Page 67 of Matched into the Mob

“Ranger, I can no longer get in and out of this toy car.” Matt leaned against the side of my beloved vehicle.

Ouch! Gods, I hated it when Matt referred to my sports car as a toy.

“We need something more family-friendly and also suitable for a pregnant omega.” He huffed and patted his belly, whispering to the baby that he promised we’d have a real car before he gave birth. “I don’t want the baby arriving and saying, ‘What the heck is this? There was more space inside my dad than his vehicle.’”

“Very funny, but even I know babies can’t talk in complete sentences for ages.”

Matt sniggered. “Well done.”

“Do I get a medal?”

He leaned in close and bit the soft part of my ear. “In bed tonight maybe if you’re a good boy.”

“And what if I’m naughty?” I rubbed against his bump.

Matt cursed his lips. “You’ll need to be punished.”

“Can we go to bed now? Please?”

“No, we have to buy a new car.”

“There are plenty of company vehicles we can use.” I wanted to skip the purchasing of a new car and get straight to the bed part of the day.

“But we have to be able to leave the car seat in there and baby paraphernalia, as well as shopping bags and crap people keep in the glove box.” Matt put his hands on his hips. He’d never looked more beautiful or as sexy as he did carrying our child.

“Fine.”

Matt squeezed into the passenger seat, and I helped buckle him in. He was right because my pregnant mate shouldn’t have to bend down to get into the car. I drove him to the shifter dealership where we bought all the company cars.

Archie, the owner, greeted us warmly and steered us toward the sleek, luxurious cars we usually purchased. But Matt bypassed them and stalked toward the minivans and SUVs.

“How many kids did you say we wanted?” I counted the seats in the minivan and calculated we could fit three quarters of a basketball team in there.

“Mmmm, unless we put your entire family in the car, we don’t need that much space.” He bypassed the mini van and headed to an SUV. Archie scuttled in front of my mate and opened the passenger door.

But Matt walked around to the other side and opened the driver’s door. “I was a chauffeur and I can handle myself behind the wheel.” He peered inside. “How many cup holders does it have? Because once I have the baby, I’ll be mainlining caffeine.”

Archie was a little flustered, his cheeks pinkening, and he flapped his hands as he said this model didn’t have heated seats and high-tech gadgets that my family was used to.

“We don’t need heated seats,” Matt commented. “Maybe if the car had a drainage system for when we’re driving through floods, that might be useful.”

He shared a glance with me. It was a light-hearted remark, harking back to our drive to the cabin that day.

“Drainage system?” Archie repeated.

I shook my head. “He’s making a joke, sort of.”

“These other models might be more to your liking.” Archie reeled off specifics, such as gesture control where you could wave your hand in front of the dashboard and alter audio volume.

“That might be useful with a car full of kids,” I said.

“Unless all those children belong to someone else, I don’t see us having nine in the car.”

“Cousins, friends, little league team members.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed. “But that’s a minor point.”

“Massaging seats and perfume dispensers,” Archie added.

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