Page 241 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“And stock up on his cat food. For the nights I stay over.”
“Will do.”
“I don’t want a long engagement,” George added. “I hate those. Six months maximum.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Be mentally prepared for me to be involved in the wedding planning.” George’s thumbs skimmed my inner wrists as I sank my fingers into his hair, then down to his nape, scraping across the chilly skin. “I have a lot of opinions. I know you handled June’s ceremony—and you did a beautiful job. But I want to be hands-on. I want ours to be a joint effort.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else. George, the bridezilla. That tracks.” George rolled his eyes, but ultimately looked pleased.
“I want kids,” he added like a challenge. “Lots of them.”
“Believe me, you’d already be pregnant if I had any choice in the matter.”
He glared at me, but his cheeks were pink, so the effect was ruined. George cleared his throat, shuffling his feet as he got his mouth going again. This adorable, bossy little negotiation was lighting me up with each bulleted stipulation.
“I’m serious, Alex,” he said.
“So am I.” I grinned, and he stared at me.Stared. How had I never noticed the way he looked at me? It was suspiciously close to the way I looked at him, stars in my eyes.
“I don’t want to be limited,” George added. “There are a lot of kids of various ages in the system. Any kid that needs a home is welcome in our family.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” My heart fluttered.
It was so easy to picture the life George was painting. A yellow brick road to a happy ending I’d always craved.Swipe, swipewent George’s thumbs, anchoring me in the present.
Anchoring me to him.
So I could orbit him the way I always did, sucked into the gravitational pull that was George-Arthur Milton. His fingers wiggled under the edge of the friendship bracelet I still wore.
I felt like I was floating.
“I want my library.”
“I’ll start building,” I said immediately. “Anything else?”
He pursed his lips together, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Saturdays at my mom’s? I miss her…and I…” His eyes hardened. “I don’t want any other relationship to get in the way of spending time with her.”
“I love your mom. That’s easy.”
“We can do Sundays with your dad.”
“Perfect.”
George softened, head tipping back a bit more. His lips were still swollen from our kisses, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to lean down and taste him again. “I want…”
“Anything.”
“I want you to still be mean to me sometimes,” George’s voice went hoarse. “Especially in bed.”
“Jesus Christ, Duchess.”
I couldn’t stop myself. I had to kiss him. Kiss his lips, and those words, and the ache behind them. He moaned into the kiss, pressing into me greedily, like he’d been waiting for me to take charge and take this for the both of us.
Like my kiss was a gift.
“This is the easiest negotiation I’ve ever participated in,” I murmured when we parted, both of us breathless.
