Page 100 of Never Stop

“I’m attempting to make your version of chicken carbonara. Wanted to treat my MVP.” She reached up and laced her arms around my neck before planting a gentle kiss to my lips.

“About that,” I said quietly. “I decided a home run equals a blow job, and a triple is you sitting on my face. Not necessarily in that order. Actually, wait. Weshoulddo what everything means in the order I make them every week.”

Brooke chuckled. “And a double is what?”

I stared past her at the refrigerator while thinking for a few seconds. “A walk equals a kiss. A base hit means I get to suck on your titties, and a double means we both use our hands.”

“So we don’t go all the way on game nights? Because last night—”

“Is dinner ready?” Cheyenne whined, coming into the kitchen and plopping down at the dining room table.

Brooke and I broke apart. “Let me get the pasta on, and it should be ready in about ten minutes.”

“I’m revising what I said. Seems that whoever created thebasesknew what they were doing back in the day.”

Base hit equaled making out.

Double equaled me feeling her up.

Triple equaled oral for both of us.

And a home run was all the way.

I stepped closer to her as she chopped the bacon into pieces. Whispering into her ear so Cheyenne couldn’t hear I said, “A home run means we fuck. Triple—”

“I got it,” Brooke laughed.

“What do you mean ‘who created the bases’”? Cheyenne asked.

I walked toward the dining room table. “The baseball Gods, of course, Peanut.”

Chey furrowed her brows. “Why are you talking about who created baseball?”

“You’ll want to know when you’re older,” Brooke said, chuckling.

No, no she would not!

Cheyenne’s phone buzzed with a text, and I glanced down at the screen before she picked it up. That was when I knew the baseball Gods were laughing at me.

“Who the fuck is Tucker?” I glared at Cheyenne.

“Easton!” Brooke scolded. “Your language.”

“Oh please, babe. You have a mouth on you, too. Cheyenne is used to it. Now—who the fuck is this boy? Is he the one you…”Oh Lord, I couldn’t finish the thought.

“He’s my friend!” Cheyenne yelled back.

“The one you kissed?” Brooke asked, finishing for me.

“No!” Cheyenne continued to yell. “That was Kirby.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Like the vacuum?”

Cheyenne frowned at me. “What?”

I shook my head because I didn’t want to continue my thought about how the boy that kissed my baby was named after a vacuum and liked to suck face.

Wait… I thought they just pecked?