Page 91 of Married to Number 22
Aiden
“This place is sick!”Smitty booms as I unlock the front door and push it open.
Well, if my mom and Luns needed a warning that I’ve arrived with a car full of hockey players, here it is.
Gray sighs as he slips by me, toeing off his shoes by the rack and hanging up his coat on the row of hooks I nod toward. “As usual, the man is loud but”—he lowers his voice slightly, as though not wanting to give Smitty more ammunition—“he’s also right. This house is amazing.”
It really is.
A gorgeous historical craftsman style house with lots of wood trim and enough windows to make it feel bright and sunny rather than shrouded in shadows and darkness.
“What was that?” Smitty shoves his face between us, beard so close that I can see the strands of gray woven through the brown. “I’m right?!” He pumps his fist in the air. “That’s right, bitches, I’mright!”
“When’s Kailey getting here?” I ask Joel, who’s slipped in behind us and closed the door.
“Because she’s the only one who can handle him?” he quips.
“Exactly,” Gray and I say together.
Smitty’s unperturbed (and doesn’t deny the statement about his wifehandlinghim) as he tells us, “She’s finishing up a project”—Kailey is a computer programmer—“but will be here soon.”
“Thank God for that,” Gray mutters.
“Seriously,” I mutter back.
“Rude,” Smitty declares then promptly displays exactly how little that bothers him by asking, “Where’s the grub?”
Luna steps out into the hall, looking ethereal in a cream shirt and loose-fitting pants, her hair cascading down her shoulders. She’s fucking beautiful, and I’m damned glad I’ve made her mine.
I just need to make sure thatminelasts forever.
Because having had her like this…
Nope. I can’t ever let her go.
“Is that a gaggle of hockey players I hear?” she says as she comes toward me, and it does my heart good when she moves close, when she lets me wrap an arm around her middle and draw her against me, when she doesn’t shy away from me slanting my lips over hers for a short, heated kiss— even in front of the aforementionedgaggleof hockey players. She just lightly strokes her fingertips through my beard when I pull back, murmuring, “Hi.”
“Hi, tiny tornado.”
Her mouth tips up at the edges. “No,” she says softly. “That’s your mom. She’s whipped the house into shape in less time than you’d believe.” A beat, her eyes dancing. “How was the flight back?”
Weather meant our intended arrival yesterday had been pushed back to this morning.
“Good,” I tell her. “Or good enough to bring said gaggle of rowdy hockey players in my car with more on the way behind me.”
“Heaven help us.”
“Considering that Smitty’s here already…”
“Hey!” he chimes in, right on cue. “Again, rude!”
Luna giggles, which is pretty much the worst thing anyone can do when it comes to Smitty—giving him fuel for his incorrigible fire. He perks up, opening his mouth, and considering it’s right near my ear, I prepare to put some distance between us, lest the volume tries to ruin my hearing.
Before I can move though, the doorbell rings and my mom zips out into the hall and…
The next ten minutes are chaos.
More guys from the team show up and we’re herded from the front door further into the house—Luns wasn’t lying, my mom’s tornado skills have clearly been on point over the last week.
