Page 44 of Tight End

“You just did, you punk.” But her tone was soft, affectionate.

“The point was worth proving. Now it’s documented how it happened when you’re knocked up again right after this little girl arrives.”

She gasped, smacking my bicep. “I will not.”

I rolled, caging her beneath me again, my lazy grin stretching. “Guess you need another demonstration.”

A laugh burst from her, half-exasperated, half-eager. “You’re insatiable.”

“With you?” I kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth. “Always.”

Outside the bedroom window, evening approached and pink bled across Manhattan rooftops. Inside, the quiet was warm with our shared breath and the knowledge that whatever came—more sleepless nights, loud mornings, and babies squabbling over toys—we had each other, and that was more than enough.

Life was pretty damn near perfect.