Page 238 of Pucking Sweet

I lounge back in the shade of my umbrella, my hands folded over my growing baby bump. “I’m fine right where I am, thank you very much.”

“Youarefine,” he teases, plopping Emma on the beach blanket next to Grace. “Look at you, my sandy-toed sun queen.”

I smile up at him, rubbing my hands over my bump. He watches the motion with a possessive glint in his eye. I purse my lips. Yeah, I know my man. He loves the sight of me pregnant. He better soak it in while he can because this is the last baby I plan on having.

Baby number three was a bit of an oops. We certainly weren’t trying. I’m pleased, but I’m anxious too. After Grace, it’s been harder for me to get back into the routine of work. Lukas is still as busy as ever playing for the Rays. Now, he’s an alternate captain under Jake Price. And Colton is about to start his fourth year as part of the Rays media team providing live commentary. He has a ton of fun, and it keeps him close to the action, but it means he’s traveling just as much as Lukas.

I won’t deny that it wears on me. These grueling hockey schedules wear on everyone, family or no family. This week in Aruba is my last taste of normal. During the summer months, I have both my men with me to help with snacks and nap times and stocking the fridge. All three of us sleep in the same bed at night.

Starting next week, we’ll be juggling five different schedules again. Adding a sixth is really feeling like a lot. So, you better believe I’m gonna sit here like a shell on the beach and soak up the privilege of having both my men here to chase our kids in the surf.

Two hours later,the babies are nestled safely in the Langley bungalow for the night, and my guys and I are enjoying a private dinner catered on our candlelit porch. There’s fresh fruit salad, grilled red snapper with creole sauce, rice and beans, and an Aruban favorite called pastechis. They’re like empanadas, made with a cornmeal crust, and stuffed with a variety of fillings. The kids love them too. We usually order a few around lunchtime to snack on at the beach.

The moon is out tonight, nearly full. It glows silvery white, sitting low on the horizon. The sounds of the ocean echo from yards away across the sand. From somewhere down the beach, a live band plays upbeat Caribbean dance music. The notes of drums and trumpets float toward us on a sea breeze. It’s enchanting. My little slice of heaven.

The guys talk quietly about the preseason schedule, while I finish the last of the fruit salad. We’ve nicknamed this baby Kiwi because it’s all I seem to be craving right now. As they chat, our chef lays out the dessert course. There’s a sampling of cheeses with dried fruit and nuts, a few pieces of cocada (an Aruban grated coconut candy we all love), and a generous slice of Dutch chocolate cake, decorated with edible flowers.

I smile as I look down at the cake. There are no rings hiding in it. I already have those on my finger. Three years ago, I found Cynthia’s engagement ring tucked away in Colton’s sock drawer. Feeling a little daring, I slipped it on my right ring finger, and waited to see how long it would take for him to notice.

It took approximately 2.5 seconds.

Let’s just say he was very pleased with its placement, and demanded that I never take it off.

But then Lukas took one look at the ring, turned around, and walked out of the house. He returned three hours later, flashing me a black ring box with a cheeky wink. Then he “hid” it in his sock drawer. I made him sweat it out for a week before I “found” it. I had the rings soldered together, and now they never leave my finger.

They aren’t wedding rings because this isn’t a marriage. At least, it’s not the kind of marriage I was ever led to believe I deserved. It’ll never be formalized on paper, but Colton, Lukas, and I share such a beautiful life. Our days are full of so much laughter and joy. Sure, westill fight and scream and drive each other crazy some days, but life with these two is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed.

“What are you thinking about over there, all quiet?” Lukas asks, refilling my water glass.

“You,” I reply honestly. Turning to Colton, I add, “And you.”

Colton smiles. “What about us?”

I turn back to Lukas. “You predicted all this. Do you remember? In my office?”

“You mean the coffin?” he says with a grin. “I wouldn’t say I predicted exactly this.”

Colton takes my hand. Turning it over on the table, he brushes his fingers in circles on my palm.

“You predicted that Colton and I would get together,” I go on. “You predicted love and babies and chocolate cake in Aruba.”

Lukas’s grin softens into a proper smile. “I did.”

“You just never predicted we’d drag you along for the ride,” Colton teases, his fingers gently twisting the rings on my finger.

Lukas raises a curious brow. “Would we call it dragged?” He reaches out too, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. Then he lets his finger trail down to my shoulder and along my collarbone. “If my memory serves, I believe I crawled to you.”

His touch and his words send a shiver through me. I smile, glancing over my shoulder through the glass wall into the beach house. Our chef is still in the kitchen, washing dishes.

Reading my mind, Colton stands from the table. “Why don’t I go hurry her along?”

I turn to Lukas, taking in the soft glow of the candlelight on his face. I smile at the lump on the bridge of his nose. The scar from the skate blade is now a thin white line trailing from his chin, along his jaw, disappearing over his ear. He’s had more injuries over the years. Three broken fingers, a groin pull, a hairline fracture in his foot. Yet still he plays. Hockey remains his only love outside his family.

He holds out a hand to me. I rise from my chair, and he pushes back from the table, setting me down on his knee. I place my hands on his shoulders as his arm snakes around my waist. His gaze heats as he brushes the knuckles of his other hand down my breastbone. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll have no choice but to strip youout of this dress, bend you over the table, and pound my dick into your sweet little cunt.”

I smile. This man doesn’t do subtle. He never has.

And I live for it.