DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 31: Smart Girls Receive Their Karma

The song: i hate u i love u. I have a feeling that the events at the end of this chapter leave Marley feeling exactly like this song....

Marley, about ten days later

I'm home from my early Saturday morning donut run a little later than expected, having had to stop by the carwash and rinse the shaving cream penises off the Escalade's windows.

Bodie and Darius were thorough to make sure I couldn't escape their prank. They covered the windows of both of the identical trucks and my car.

Yes, I live with TWO thirteen year olds, it seems.

This week, we've had nerf-gun fights, water balloon wars, a GTA marathon—don't tell Pat—a karaoke contest, and a Fast and Furious movie marathon. We've made homemade personal pizza's, ice cream sundaes, barbecued ribs, and Bodie even called Trace and got the Gallant-famous chocolate drizzled popcorn recipe. Which I have to admit, was super easy and super good. That's my kind of "cooking."

Something incredibly wonderful that I've just learned this week:

My Babydaddy?

Sweetest man alive.

He's trying to make up for thirteen missing years of family life. I have to admit, he's doing a pretty damn good job of it, too. Within two days, Darius' reluctance to stay here with us had completely evaporated. He comes through the door from school with a huge grin on his face. Yesterday he even hugged me and asked Bodie, "What are we doin' tonight? You know what? It should be Mom's choice."

So last night we ordered tacos and taught Darius to play pool on the new table Bodie has installed in one-third of the basement.

I had the distinct impression that every time I leaned over to take a shot, Bodie was staring at my ass.

I have to admit, having your rock star Babydaddy giving you the sly up-and-down while he teaches your son to shoot a combo is a pretty fun way to spend a Friday night.

The only down side so far? I'm slightly worried about Bodie's energy reserves because he never quits.

He's full on fun in the evenings, and he's hired a personal trainer to work him out in the basement gym in the mornings.

I told him maybe we should work up to his pre-Thailand pace, but he assures me he's fine.

Uhhh...he's fine, alright.

He told me the trainer would work me out too, but after the first day of showing how unfit I truly am, the trainer put me on a three mile interval jog and some basic bodyweight exercises for now. Which means I spend my morning intermittently walking and jogging on the treadmill, then squatting and scrunching. All while ogling Bodie while he boxes and lifts and does cross-fit.

Thank god that either the trainer or Darius is here most of the time, because otherwise I might have already breached my employment contract.

The man has no idea how sexy he is, trying to knock out his trainer in our basement.

I wince at the pronoun I just used. It's not "our" basement, I tell myself. It's his, or as he insists, it's mine, but never ever has he said "our" about anything other than "our" son or "our" evening plans.

Well, and why would he, Dr. Watkins? You made sure of that, by signing a year long employment contract, didn't you?

It's what I want, what Bodie needs, and what's best for Darius, I remind myself. Sure, there's some flirtation and a couple of instances of really nice hand-holding in the car, but beyond that one small infraction I'm sure Riley would frown upon, both Bodie and I are managing to keep the situation from escalating.