Must Love Logs (Must Love Series Book 4)

by Xavier Neal

  “Eddie.” Just saying his name puts a smile on my face. “Or as I call him, Superman.”

  Langston cocks a crooked grin. “Is that because he’s got an S on his c-”

  “Langston!” Yasmine hisses. “Have some goddamn self-control. You already pissed her off once. Try not to repeat your mistakes.”

  “Was just trying to lighten the conversation.” He smirks and shrugs. Afterwards, he sends his stare to mine, regret still there. “I’m sorry about the shit I said earlier. You’re right. You didn’t walk into the shop and stick a rainbow label on me the minute you found out I play for the right team.”

  His well-placed joke receives a small laugh.

  “I was out of line.” Langston offers me a genuine smile. “Can we try again?”

  “Sure, as long as you treat me to a round of wings and chili cheese fries.” My quick answer is accompanied by a wiggle of my eyebrows.

  “Where the fuck do you keep putting all these calories?” He jokingly seethes. “In the past week I’ve seen you devour more carbs than should be humanly possible, yet your jeans fit just the same while I eat a few fries, and I have to spend an extra hour in the gym for the next three weeks so that the button on my pants isn’t digging into my stomach.”

  My slender shoulders innocently bounce.

  It’s a blessing and a curse. Honestly? I can eat most women I know under the table and at times the youngest Shaw, but it gets tiring having to hear all the ‘eat more than a salad’ jokes, and then being told I have no reason to feel insecure about my own body because I’m skinny. Yes, I’m tall and thin, however, I’m far from “perfect”. I’ve got stretch marks in various parts that I hate. A stomach that isn’t toned. Arms that have a little too much jiggle for my liking. My tits are not nearly as perky as they were in my 20s, pre kids. And even though my husband hasn’t looked at another woman like she’s worth a damn since he met me, it doesn’t stop me from worrying if he still finds me attractive. That the increase of wrinkles doesn’t repel him. That the few jogs I manage to squeeze in aren’t making any noticeable difference in the firmness of the ass he likes to grab. Oh, and of course that the random gray hairs I have don’t completely turn him off…which just so we’re all clear, are somewhat his fault.

  “Both of you shut up about sizes,” Yasmine glares disapprovingly.

  “Like I always say, women are like cheesecake. Some are thin slices, some are thick ones, and some are the whole damn cake. All are delicious, and there is a perfect size for every customer’s preference.”

  My boss who is a larger, curvier woman grabs her glass and raises it high. “How about we fucking cheers to that?”

  Once Langston and I have our drinks in our possession we clink them with hers. Afterwards, he puts in our order, declares Yasmine loses, and decides to restart the darts competition against me.

  As soon as my pieces are collected, I stand off to the side to watch him prep for his turn.

  “So, you met Eddie at a concert?” Our boss brings the group back to the earlier topic. “And that was it? Did he buy you a beer or a turkey leg ‘cause he thought you were hot?”

  “A turkey leg?” My head tilts sarcastically. “Really?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I’ve never been to a country western concert.”

  Rolling my eyes can’t be helped. “No, he didn’t buy me a carnival treat or alcohol.” The memory soars to the front of my mind at the same time Langston’s dart lands on the outer bullseye. “I was there celebrating a friend’s birthday, and I had made one of those tacky ‘It’s her birthday’ signs. We’re talking glittery as shit. Jewels. Neon hot pink.”

  My opponent motions his hand towards the target to indicate it’s my turn. “You steal it from Barbie’s Dream House?”

  “Basically.” I move over to line up the shot. “Anyway, I was in charge of holding it and waving it around because I was the tallest, but in a huge crowd of people who also happen to have signs they’re flailing around, it’s not hard to get lost in the sea, ya know?” The dart is rolled back and forth between my fingers while I continue, “Plus, we weren’t exactly in the front row or anything, so the likeliness of it getting seen was extremely low, but this was the only thing Savannah wanted, right? She wanted Brady to know it was her birthday, and because I am an amazing friend it became my mission for her message to be seen. Eddie and his brother were hanging out a few feet away from us. They were by far the tallest people at the show. Eddie’s 6’5 and his brother, William, is 6’6-”

  “Fuck me, they make people that tall outside the Amazon?” Langston interjects on a chuckle. “Do you climb him every night like a tree?”

  “Gonna pretend you didn’t ask that and keep going.” The object flies from my hand to the bullseye, lightly brushing against his red piece. “I strutted over to him, tapped him on the arm, and asked him would he hold it up for me.”

  Yasmine cringes. “No…”

  “Yup.”

  “Did he look at you like your ass was crazy?” L immediately questions.

  “He looked at me like he wanted to grab my ass.” A naughty smirk slips onto my face. “Eddie refused to hold it, not because I was a stranger, but because touching anything that sparkly that wasn’t a stripper wasn’t his style.”

  They both laugh louder than expected.

  “But, he offered me a counter. Said I could sit on his shoulders instead.”

  Their jaws plummet.

  “He promised not to let me fall.” The memory ignites a small softer smile. “Promised to never let me fall…” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I finish the story, “So, I did it. Sat on his shoulders. Waved it around. And Brady ended up giving my best friend a shout because he could clearly read the sign.” They start to smile at the sentiment when I add, “Thanked the tall, sexy cowboy, by banging him in the bathroom.”

  Beer flies out of their mouths as I let a drink flow into mine.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t the classiest thing I’ve done or even the wildest, but it was by far the most momentous. Hooking up with Eddie took me away from a life I could barely stomach and brought me into one I wouldn’t trade for anything. Did I have to sleep with him on our first night? Of course not. It’s not like he pressured me into it. Hell, I had to drag him into the stall, which was insanely difficult given his size. The choice to have him right then and there was just something I decided on a whim. Spontaneity was something we quickly found out we had in common.

  Still have in common by our swift change in roles.

  Our early evening flows effortlessly into the early night. I share a few more highlights from my pre children days with Eddie, including a late-night drunken horse ride through the mud and the impromptu decision to fly to Cancun for a random romantic weekend while they confess their own alcohol induced adventures alongside a few romantic blunders. By the time I’m heading home, not only am I more comfortable with the newly established friendships I share with L and Yasmine, I’m craving my husband in multiple ways for multiple reasons. Reminiscing on our time before the boys reminded me that having a life outside of being parents is important. We need to devote a little more energy to keeping our one-on-one connection to each other as strong as we keep the one we have to our family. Sure, double date nights help, but they aren’t enough. There are lots of little moments we let slip by us.

  We should work on that.

  We will work on that.

  The moment I open the door the sight inside melts my heart.

  In the middle of numerous laundry piles is my husband completely passed out. Towels are stacked high to his left and right underneath his massive arms. Our kids’ clothes are creating morphed mountains on the coffee table. The basket between his open legs is overflowing with crap from everyone while my bras are haphazardly lined up along the back of the dark brown leather couch. His face has, to no surprise, turned one of them into a makeshift pillow.

  That’s…pretty adorable.

  Eddie’s loud snoring momentar
ily pauses prompting me to believe he heard me come in.

  However, the truth of the interruption is immediately revealed when he releases a thunderous fart instead of a more pleasant “welcome home”. His hard-breathing returns, and I carefully lock the door behind me.

  Probably should be a mood killer.

  I know it is for most.

  Well, most non long-term couples.

  The ones who still rush to brush their hair and their teeth in the mornings before their significant other wakes up. The ones who still hide their pads or their tampons under the sink behind all the towels so that they’re never seen. The ones who still believe magic only lives because there’s still “mystery” to their relationship.

  What’s sad is both of my sisters are this way, and they’ve both been married almost five years.

  Truth is, no one’s perfect.

  No one should have to pretend to be perfect.

  And if you’re going to go so far as to proclaim that this person is the person, then they should be prepared to accept you in all your burping, farting, bleeding, “Hey is that a zit or mole” moments.

  That’s real love.

  Or at least it is to me.

  I abandon my shoulder bag and purse near the front door before crossing over to him. As soon as I make an attempt to maneuver his arm that’s home to a Superman emblem tattoo on his wrist, he darts up like an ancient mummy whose tomb should’ve never been opened.

  “Already told ya there’s no such thing as meatball trees.”

  His outburst receives a sympathetic smile. “Kyle’s still into that book, huh?”

  Eddie uses the back of his hand to wipe away the drool that leaked free. “How obsessed can one kid be about a goddamn meatball?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Fuck, already am.” He sits up a little straighter. “Thought makin’ the recipe in the back with him would at least buy me a couple hours of not havin’ to hear the damn song or read the damn book, but it somehow jus’ made it worse. He was singin’ it to his damn balls in the shower, Cherry Pie…Calling them his meatballs. Kid’s crazy.”

  Snickering can’t be stopped. “He’s just…bein’ him.”

  Eddie shakes his head quickly prior to apologizing, “Sorry about the mess. I was tryin’ to get it all done before you got home and must’ve dozed off without realizin’ it.”

  I slide my hands into my back pockets. “Boys wearin’ you out?”

  “Everything is,” he confesses on a huge yawn. “Boys. Dishes. Laundry…” My husband slouches further down. “How the fuck do two people go through so many clothes, so fast, Cherry Pie? Had to send them to school in their swim trucks today because they were already out of underwear…”

  My lips press together to suppress my laugh.

  “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Should’ve been on the front lines when they were both potty trainin’.”

  He groans at the thought and shuts his eyes.

  When they don’t immediately open, I realize he’s so exhausted he’s starting to drift back to sleep already.

  For a minute, I simply just stare on in awe and amusement.

  Honestly figured by now he would’ve thrown in the towel. Demanded we both work and get them a nanny or babysitter to help out. I swore after the first week, the initial joy of spending more time with them would’ve worn off, that he would’ve been nothing but a whining, complaining, cranky beast who bitched at me about the shit like I didn’t understand. Like I hadn’t been doing it since they were born. Yet, he hasn’t. Not once has he voiced his belief this is “my place” or that his is working. Sure, he complains about the number of dishes that get in the sink or laundry like he just did but never about being the one who has to battle them. I think he understands how much I need this. How this job is more than just a job for me. And it’s his willingness to put me first that has my heart swelling and pussy tightening.

  “Eddie…”

  He sleepily hums, eyes making no effort to open. “How was work, Cherry Pie?”

  “Busy,” I casually answer at the same time I drag the laundry basket out of my way, “but having a couple beers with everyone after work was nice.” My body positions itself between his legs. “Thank you, again, for that.”

  “Of course. You deserve…” The end of the sentence is lost to the softest snore.

  My head tilts of its own accord.

  Huh. In all the years we’ve been together, I can’t recall being this close to him and him not trying to pounce. Fuck, even when I was seven months pregnant with Kyle and my face was pink and puffy causing me to look more like that Pokémon Jigglypuff than an actual person, Eddie was right there trying to get between my legs one way or another. Didn’t matter to him if it all he got to do was finger me while he jerked it or that once I got off, regardless if he had or not, I was done. He’s always been sexually starving for me, so the fact that I’m here willing and ready, yet can’t even get him to register my presence, is equally stupefying and maddening.

  “Eddie…”

  “Jus’ kiss the boys goodnight,” he mutters more to himself than me. “They missed ya.”

  I lean down and lower my lips closer to his. “Kiss them when I’m done kissing you.”

  Despite the erotic implication Eddie still doesn’t move.

  My tongue snakes out of my mouth to steal a swipe of his top lip. His jaw cracks as if that was the key to opening, and I repeat the action inside, this time tongue to tongue. He happily moans at the connection though his efforts to chase it are minimal. The resolve to wake him deepens, and my mouth works overtime to inform him of what he’s missing. Eventually, Eddie’s hands find their way to my ass, enthusiastically gripping it upon arrival.

  The greedy moan that escapes me is what parts us.

  “Cherry Pie,” his voice defeatedly begins, “I don’t think I have the energy to fuck you rotten.”

  My hooded stare meets his.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His sincerity only makes me wetter.

  “And I’d rather not tarnish my record with a half ass try.”

  He really does have an amazing record between us. Typically, shit dies down after so many years, or so I’ve been told, especially when you have kids, but Eddie has never been less than stellar in the sack. Even when it’s clear I’m phoning it in because there are bills, errands, and parental responsibilities caking up my mind, he’s still giving me everything he has. Whether we’re fucking like it’s an all day bake sale or quick like it’s Thanksgiving Day and last to the pie gets none, he’s devoted to making it great for me. He’s insanely giving in bed as if my pleasure fuels his. My needs are always of highest priority, and coming is rarely an option so much as a requirement before he’ll call it any type of quits.

  Rarely in this situation, I decide to take full advantage. “How about you just…sit here?” My mouth begins to inch lower at the same time my hands do. “Let me take care of you.”

  Eddie’s lips twitch in objection yet cease when my grip lands on his cock.

  I abandon watching him struggle to keep his eyes open in order to dedicate my full attention to the new task. His belt containing a vintage KISS buckle is the first barricade to be removed. Getting his jeans open and unzipped is just as easy. However, there’s no way to gracefully slide his dick out of his boxers without assistance. Regardless of his slumberous mental state, Eddie’s body seems to be wide awake. His hips effortlessly lift to allow his cock to be released from its denim jail while his dick itself is rock hard, waiting and ready to participate in whatever it is I have in mind.

  “I don’t-” is all he manages to get out due to my lips wrapping around his tip. “Fuck…”

  The heavy grumble only encourages my mouth to suck more of him inside. One of Eddie’s hands predictably falls to my hair to anchor me in place. I don’t bother dragging out the moment or putting on an unnecessary show. I simply swallow as much of his shaft as possible and frantically bob. His groans
grow intense. The clutching of my hair harsh. My cheeks continuously hollow, loving the way his toes curl against me in ecstasy. Spit slides down his base, dampening his balls through his boxers, giving them only a fraction of the attention I know they want. Hotter, heavier moans echo so loudly around the living room I swear it’s only a matter of minutes before it wakes one of the boys up. That thought only pushes me to suck faster. Sloppier. Add my hand to the equation in hopes of receiving my reward sooner. In a feverish tandem of salacious slurps and strokes, I shatter the fatherly shell that was keeping his savage actions at bay. Eddie brushes away the assistance my grasp was providing, buries both sets of fingers deeper into my locks, and callously yanks me into lust-filled thrusts. His cock repeatedly reaches the back of my throat, igniting my gag reflexes, yet the way the muscles vellicate is exactly what throws him over the edge.