Page 116 of Shootout Daddies
Her throat bobs as she swallows, eyes shiny. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.” I step closer, brushing a knuckle along her arm. “You think we’d leave you to sleep in here alone? Not happening.”
Hunter bounces onto the bed again, earning a glare from Rhett. “Guess that means it’s cuddle central.”
“Holy hell,” Rhett mutters, but he doesn’t push him off this time.
Ivy laughs softly, slipping her sandals off to curl onto the edge of the mattress. She looks so small there, sundress pooling around her thighs.
I just stand there, soaking in my new reality. This villa, the ocean, the four of us —it’s not the life I imagined at forty-two. It’s better. Messier, scarier, but better.
And this weekend? It’s the start of something we’ll never forget.
The villa is quiet except for the low hum of the ocean outside. Ivy fell asleep not long after lunch, curled up in the huge bed with the blinds half-drawn, her dress draped over a chair.
She barely touched her food before her eyelids fluttered shut, and I don’t blame her. Carrying three babies would take the fight out of anyone, and she’s been holding herself together on nerves alone since the ultrasound.
So we let her sleep.
The three of us migrate outside. The pool glitters like cut glass in the afternoon sun, turquoise water blending into the horizon where the sea begins.
Rhett claims one of the loungers, shades on, arms crossed behind his head, soaking it in like he hasn’t been running on fumes lately. Hunter dives in, limbs cutting through the water with that cocky grace that never leaves him, even off the ice.
I stick to the shallow end, waist-deep, the salt clinging to my skin from earlier making the cool water feel even better.
Hunter paddles up beside me, hair slicked back, grin wide. “We should hit the waves tomorrow morning. Place like this? Bet the surf is insane.”
“Tomorrow,” Rhett calls from his lounger without opening his eyes. “Let her rest today. She barely made it through check-in before she started yawning.”
Hunter nods, then smirks. “Speaking of tomorrow, when are we giving her the gifts?”
I arch a brow. “Impatient much?”
“Man, I’ve been sitting on this for days.” He splashes water in my direction like a kid. “She’s gonna love them.”
Rhett finally lifts his sunglasses, fixing him with a look. “Be patient. You’ll ruin the fun if you rush it. Remember, when we get back we’ve still got Chloe’s birthday party to plan. You don’t want to blow through everything now.”
Hunter groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. But tomorrow night, I swear?—”
The sound of a voice slices through the air.
“Hey, guys.”
We all turn at once.
And time stops.
She’s standing just outside the sliding doors, barefoot, her skin kissed pink from sleep. The red bikini she’s wearing is small, string ties biting into her hips and neck, the triangle top stretched around her breasts.
And below it, just visible now, the gentle curve of her stomach.
My throat goes dry. Fuck. She’s so fucking pretty it hurts.
The three of us move as one, drawn like moths to flame. By the time she steps onto the pool deck, we’re circling her, pressing kisses to her shoulders, her hair, the warm skin at her jaw.
She giggles, squirming under the attention, but she doesn’t push us away. If anything, she leans closer, sighing like we’re exactly what she wanted.
She slips down onto the edge of the pool, feet dipping into the water. The sun hits her skin, turning her golden. Hunter dropsbeside her with a plate of fruit he snagged from the kitchen—slices of mango, pineapple, strawberries—and starts feeding them to her like it’s his personal mission. She lets him, lips parting around each piece, tongue brushing his fingers when she thinks we’re not watching.
