Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
There were adventures waiting for him, after all. Him and his family.
Someone tapped on Burgess’s shoulder and he turned, finding a man in his twenties looking back at him. The dude seemed caught off guard by Burgess’s smile, obviously wondering if he had the right person, so Burgess replaced it with a scowl.
The guy relaxed.
“What’s up?” Burgess asked, removing one of his earbuds.
“Sir Savage. I’m Irving Randell from the Globe. Funny enough, I’m actually on campus to report on the lacrosse team winning state, but I happened to see you sitting here. I’d love to ask you a few questions, if you have time. Would earn me some points with the sports editor.”
Burgess glanced back toward the building, then down at his watch.
“Okay. You’ve got me until my girlfriend walks through that door. Once I see her, I probably won’t hear a word out of your mouth.”
“You’re waiting for the au pair?”
“Former au pair. Current . . . everything.”
There was no other way to describe Tallulah. She was everything. The love of his life and reason for opening his eyes every morning. His best friend and co-parent. His cheerleader. His inspiration. His heart. Life hadn’t been the same since they’d returned from Costa Rica nearly seventeen months earlier, reuniting with a sobbing Lissa on the sidewalk in front of the Beacon. Yet somehow, it felt like Tallulah had always been there. As though a gap had existed in their lives that only she could see or fit into. Thank God she’d saved his life by filling that hole. Thank God she’d been created, period—a thought Burgess had periodically while watching her wake up in the glow of morning sun, beside him in bed.
The reporter cleared his throat, subtly letting Burgess know he’d drifted.
Burgess deepened his frown.
“Are your questions about her?”
Irving hedged. “Well . . . it’s the subject that would earn me the most points with my editor. You’ve refused to talk about the relationship with your daughter’s nanny in the past.”
“That’s because it’s nobody’s business.”
“Sure isn’t.”
Irving raised an eyebrow, nonetheless, waiting to see if he’d talk about Tallulah, regardless . . . and maybe it was the king-sized balls on the reporter that made him want to share. Or maybe Burgess just couldn’t help himself, because the happiness inside of him was a great, big thing and overflowed like a dam after seventeen months of rain.
“As you know, I’m retiring after this season . . .” he started, before clearing his throat. “First thing I’m going to do is take my girls to Istanbul. Tallulah misses her family, and Lissa and I want to get to know them.” He cocked a brow. “After that, I’m getting certified in scuba.”
“Okay. I . . . didn’t see that coming.”
He nodded at the building. “Tallulah is a marine biologist. I want her to take me down there and show me everything she loves. I want to know the name of every single thing she loves in this world and that includes the ocean.” He paused, imagining his woman surrounded by sunsets, marketplaces, winding through skyscrapers, skinny dipping across the globe—but this time, he’d do it with her. He’d say yes to all of it. “Something tells me this next chapter is going to be better than the first one.”
Irving blinked at him. “You’re nothing like I expected you to be.”
“A couple of years ago, I might have been.”
“But . . .”
“She happened.”
“I see.” The reporter shifted, a bemused expression creeping onto his face. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but based on the way you talk about her, I’m surprised you haven’t popped the question yet.”
Burgess acknowledged that with a rumble. “She wanted to wait until she finished grad school. Otherwise, she’d have been Mrs. Abraham seventeen months ago.”
“Right.” Irving rubbed at his chest. “I have the sudden urge to call my girlfriend.”
“Do it.”
“I’m not reckless enough to say no to you.” The other man opened his mouth, hesitated. “Since we’re talking romance and personal relationships, I don’t suppose you’re willing to comment on the whole Sig Gauthier situation. You know, with his step—”
“That’s their story to tell,” Burgess interrupted with a headshake. “Not mine.”
“Fair enough.”
Burgess saw movement in the building and narrowed his eyes, trying to make out Tallulah’s silhouette behind the glass. There. Books pressed to her chest, that soft strut, like she was walking a personal runway, hair in a side braid that draped over her left shoulder. There was his Tallulah. He’d know her shape blindfolded. It fit against him perfectly. Those inner thighs never failed to lock into the grooves of his sides, allowing him entrance to her body with a sharp scoop of his hips, their mouths stifling breathless moans first thing in the morning, the friction of their skin, harsh breathing, and low creak of the mattress springs his favorite sounds, easily replacing the slap of a puck.