”

“Before we go, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” I pick at the blanket, suddenly nervous.

“You can ask me anything.” He rests his hand on my belly.

“How many kids do you think we should have?”

“Oh, man. I don’t know. Let me get through the first one, and if I’m not completely insane after that, maybe we can think about two.”

“You’re going to be fine. I was on one of those mommy chat forums earlier, and they said the first one is the worst because everything is new and scary. After that, it’s like riding a bike.”

“I like the riding part.” He flashes a wicked grin.

“Of course, you’d pick that.”

“Of course.”

“So, maybe two kids?”

“How many do you want?” he asks.

“Five,” I blurt.

“That’s almost half of a soccer team.” A look of horror crosses his face before he can hide it. His expression blanks out before shifting into neutral. “How about this, we have two kids and then decide if we need to fill out the roster.”

“Since when are you into sports analogies?”

“Hey, you want enough to fill the starting lineup.”

“Okay, that’s a basketball thing. Now you’re just jumping sports to confuse me.”

“Honey?”

“Hmm?”

“If you wanted an entire football team of our sons running around, then I’d do my best to keep you knocked up until you didn’t want me to spike the ball anymore.” Even he can’t keep a straight face as he switches sports.

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