Page 117 of Hunted: Season Two

Guess you could say this would be a different type ofdickens tale.

Probably a better one, if we’re gonna be honest.

“Come on, Mutt,” Rabbit whines on a dramatic bounce that causes her full tits to delightfully jiggle. “You have to have a cup of hot chocolate with us.” Her irresistible smile somehow gets even more so without permission. “Don’t suddenly turn intoThe Grinch Who Fucked Up Christmas.”

“I wanted to beThe Grinch Who Fucked the Woman He Helped Knocked Up Before Christmas, butnoooo,” I good-naturedly goad. “You two wanted us to ‘save something’ to do at home.”

The Kid lightly chuckles, grabs my hand, and tugs me into the food truck line with them on a flirty, “You need something to keep you warm until I can, Sir.”

Not growling is damn near impossible.

He looksextrafuckable in that sweater.

I know that’s why he wore it.

To…punish me for being on call.

But like I fucking said earlier…building a life is expensive.

And so is having a family.

And getting engagement rings.

And buying that interior design kit for the dad van he doesn’t think I was paying attention to him drooling over during breakfast the other day.

“Fine,” I surrender on a reluctant smirk. “I’ll buy us a round of hot chocolate.”

“I’llbe buying us a round of hot chocolate,” Rabbit interjects prior to pointing at the menu. “Andjumbo marshmallows, which cost extra.”

“You’re not paying,” The Kid swiftly refuses.

“And what the fuck are jumbo marshmallows?” My eyes narrow during my scanning of the choices. “And why the fuck are there so many flavors?” There’s no stopping my shoulders from dropping in irritation. “Seriously? What the fuck is unicorn hot chocolate?”

“What I will be ordering,” our girlfriend happily sasses while pulling her thick locks into a high bun on the top of her head. “With jumbo marshmallows.”

Our gazes instantly lock. “Just to piss me off?”

“Of course,” she snickers, grin growing wider, “it’s thenaturalorder of our existence.”

“And I will be having red velvet,” Kid announces, fingers still connected to mine, despite his eyes glued to our woman tucking her favorite pen into her hair. “No marshmallows, extra cream cheese whip cream.”

“Right,” I sardonically snip, “becausemarshmallowswould make that gross.”

They both snicker at my expense, leaving me no choice but to smile again.

Fuckme.

Can’t help it.

They laugh, and I swear to the big tow truck driver in the sky that my heart really does grow two sizes or whatever.

They smile, and I swear to the same lord of towing that I knowexactlywhat I was put on this earth to fucking do.

How the hell am I gonna handle adding a son into the shit?

What’s gonna happen to me?

Am I gonna randomly just break out into fucking song?

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