Page 91 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
Although, James and I had to learn to be sneaky about our sexual escapades.
“I was thinking we could watch that movie about the cowgirl,” James says, emphasizing the word.
I chuckle. “Isn’t that the one where the roles get reversed?” I say.
This is a little game we play; we plan out which positions we want to have sex in later, but doing so in conversation around other people. Our little exchange just now means he wants cowgirl, and I added to make it reverse cowgirl.
James doesn’t answer, but the way he shifts tells me he’s already imagining it.
Ryder snorts. “You two are not subtle, you know that?”
James glances at him. “What do you mean?”
Ryder gestures at us. “You two, and your cute little coded conversations. Do you really think none of us have ever cottoned on to what you’re doing?”
“I don’t have a single clue what you mean, Ryder,” James says.
Ryder cackles. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”
James eyes him. “You’re too ugly to be the queen.”
“Drag queen, maybe,” Jesse adds, coming up to the porch with four beer bottles in his hands.
Franco is behind him, carrying Colin over his shoulder like a potato sack. “Nah, he’s too ugly even to be a drag queen. Although, his man-boobs are big enough that he wouldn’t need to stuff his bra.”
Ryder glances down at his chest. “I do not have man-boobs, you dumb twink.” He flexes his pecs, alternating them. “These are a hundred percent solid muscle, sonny. Something you and your sissy little CrossFit-nancy friends would know nothing about.”
Oh god, here we go. Not this conversation again. “Can you guys not argue CrossFit versus powerlifting again?” I groan. “It’s getting old.”
“What’s getting old is Franco,” Ryder says. “All that high impact cardio is making his joints creak like a geriatric with arthritic knees.”
“At least I can see my knees past my belly,” Franco says, putting Colin down and poking Ryder in the stomach.
“Hey, asshat, that’s solid muscle too.” He pokes his own belly. “Just…it’s hidden beneath a layer of softness. Makes me approachable to women and children. You just scare them with your veiny, six percent body fat scarecrow look.”
“You look like Tim Allen in The Santa Clause, when he dyes his beard red in an attempt to not look like Santa,” Franco says. “And watch your language around my kid, you tubby bitch.”
James and I half sigh, half laugh at the banter between the guys. Colin has escaped Franco’s notice and is back out in the yard, trying to get Nate to push him on the tire swing, but he wants to swing on it upside down, hanging underneath it like a monkey, and Nate is trying to convince him why it’s a bad idea. JJ is digging in the dirt under a juniper bush near the side of the house, Goblin the dog is finally napping now that the boys have left her alone. Baby Renée is sleeping, Natalie is resting on Ryder’s chest and being burped, Ella is watching a Disney movie inside, Nina is text-fighting with Josh and sitting on James’s knee…it’s a beautiful summer evening, and I’m officially Nova Bod, James’s wife, and the happiest woman on earth.
Although, judging by the matching blissed-out expressions on Laurel, Audra, and Imogen’s faces as they each find a comfortable position on or near their husbands, they may each be thinking the same thing:
How did we get so lucky?
Life is bliss, in this big, happy family, and I wouldn’t change a single thing.
